Past Forward Volume 1

by Chautona Havig

  At two in the morning, Chad drove by Willow’s farm as he returned from a transfer to the Brunswick jail and saw lights in nearly every window. He drove another quarter mile before he whipped the car around. Oil lamps all over a house with only one person home made him nervous. He called Judith at the station. “Something’s wrong there. If it’s a police matter, I’ll call back. Otherwise, if you don’t hear from me in ten minutes, mark me officially off duty. I’ll drop off the cruiser as soon as I can.”

  Wilhelmina greeted him as he exited the vehicle. Willow’s silhouette in the front room moved rhythmically causing him to wonder why she ignored the pained cries of her goat. His knock brought no response. Willow continued whatever she was doing without a pause.

  Chad knocked on the door again as he opened it. “Willow? Are you ok?”

  A breeze blew in behind him fluttering her sleeve against her arm. Willow looked up, startled to see him. “Oh Chad, you scared me!” She pulled something from her ears.

  “I saw the lights and considering the time, I thought I’d stop in. Wilhelmina is out there pitching a fit.”

  Her shoulders drooped and she stood resolutely. “Oh I forgot about her. I was asleep and something woke me up. I wasn’t ready to get up, so I put in plugs and went back to sleep. I guess I forgot to take them out.”

  “You look beat. Go get yourself something to eat, and I’ll take care of her.”

  “She’s going to get mastitis if I keep this up.”

  “Just get yourself some kind of dinner. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Willow followed him through to the kitchen and handed him a stainless steel milk pail. “Have you ever milked a goat?”

  “Cows on my uncle’s farm every summer. I figure it can’t be all that different.”

  Chad tipped his hat at her and hurried out to the goat. He found the animal hungry, thirsty, and with very swollen teats. As he milked, the goat voiced her misery and disapproval between every bite of alfalfa from her trough. By the time he’d finished, she curled up in the corner of her pen and fell asleep almost immediately.

  Inside the barn, he hurried to the kitchen, strained the milk, scrubbed the pail, and after waiting what felt like an eternity for it to heat, poured boiling water over it. The milk he bottled and then refrigerated.

  Willow had returned to her spot on the sofa. Her knitting tossed aside, she stared out into space as though in a trance. “Willow.”

  Her face snapped in his direction. “Huh?”

  “Your goat. She either has or is coming down with mastitis. You’ve got to pull yourself together or find someone to take her. You’ll feel terrible if you let her get sick.”

  “I know—”

  Chad’s voice grew stern. He hunkered down on his heels in front of her and forced her to meet his gaze. “No. Don’t say what you think I want to hear. I know you’re hurting. I know it’s hard to concentrate, and I know you have more work than you can handle, but you also have responsibilities. Let the garden die. Buy food at the store. Sell the goat, give her to a 4H kid; I don’t care. But you can’t check out indefinitely. Feed the animals and yourself. Make sure you both have comfortable beds and plenty of water. Forget the rest if you want to, but do that much or I’m going to call Mrs. Varney and have her come give you what for.”

  Fire filled Willow’s eyes for a moment and then extinguished as though dashed with water. “You’re right. I just don’t want to do anything.”

  “Sometimes we have to do what we don’t want to do, Willow. Do it. I’ll call you if it’ll help.” Even as he said it, Chad’s mental feet kicked in a cranial tantrum of epic proportions. He didn’t want to call and remind her. He wanted out of this scenario. For good. Every time he thought he had a chance at disappearing, Chad tied himself a little closer to the Finley farm.

  He closed the door behind him and started for the steps. The night was strangely quiet. The chickens, Wilhelmina, and the cow slept. He heard a bullfrog croak and the cicadas sang in the trees but something was missing. He opened the door, peeked around the corner, and asked, “Where is Othello?”

  “I haven’t seen him, but I didn’t leave the house all day…”

  “I’ll take a look around. If I don’t find him, I’ll let you know so you can look in the morning. G’night again.”

  Though he called for several minutes, Othello never barked or whimpered. He didn’t come running. Eventually Chad gave up and climbed into his cruiser. He was beat and ready for bed. He beeped his horn once as he whirled the vehicle around and sped down the driveway toward the highway.

  Near the corner of the east pasture, he stopped. Something near the grave moved in the beam of his headlights. The sight of that dog lying on the fresh mound of dirt formed a lump in is throat. Chad swallowed hard and punched Willow’s quick dial number, not allowing himself to think about the irritation of having her on quick dial in the first place.

  “Willow, I found him. He’s out with your mother. If he isn’t home in the morning, he’ll need food and water. You have to make an effort.”

  Her voice sounded stronger. “I’ll be fine. I just gave myself a lecture on what Mother would say about irresponsibility towards our animals. Thank you. Good bye, Chad.”

  The line went dead. As he turned onto Main Street and pulled into the police station, Chad mulled the significance of goodbye vs. goodnight and the irritation that came as he realized that goodbye was much too final for him at this point. I don’t need the complications. Why do I even care?

  Chapter Six

  She saw the cruiser from the flowerbed and ran to assure Chad she was fine. He’d been so kind, so concerned; she didn’t want to impose on him any more than necessary, but it wasn’t Chad. Nervousness washed over her as Chief Varney exited the vehicle.

  The chief’s face looked grave. Had some other terrible thing happened? Did someone else die? But who could— Maybe her grandparents or an aunt or uncle. She still hadn’t had a chance to write them and thank them for their attendance. What if her procrastination had cost her that chance?

