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  Falling for You Again Copyright © 2007 by Catherine Palmer and Gary Chapman. All rights reserved.

  Cover illustration copyright © 2007 by Doug Martin. All rights reserved.

  Authors’ photograph by John Capelli/Capelli Photography. All rights reserved.

  Designed by Jennifer Ghionzoli

  Edited by Kathryn S. Olson

  Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version.

  Some Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the authors or publisher.

  * * *

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Palmer, Catherine, date.

  Falling for you again / Catherine Palmer and Gary Chapman.

  p. cm.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4143-1167-8 (sc)

  ISBN-10: 1-4143-1167-2 (sc)

  1. Married people—Fiction. 2. Older couples—Fiction. 3. Marriage—Fiction.

  4. Missouri—Fiction. I. Chapman, Gary D., date II. Title.

  PS3566.A495F35 2007

  813’.54—dc22

  2007024430

  * * *

  Printed in the United States of America

  13 12 11 10 09 08 07

  7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Contents

  NOTE TO READERS

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  FOUR SEASONS WINTER TURNS TO SPRING

  FOR AUNT PEGGY AND UNCLE AL CUMMINS.

  Thank you for loving me and my family so many years.

  I’ll never forget the “three-ring circus” at Ngara Road, the laughter down the

  hall on prayer meeting nights in the house on Ol Donyo Sabuk Road, Uncle

  Al’s booming voice preaching at Parklands, and Aunt Peggy’s sweet Texas

  accent teaching me what being a young lady truly meant. From one member

  of the “girl Cummins” to my dear “boy Cummins” family, I love you.

  C.P.

  Ruth and I are happily incompatible.

  BILLY GRAHAM, when asked

  the secret of being married fifty-four years to the same person

  A good marriage is the union of two good forgivers.

  RUTH BELL GRAHAM

  NOTE TO READERS

  There’s nothing like a good story! I’m excited to be working with Catherine Palmer on a fiction series based on the concepts in my book The Four Seasons of Marriage. You hold in your hands the third book in this series.

  My experience, both in my own marriage and in counseling couples for more than thirty years, suggests that marriages are always moving from one season to another. Sometimes we find ourselves in winter—discouraged, detached, and dissatisfied; other times we experience springtime, with its openness, hope, and anticipation. On still other occasions we bask in the warmth of summer—comfortable, relaxed, enjoying life. And then comes fall with its uncertainty, negligence, and apprehension. The cycle repeats itself many times throughout the life of a marriage, just as the seasons repeat themselves in nature. These concepts are described in The Four Seasons of Marriage, along with seven proven strategies to help couples move away from the unsettledness of fall or the alienation and coldness of winter toward the hopefulness of spring or the warmth and closeness of summer.

  Combining what I’ve learned in my counseling practice with Catherine’s excellent writing skills has led to this series of four novels. In the lives of the characters you’ll meet in these pages, you will see the choices I have observed people making over and over again through the years, the value of caring friends and neighbors, and the hope of marriages moving to a new and more pleasant season.

  In Falling for You Again and the other stories in the Four Seasons fiction series, you will meet newlyweds, blended families, couples who are deep in the throes of empty-nest adjustment, and senior couples. Our hope is that you will see yourself or someone you know in these characters. If you are hurting, this book can give you hope—and some ideas for making things better. Be sure to check out the discussion questions at the end of the book for further ideas.

  And whatever season you’re in, I know you’ll enjoy the people and the stories in Deepwater Cove.

  Gary D. Chapman, PhD

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  So many people affect the writing and publication of a novel. For their beautiful example of a long marriage, I honor my parents, Harold and Betty Cummins. I also thank the many missionary families I grew up with in Kenya whose enduring marriages I have tried to emulate. For sharing both laughter and tears, my longtime friends are treasures I cherish. Janice, Mary, Roxie, Kristie, BB, Lucia, I love you. My prayer support team holds me up before God, and I can’t thank you enough, Mary, Andrew, Nina, and Marilyn.

  I also thank my Tyndale family for all you have meant to me during these past ten years. Ron Beers and Karen Watson, bless you for making this series not only a reality but a pleasure. Kathy Olson, I can’t imagine having the courage to write a single word without you. Your careful editing and precious friendship are truly gifts from the Lord. Andrea, Babette, Mavis, Travis, and Keri, the amazing sales team, the wonderful design department—thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

  Though I often leave them for last, first on my list of supporters, encouragers, and loved ones are my family. Tim, Geoffrey, and Andrei, I love you so much.

  Catherine Palmer

  CHAPTER ONE

  Fall always brings changes to Deepwater Cove,” Charlie Moore said as he sat at Patsy Pringle’s styling station in her Just As I Am beauty salon. “And I don’t mean the good kind.”

