“What do you want me to say?”
As she fed the chickens, the distinct sound of the French horns in Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture erupted from her jeans. “What!” She fished the phone from her pocket and flipped it open at the sight of Marianne’s name. “Oh Mom, my phone is playing music! I almost had a heart attack.”
“What is it playing?”
“The 1812 Overture—the part with the French horns? You know, da de da de da de da—da da.”
“Chad must have done it. Um, speaking of Chad, he asked me to call you.”
Willow’s voice grew wary. “About what? Why didn’t he call?”
“Well, his phone is broken for one thing. He needs to get a new one. Anyway, he asked me to tell you that he’s been detained here in town for a few more days.”
“Why?”
Marianne continued as though Willow hadn’t spoken. “—and he probably won’t be able to call. If he does, it’ll be very late at night.”
“Mom, what’s going on? Is there trouble with the trial?”
“Willow,” Marianne said as though dreading the coming discussion, “that’s all he told me to tell you except that he wants you to trust him. He’ll explain everything when he gets home.”
The protest that formed died on her lips as Marianne said “trust.” “Can you tell me if he’s ok?”
“He’s ok—now. He’ll be home as soon as he can.”
“Should I be praying?” Willow whispered nervously.
Marianne’s cheerful voice wiped away the final traces of concern from Willow’s voice as she assured Willow that prayer never hurts. Willow stared at the phone for several seconds after her mother-in-law disconnected and wondered just how long it’d be before he came home. She’d heard of sequestered juries—did they sequester witnesses too?
Thursday afternoon, a detective arrived to take his statement regarding the shooting. “Officer Tesdall?”
Chad turned and glanced up at the detective expectantly. “Yes?”
“I’m detective Haunsel with the Rockland PD. I have some questions if you’re up to it.”
“I now understand, in a way I never could before, why victims and witnesses are so unreliable. I didn’t see it coming. I can only imagine that you found through the trajectory where the sniper was…”
“We found it. We found the guy on video…” The detective pulled out glossy eight by ten print outs of the building across the street, the fourth floor, and almost a full shot of a man’s face. “Do any of these look familiar to you?”
Carefully, Chad examined each one clearly. Finally, he shoved them across his legs. “I don’t trust my memory on this. He looks familiar, but I could have seen him or someone that resembles him, anywhere.” A thought occurred to him. “Have you checked cameras from inside the courthouse? Was he in the courtroom?”
“They’re still going over those tapes. Can you tell us why he chose you?”
“I can only assume that it has something to do with my testimony… maybe he thought I was coming back after the recess but I wasn’t. I was excused.”
Detective Haunsel nodded thoughtfully. “What does the doctor say?”
“Gonna have to learn to shoot with my other hand. Even if they get this thing fully functional,” Chad waved his bandaged hand impatiently, “they say the muscles won’t be completely reliable. It’ll always be a little stiff.”
“Ouch. Tough luck… at least you live in Fairbury. You probably haven’t drawn your gun since you’ve worked there.”
Chad hated the implication that work in Fairbury wasn’t real. “I want to know that the next time a stalker breaks into my house to terrorize my wife, I’ll be able to pull the trigger before he does.” The man’s face showed surprise and he started to speak, but Chad continued. “Sorry if that ruins your Mayberry ideal of Fairbury, but between the Plagiarist Killer and the Solari influence, we’ve had more crime in Fairbury in the past few years than the town has had in the past fifty. Rockland is encroaching, and I want to be able to do my part to push it back. We don’t want your crime.”
Marianne watched as they wheeled her son into surgery and wondered just how successful it would be. Christopher jogged up to her side. “Sorry I’m late. What’s going on?”
“They just wheeled him in. The surgeon talked to me while they were taking him in. He’s confident it’ll be successful, but the degree of success is what is in question.”
Christopher sank into a nearby chair. “My son—all he ever wanted to do was be a cop and now—”
Chad’s mother wrapped her arms around her husband and hushed him. “He’ll shoot with his other hand. He’ll be fine.”
