Marriage Seasons 03 - Falling for You Again by Gary Chapman, Catherine Palmer

By the time Charlie had stopped the cart to chat with neighbors, surveyed the lake, picked up the mail, and accomplished whatever other tasks he’d assigned himself, he was ready to head into the house for a while.
    Not Boofer.
    He sat firmly adhered to the golf cart’s vinyl seat, refusing to move, until finally Charlie pretended he was abandoning the stubborn dog. “Well, have it your way, Boof,” Charlie said, as he did every day. “I … guess I’ll go see what’s on the stove for dinner.”
    The moment he opened the screen door that led into the house, Charlie heard Boofer leap from the cart and scamper toward him, tiny black claws skittering on the cement carport floor. Before the man could set one foot inside, the dog had hurtled past him and was racing around the house, looking for Esther.
    This evening, Charlie’s wife was once again a queen in her realm. Esther had returned to her kitchen.
    But things were not as they once had been. True, Esther still rose every morning to make Charlie’s breakfast, and she prepared their sandwiches for lunch. But that was about it. Women from the church still regularly brought casseroles or pot roasts to the house. And nearly every afternoon at around three o’clock, Ashley Hanes showed up to help Esther start putting dinner together.
    Sometimes the young woman dropped by earlier in the day to string necklaces while Esther sorted and organized beads. Though Charlie liked Ashley well enough, it often startled or even distressed him to find her inside the house. It was his private haven, the cocoon he withdrew into for rest and refreshment. On the other hand, Ashley’s presence was about the only thing that perked up Esther’s spirits. The pair of them chattered so much that it became a verifiable hen party.
    Two weeks had passed since the accident, and Charlie had expected his wife to be back to her same old self. But just about every day Esther announced that she felt frail. Or weak. Or tired. Her hips, her back, her neck, her eyes, even her skin—something was always out of whack. Once in a while she told her husband she was feeling “goofy,” to which Charlie had silently replied, “So what else is new?”
    “Where’ve you been, sugar?” Esther called over her shoulder as Charlie hung his jacket in the closet by the door. “Ashley and I are in a bind. The other day, Cody broke the can opener, and we need you to open these beans or we’ll never get them into the pot in time.”
    “ You broke the can opener, honey,” Charlie gently reminded his wife.
    “I did not. Why would you say that?”
    “You put the blame thing in the dishwasher, Esther. An electric can opener. I still can’t figure out what you were thinking. Ruined the motor. Honestly! Nobody puts an electric can opener in the dishwasher.”
    “Oh well,” she said, brushing him off with a wave of her hand. “Come over here and help us—my knuckles have been aching all day. It’s the weather, I suppose. You know what the cold does to my joints.”
    “Yup,” Charlie said. Another ailment to add to her collection.
    “Ashley tells me she’s never even seen the nonelectric kind of can opener,” Esther went on. “Can you believe it? That’s modern technology for you—good old tools lie in a drawer unused and forgotten. It’s a throwaway world, Ashley, and don’t ever let anyone tell you different.”
    With a sigh, Charlie stepped up to the counter. “Evening, Ashley,” he said, hooking the hand-turned opener onto the lid of the can of beans. “How’s the necklace business these days?”
    “I’m swamped.” She glanced at him, her big brown eyes framed by masses of long red hair. “Mrs. Finley—Miranda, not Kim—gets the credit for a lot of my sales. She and the twins made up brochures and sent them to friends in the social clubs she used to belong to in St. Louis. Those women are ordering necklaces so fast I can hardly keep up. Seems like I’m always down in the Hansens’