  “Now you stop talking like that, honey,” Patsy chided, brushing the back of Charlie’s neck. “Especially on a Friday afternoon in my favorite month of the year. There’s nothing like a September weekend to lift a girl’s spirits—and I won’t have you trying to squash ’em flat.”

  Patsy finished brushing the wisps of hair off Charlie’s neck. Then she turned him around and let him have a look in the mirror.

  He checked to see that his sideburns were even; then he nodded.

  “Good work, Patsy. You always fix me up right.”

  She smiled and patted his shoulders. “I have a feeling this autumn is going to be one of our prettiest in years, Charlie. The leaves are starting to change colors already, and a cool breeze is blowing in off the lake. I don’t know why you’d think we’re in for a rough season.”

  Charlie shook his head. “Histor
y, Patsy. Look at our history. A year ago, the last of the Hansen kids went off to college, and, well … you know things got pretty difficult for Steve and Brenda.”

  “What else happened in the autumn, Charlie?” she asked. “I’ve owned this salon for umpteen years, and I can’t remember a single bad thing.”

  “That’s you, Patsy. The eternal optimist.” He leaned back in the chair, adjusted his glasses, and began. “Last fall, we had the Hansen problem. The year before that, flu took two of our widows—one in September and the other in early November, as I recall. And don’t forget the year the pizza restaurant went belly-up, the main bank in Camdenton shut down its local branch, and the new tavern set up shop—all of them right as summer ended.”

  “Well, I have to admit I’m no fan of Larry’s Lake Lounge. Why is it that bars never go out of business? That rankles me,” Patsy declared, whisking the cape from Charlie’s shoulders and helping him from the chair. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the young woman was trying to hurry him along.

  Charlie started for the cash register. “I’m with you on that one, Patsy. Too many young guys waste the better part of their time and their money there. Never understood it myself.”

  “And don’t forget the fall colors,” Patsy said. “I know folks enjoy going on tours to look at the leaves changing along the East Coast and up toward Canada, but land’s sakes, why don’t they open their eyes right here? The Ozarks has some of the prettiest fall colors God ever painted on a tree.”

  “Sumac,” Charlie said as he tugged his wallet from his pocket. “Now there’s a red you won’t often see in nature.”

  “See what I mean? Fall is a wonderful time of year.”

  Charlie chuckled. “I reckon you’re right, Patsy. Plus, most of the out-of-towners are gone, and we don’t have to put up with all their fireworks, speedboats, and barhopping.”

  “I love the excitement and fun the summer crowd brings, but I don’t mind too much when they leave. There’s a kind of peace that settles around us—even though we’ve still got plenty to do. Fall festivals, bake sales, church hayrides. And the high school homecoming parade, trick-or-treaters, Thanksgiving—”

  “All right, all right,” Charlie sputtered, holding up a hand. “If I stay here any longer you’re going to talk the blues right out of me, Patsy Pringle. I was just working up a good head of melancholy and pessimism, but you’re fixin’ to ruin the whole thing.” He shrugged. “You’ve plumb worn me down with all your zip-a-dee-doo-dah. I won’t have any choice now but to be in a good mood, which means I’ll go home and infect Esther, who’ll get all chipper and talk my ear off.”

  “Esther’s due here in about twenty minutes for her weekly set-and-style,” Patsy said. “In fact, I was surprised you didn’t come together.”

  “I’m not going to sit through that ordeal again. I did it once and believe you me, once was enough. Nope, I think I’ll head home and start putting the vegetable garden to bed.”

  Patsy sighed as she studied him. “Charlie, I just want you to know that every time I see you and Esther together, I feel like there’s hope for the world. You’re both so kind and helpful—and sweet as apple pie to each other. How long have you two been married?”

  He scratched the back of his neck. “Well now, that takes some figuring. My seventieth birthday is just around the bend, and I was born in …” He paused, lifting his eyes to the ceiling as if the numbers were written up there in the wallpaper border. “And we got married in . . . hmmm . . .” He calculated some more. “Good gravy, we’ll be coming up on fifty years before we know it. Who would have thought?”

  “Well, you’re a wonderful example for the rest of us,” Patsy said. “If I had ever gotten married, I would pray to have as happy a home as you and Esther.”

  “You make it sound like things have always been perfect.” He reached across the counter and touched Patsy’s nose as if she were a child. “You know better than that, kiddo.”

  She laughed. “I guess so, but I can’t imagine what could come between you.”

  “Well now, we’ve had our ups and downs, Esther and me. More good times than bad, but we’ve worked hard to make it that way. You ever heard that opposites attract? That’s us. She’s a talker, and I’d rather read a book or watch TV. I’m up at the crack of dawn, and she’d sleep till eight or nine if she didn’t drag herself up to make my breakfast. We’re kind of like sunshine and rain, you know. You’ve gotta have both to keep things growing.”