“I think it just hit me. My son was shot. A man took careful aim and shot him, and if Chad hadn’t moved at just the right moment, he probably would be dead.”
“So how long until everything is out of my system? How soon before I am chemically safe to drive?”
Saturday morning, Chad bombarded the doctor with questions as he inspected Chad’s sutures, chart, and checked the wound in Chad’s chest. He’d fought the use of the PCA as much as possible, but the throbbing had kept him awake most of the night until he’d given in and allowed himself a few hours of pain relief. His goal was to leave that night.
“You’re determined to leave tonight then?”
Chad nodded. “I have to get home. I know I’ll have to sign, but I need to get home.”
The doctor called the nurse to rewrap Chad’s hand and said goodbye. “I’ll leave care instructions with the nurses. Try to stay as long as possible. The longer you’re here, the more likely a problem happens here than at home.” He hesitated. “Will you promise me one thing?”
“What?”
“If you relapse at all before you leave, will you please reconsider and stay another night?”
Chad nodded. “I’m not trying to get myself killed—” he winked at his mother. “Contrary to popular belief.”
With the doctor gone, Chad tried to apologize for worrying his mother, but he didn’t get far. “I understand, Chaddie. I do. I want to help, but I couldn’t live with myself if—”
“It’s ok, Mom. Really. Can you do something for me though?” He knew the only way his mother would quit worrying was if she had a way to help him.
“I’d need clothes whether I left right now or next week. Can you bring me sweats and a buttoned down shirt?”
“That’s kind of a strange combination, son.”
Chad grinned. “I’m a fashion mystery.” At her disgusted look, he sighed. “Ok, so maybe I just want something easy to get on and off again.”
At five o’clock, Todd arrived with a bag of clothes from Chad’s mother. “Hey, man, how are you feeling?”
“Miserable but I’ll do.”
“You sure you want to leave?”
Groaning, Chad made a slicing motion across his neck. “Not you too…”
“I had to ask! Your mom wouldn’t give me these clothes until I promised to follow you home. I won’t come up to the house or anything, but I will follow you as far as the drive.”
“Thanks. I thought about asking but decided I was being paranoid. Everyone around here seems to be operating under the delusion that I want to leave.” Chad’s voice sounded weary.
“Did you take some acetaminophen at four?”
“Four-thirty. I’ll pull over at the rest stop for a refill or just take them a bit early.”
Todd nodded and pulled out the latest Patterson novel. “I’ll read. You sleep.”
“What, no Hartfield? I’m crushed.”
“I’ve read ‘em all.”
Chad grinned and tried to roll onto his side. “Seven-thirty. No later.”
Todd acted as a guard for the next two and a half hours. The nurses came in now and then to check on him, offer him medication, and bring him dinner, but Todd shooed them back out, insisting that they would be responsible for Chad’s relapse if they didn’t let him sleep. The doctor arrived just as Todd shoo
k Chad awake.
“It’s time to get up, man. Gotta get on the road.”
He tried to respond, but the doctor interrupted. “Still determined to leave?”
“Have to. I’m sorry.”
“Let’s check your temperature.” Ignoring the nurse who stood ready to do her job, the doctor checked all vital signs, inspected Chad’s wounds, and helped Chad out of bed, watching him walk around the room. “Well, I’d be more comfortable with another night or three, but as long as you keep a close eye on the wounds and your temperature, unofficially speaking, you should be good. I can’t release you though. Liability and all.”
“I understand. Give me the forms or whatever, and let’s get this show on the road.”
It took Chad longer to dress to leave the hospital than he’d ever spent getting ready for anything. As much as he despised flip-flops, he was grateful that his mother had considered the easiest thing to put on his feet and sent them. Todd drove Chad to his truck and drove from the city, each keeping an eye out for anyone who might be following.
