Marriage Seasons 01 - It Happens Every Spring by Gary Chapman, Catherine Palmer Page A

at least once a day having me
sharpen her scissors, fill up her gas tank, or load her down with hot
dogs and sodas. She nearly bought out all my coolers to store the
kids' trophies, medals, and ribbons. Said they'd be better protected
in coolers than in plain old plastic boxes from the discount store.
In fact, Brenda was here when the transporter drove through. Said
she'd love to go to a race."
    "My Brenda?"
    "Yep. I don't know the last time I saw a woman with so much
energy. That must be quite a basement you've got over there in
Deepwater Cove."
    Steve stared blankly at Pete. Never in a million years would he
have described his cold, silent wife as a "live wire" full of energy.
Lately when she spoke to her husband at all, it was to say something bitter and resentful. Most of the time, though, Brenda stayed
withdrawn into the chilly little igloo she had built around herself.
    Not knowing how to respond, Steve pushed his hands down
into the pockets of his khaki slacks and turned to gaze out the front
windows of the shop. He couldn't imagine that Brenda presented herself to the world as a warm, happy, interested participant in lake
life-willing to go to a stock-car race, for heaven's sake!-when
she never gave her husband anything but a cold shoulder.

    Brenda reserved her bouncy zest for a tackle-shop manager and
a stock-car trailer!
    Icy anger flooded through Steve's chest as he thought about all
he had done and given and meant to her. What was he getting in
return? Zero.
    Clearly there was a problem, but it wasn't him. It was Brenda. If
this dinner tonight didn't produce some changes in her behavior,
Steve had decided to tell his wife she needed to make an appointment to talk to their minister. Pastor Andrew might recommend a
doctor or a counselor who would be able to help her. For all Steve
knew, this difficulty grew out of her starting menopause. Or having a midlife crisis. Whatever the cause, Brenda's attitude was the
effect. And Steve was sick to death of it.
    "Here's your receipt," Pete said, handing him a scrap of curled
paper. "You know, if you and the wife want to make an outing of it
sometime, just let me know. I've been thinking about asking Patsy
Pringle to the races. We could all go together."
    It took a moment before Pete's words sank in. "I don't think
Patsy is the NASCAR type," Steve said, glancing at the wall that
divided the bait shop from the beauty salon next door. "Besides,
Pete, I'm a little surprised you think Patsy would go out with you.
Last time I was over there for a haircut, you started up a weed
whacker, and she nearly scalped me. She didn't have a lot of kind
words for you. I get a feeling she thinks you irritate her on purpose.
    Chuckling wryly, Pete shook his head. "Women! Can't live with
'em, can't live without 'em."
    "That fits my Brenda to a tee." Steve started for the door, then
hesitated as he recalled the original reason for his visit to the store.
He had been hoping to clear up some information and make sure that Pete and Patsy were both in agreement with him on the situation.

    "Say, Pete," Steve said, turning back, "there's a rumor that's
been floating around the lake these past couple of weeks."
    "A rumor?" Pete's ruddy complexion suddenly paled. "About
... about Brenda?"
    "No, about the strip mall. I hear someone has rented the empty
space next door to the beauty parlor."
    "Oh, that!" Pete blew out a breath. "Yeah, I heard a fellow was
putting in a movie-rental place."
    "Adult movies. Triple-X videos, pornographic magazines, and
other kinds of trash."
    "Triple-X?" Pete's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"
    "That's what I've been hearing. How do you feel about a business like that moving into Tranquility?"
    "I can tell you right off the bat-I don't like the idea. We have
enough trouble with the bar up the road. Fellows start drinking
around three o'clock every afternoon. Sometimes they come over
here for gas, and it's all I can do to let them drive