  “I’m late, I’m late!” Esther Moore hooked her purse strap over her arm as she hurried into the kitchen. “Cody, where did you put that stack of mail I set on the table by the door?”

  “Mail?” Cody Goss turned from the sink, where he was scrubbing the gray and white speckled pot Esther used to fry crappie and catfish. “Is mail the same as letters? Because I read in my Giant Book of Myths and Legends that King Arthur and his knights wore mail. And also, the other day at the post office, I had to sign a paper to be a soldier if ever the president wants me to fight, and I checked the box that said male. So that’s three kinds of mail. There might be another mail that I don’t even know about, because I also found out that tail, which rhymes with mail, can mean—”

  “I’m talking about letters,” Esther cried. “Not half an hour ago, I put a stack of envelopes on the little table in the living room, and now they’re gone.”

  Gracious sakes. Esther dearly loved Cody Goss, but sometimes the young man could drive her right up the wall. Cody had appeared in Deepwater Cove this spring as a homeless, bedraggled stranger. Since then, he had been helping clean some of the neighborhood houses and shops—earning minimum wage and carefully building his savings account. After vacuuming, dusting, and tidying the Moores’ home, he often spent the night in their spare bedroom, and both Esther and Charlie enjoyed his company.

  “The side table by the couch,” Esther clarified. “This afternoon, Charlie paid our bills before he went to get his hair cut. Then I wrote a birthday card for one of my grandkids and a get-well card for Opal Jones. I put stamps on every envelope and set them right there by the door. Where did you move those letters, Cody?”

  He blinked at her, his blue eyes shining in the afternoon sunlight that slanted through the kitchen window. “You don’t have to put a stamp on Opal’s envelope,” he told her. “Since Opal lives right across the street and three houses down, I could take that card over there and give it to her.”

  “Yes, but Charlie and I support our federal postal service, because—” Esther cut herself off with a little growl of frustration. “Cody Goss, where did you put my mail? If I don’t get those letters into the mailbox on time, Charlie will pitch a fit. That means I’ll have to knock on the back door of the post office and remind them that Charlie used to be a mail carrier, which might make me miss my appointment with … with …”

  She shook her head. “Well, where am I going, Cody? You’ve got me so flustered I can’t even remember.”

  “You’re driving over to Tranquility to get your weekly set-and-style at Patsy’s salon,” Cody said, his fingers dripping soapy water on the vinyl floor as he trudged past her. “And there’s your mail, right on the table by the couch. See?”

  Esther would have dropped her teeth but they were still attached. There sat the stack of letters, exactly where she’d laid them earlier. But she would have sworn that when she looked for them a moment before, they were gone.

  Now they were back. Just like that.

  “Did you put them there?” she asked Cody.

  “You put them there,” he replied. “The only letters I ever touch are the ones that come from my aunt in Kansas, when she writes to say she loves me and please eat my vegetables. She also mails me ten dollars every month, and I put that into my savings account, which I hate to tell you is something you can’t see at the bank even if you ask very nicely. Did you know that, Mrs. Moore? I asked to see my savings account one time, and the bank lady said sorry, but no. She told me an account is not a b
ox with money in it. It’s just pretend. An account is nothing but numbers inside a computer. You have to have faith that those numbers are the same as dollar bills, which is exactly like having faith that God is real even if you can’t see Him.”

  Esther stared at Cody as she gripped the stack of letters in one hand and her purse in the other. What on earth was he rambling about? His aunt? Savings accounts? God?

  “Cody, one of these days you’re going to drive me to drink,” Esther said as she opened the front door.

  “I can’t drive; remember, Mrs. Moore? I’m not yet smart enough to get my driving slicers.”

  “Driver’s license!” she called over her shoulder. Then she began to mutter. “Driver’s license not driving slicers. Oh, that poor boy is a dim bulb. I don’t care what Charlie says about him being smart as a whip. He’s never going to make it in this world without help, and I shouldn’t even be leaving him alone in the house.”

  Wearing heels a little too high for the occasion, Esther tottered over to the carport. She set her purse and the mail on the roof of the sturdy Lincoln Town Car she’d been driving for decades. Fiddling with her car keys, she tried to find the one that unlocked the door. The car was too old to open electronically. That was okay with Esther, who had a hard time getting used to automatic door openers, television remote controls, cell phones, computers, and other modern-day necessities. A person could go crazy trying to understand the new technology.

  Finally Esther got the car unlocked and slid behind the steering wheel. She was definitely going to be late, thanks to Cody moving the mail all over the house. It was one thing to have the boy help with the dusting and vacuuming. But if he kept putting things where they didn’t belong, Esther would have to talk to Charlie about letting him go. After all, she had been cleaning house for forty-eight years, and she could certainly keep it up a while longer.