The temptation to speed had rarely been stronger. By the time he was out of the city and onto the highway, Chad was ready to lie back down and go to sleep. As he passed the rest stop, Chad struggled to open the packet of Tylenol and failed. He pulled over, wrenched it open wincing at the sharp pain it send through his chest, coughed, and downed the pills before Todd could reach his side.
“You ok, man?” Todd had his door open before he could nod.
“I’m fine! I just couldn’t get the packet open without pulling over.”
“Well, if you hadn’t had your phone shot into you, you could have called.”
Chad groaned. “Oh man, I’m going to need a new phone.”
“I’ll take care of it. Just get me your info and I’ll go in. I’ll come out on Monday with it. You can’t leave the house again before then anyway.”
By the time they entered Fairbury, Chad shook with exhaustion. Each mile from Fairbury to home seemed like ten. He flashed his lights at Todd just before he turned into the driveway and then let the truck coast down the first part of the drive until it reached the climb up into the yard.
Late Sunday night, Willow once more sat on her porch swing wearing another camisole set and feeling cool and refreshed. Her hair was wet as she brushed the tangles from it and braided it into her familiar braid. One bare foot pushed the swing back and forth, as she swayed in the night air. Portia lay with her head resting on Willow’s belly, and Willow scratched behind her ears, singing her favorite Argosy Junction songs softly.
The past few days had been strange. Despite years of living alone, she had become accustomed to having Chad stop by, calling, having half the small chores done before she got up in the morning and leaving her free to do other things. Without him, it felt lonely—empty. She missed his arm around her as she slept and hearing his heart beat when they curled on the couch together. She missed hearing about Aiden Cox’s latest prank or a strange serenade from one of the transports to Brunswick.
More than anything, however, she missed hearing him praise her. The giant tomato in her greenhouse was gone now—taken away by Jill. Chad would never hold it and tell her how amazing it was. She had yarn ready to dye, but she’d waited for him to bring the Kool-Aid that her instructions called for. She needed to hear that what she was doing was appreciated.
Just as she stood to go upstairs and try to sleep, headlights turned into the driveway from the highway. She walked slowly to the first step and wrapped an arm around the porch post straining to see into the night. The headlights were gone now. In a few seconds, they’d flash over the top of the hill just before they illuminated the house and yard.
It was Chad’s truck. He was home. Everything would be back to normal now. Willow smiled as she skipped down the steps to greet him as he shut the truck door behind him.
Chapter 118
As Chad climbed carefully and slowly from his truck, Willow skipped down the steps, forgetful of the camisole and shorts that, while cool and comfortable, covered little. He watched her hurry toward him and laughed as she raced to hug him. When she realized how little she wore, she’d be mortified.
Unexpectedly, she flung herself into his arms kissing his cheek. “I missed you! I can’t believe how much I missed you. I mope—” His sharp intake of breath and the way he clung to her stopped her mid-sentence. “What’s wrong?”
“Just help me inside, lass. I’ve got quite a story to tell you, but I need some water and my head feels fuzzy.”
“Chad! You’re really—” His wince as she wrapped her arm around his back stopped her. “Is there anywhere I can touch you?” The moon moved from behind a cloud, lighting Chad’s face. “What happened to you? Your mother just said that you’d been detained.”
“That’s all I let her say. Get me inside and ignore my pain will ya.”
Willow brought him pillows, a glass of water, and remembering how much he liked Sprite when he was sick, she hurried out to the summer kitchen where she’d stashed a few cans the last time she’d been at the store. He laughed as she brought him a glass of icy cold Sprite, groaning at the pain that laughter caused.
“I knew I’d be better off at home. In the truck, there’s a plastic bag on the floorboard. I need the bottle in it please.” In Willow’s eyes, he looked horrible as he clenched his hand tightly around the end of a pillow as though holding on with everything he had.
Willow found the bag and a stack of discharge papers that looked similar to the ones she’d brought home from the hospital the previous summer. With both in hand, she hurried inside opening the bottle of painkillers as she did. She read the instructions carefully and then handed him one tablet. “It says take with water.”
He swallowed his pill and dutifully drank the water she shoved at him before sinking back into the pillows, exhausted. “I really didn’t think it’d be that hard to drive home. The traffic wasn’t anything to speak of; the highway was reasonably empty. I don’t know why I’m so beat.”
Willow bit her lip. She wanted to demand that he tell her what happened and why his face held several stitches, one close to the corner of his eye. However, the memory of his wince as she’d hugged him, the pain etched in his face, and the bandaged hand tinged with fresh blood near the thumb stopped her. She’d have to learn a little patience.
“Where are the questions, lass? I’ve been waiting for you to pounce.”
“I thought you might like to rest. You’ll tell me when you’re ready. I don’t want to be a pest or worse, that dripping wife of Proverbs.”
He found her hand with his good one, squeezing it gently and then reaching carefully to pull her closer to him. “Aw, Willow, but that’s what I love about you. Yes, you drive me crazy sometimes, but I love that you’re just you. What you see is what you get. There’s no guessing if you’re seething inside or miserable, because you let it all out, and I like that.”
“Even when I get stubborn and refuse to do things everyone else’s way just because it’s everyone else’s way? I seem to remember school being an issue, wedding choices being problems, and—”
“Even then. It’s what makes you, you. You could be less obstinate about things perhaps, I won’t complain about that, but I’d miss your input if you quit giving it—or demanding it.” He winked at her over the top of her head.
“So,” Willow began now unable to contain her curiosity any longer. “Just what happened?”
“Well, first of all, I know who told that reporter about Steve Solari.”
“Robert Beiler? Who?”
Chad nodded, toying with Willow’s braid as he talked and moaning that he wished the horrible throbbing in his hand would go away. “Lynne Solari herself. Robert mentioned something about an ME with the coroner’s office who kept an eye out for certain names, and your mom’s was one. So, they did some digging, found that ME, and from what we can put together, Lynne knew about the rape before Steve. She either didn’t tell Steve Jr. what she knew, or t
hey made the plan together for him to go to his father and ‘hide’ it from Lynne.” He hesitated, searching her eyes for something before he added, “There is an evidence trail that inches in the direction of Lynne being the one to order the hit on Steve Jr.”
“She killed her own son?”
“Not right away of course, but when he just got worse and worse, it is interesting that he dies in a knife fight when Steve Jr. had never owned any kind of weapon. He liked his fists.”
Willow swallowed hard, pain filling her until she pursed her lips, trying not to let them tremble. “He certainly used them on Mother.”
“I thought I read about bruising so I assumed…”
“I saw the pictures she took of herself. They’re horrible.”
Chad stared at her, shock masking the pain that had covered his face. “I didn’t know about the pictures.”
“I saw them once as a child. They’re in the attic in a box of papers in a sealed envelope. I was looking for some kind of picture of grandparents or aunts and uncles—I wanted to know more, and Mother had no more to share, so I spent an afternoon when she was in town going through all of the boxes I could find.”
“What did you find?”
Sadness wove through her voice, choking her. “Those pictures. Once I found them, I put them away and quit looking. If that was the kind of thing I was going to find, I didn’t want to know. I understood why she’d chosen our life, and I think that was the day I fully embraced it for myself.” She took a deep breath exhaling slowly. “I’d always loved living here, but seeing that made me reject the outside world much as Mother already had.”
“But you didn’t. You asked us to come back and on that very first day. How—”
Her hand crept up by her neck where he toyed with her braid and curled it around his fingers. “I don’t really know. I just saw you three going out the door and felt so terribly alone. You were all so nice to me. It seemed like maybe the police were safe.” A sob caught in her throat. “In just those brief few seconds, I imagined day after day without hearing another person’s voice, without ever getting a hug or laughing with someone, and I panicked.”
Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Episode 16 Page 6