  “Miss—” Her expression stopped him. “Um, Willow, can we talk for a minute? I have the M.E.’s report.”

  It took her a moment to remember what M.E. stood for. Medical Examiner. They knew how Mother died. Willow swallowed hard and beckoned him to come inside the house.

  In the kitchen, she pulled a piece of ice from the icebox, chipped pieces into a glass, and filled it with water. She handed it to Chief Varney, her hands shaking as she did. Did she want to know what happened? He looked so grave. What if it was hereditary? That’s why they did the autopsy in the first place, wasn’t it?

  “You know how she died then.” Chief Varney looked out of his element. “Can you just tell me please? All of this waiting is making me nervous.”

  For the next twenty minutes, they discussed the aneurysm that killed Kari Finley in her sleep. Chief Varney acted surprised by her knowledge and understanding of the blood bubble that exploded at the base of her mother’s brain. Willow, on the other hand, fought the pain of the memory of her mother’s terrible headache that last night. They’d both assumed it was a migraine.

  “I should have known—I could have walked to town for an ambulance. We could have had a cell phone like Chad bought me. They are private. Why—” She briefly choked back her sobs. “I’m sorry— I—I—” She fled the room. Chief Varney listened to her feet pounding up the stairs and a door slamming behind her. For the first time since he’d met her, Willow Finley acted like a normal and grieving young woman.

  Outside, Chief Varney glanced up at the window, his heart twisting with the heart wrenching sound of Willow’s grief. He had to do something. She was so very alone. No one should have to walk this valley alone.

  He remembered Chad. The boy had forged a friendship of sorts with Willow. His lips twisted into a wry smile. Ironic—it was ironic how the kid who couldn’t handle her when she reported the death was probably the only one who could help her deal with it no
w.

  He reached for his phone. “Hey, Tesdall. I’m out here at the Finley place. I gave her the M.E.’s report and she’s taking it kind of hard. Blaming herself. You’d better get out here.”

  “Me! Why me?” Chad’s voice was almost a whine.

  “That’s an order son.”

  Life isn’t fair. Life isn’t fair. Life isn’t… The words replayed themselves through his mind like a scratched vinyl record on Uncle Zeke’s turntable. They continued to taunt him as he turned down her driveway and parked at the corner of her house.

  His usual place. He shouldn’t have a usual place. His truck had worn a path in the grass around the edge of the yard. He started to curse the chief and stopped himself. The last thing he needed was more trouble with the Lord.

  As he stepped from the cruiser, Chad heard Willow’s cries falling from her window. “Why not me, Lord? Why!”

  He took a deep breath. Why not indeed! His gut wrenched. How callous could he be? He wouldn’t want Cheri alone with no one to comfort her, loaded with false guilt. He’d want someone—anyone, to be there for her. You know, Lord, I’m pretty sure I’ve avoided the ‘here I am, Lord, send me’ prayer, but apparently You chose me anyway. Remind me to cultivate gratitude sometime. Right now, I’m just praying for the grace to get through this. Again.

  Inside, Chad called to her as he climbed the stairs. “Willow? I’m coming up. The chief—” He paused. It wouldn’t be a good idea to tell her he was only here because the chief ordered him.

  “He mentioned you were hurting.” At the top of the stairs, he saw her face as it peeked out her door.

  “Go away.”

  “I can’t.” He didn’t dare say why.

  “Why not?”

  “She would ask,” he grumbled to himself. “We’re all concerned about you. Let’s go for a walk. Talk to me.” Yes, please talk to me so I don’t have a chance to blow this, he silently pleaded.

  The door shut. He stared at it wondering what to do next. Should he wait downstairs? Take a drive, check the Mighty Aphrodite for early drunks, and then come back? Had she eaten today? Should he make her something to eat? What was it about Willow that had him constantly fussing over her to eat anyway?

  She reappeared mid-thought. Without a word to him, she crossed the hall and disappeared into the bathroom. Water splashed in the sink giving him encouragement that she’d be down soon. He practically fled to the porch, but remembering the chief’s words, he retraced his steps into the house and strode into the kitchen for a glass of water.

  She found him there minutes later, her face freshly washed, eyelashes still wet, but whether from washing or crying he’d never know. “Drink.”

  “You’re bossy.”

  “You need some bossy right now. Drink.”

  She smiled. It had worked. You never knew with women. You could try for an innocent joke and some women treated it like an insult of mammoth proportions.

  They walked along the trees to the oak where her mother’s grave was still littered with wilted and dried flowers. “It hasn’t been a week.”

  He was confused. It had been longer—Realization dawned. It hadn’t been a full week since the burial. He had a hard time calling the short service a funeral. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

  “You’re kind to come out here like this. It was my understanding that men didn’t handle tears very well. Mother used to say that men are allergic to them.”

  “Everyone needs time alone to grieve, Willow, but no one should have to do all of their grieving alone. I don’t like tears any more than the next guy, but I dislike the cause of them even more.”

  A glance at her face surprised him. She’d been crying all the while. Tears streamed down her face and left trails on her t-shirt. Somehow, the grief hadn’t reached her vocal chords yet. Torn between the natural inclination to comfort and a deep desire to run, Chad stood there, hands stuffed in his pockets, nearly looking as miserable as she felt.

  Her hand wiped her eyes impatiently. Then came a sniffle. Irritably, she glared at him. “Don’t be nice to me. I can’t take it.”

  “I can’t just be mean so you won’t cry.”

  They sat at the foot of her mother’s grave, Willow weeping. Her arms rested on knees drawn up to her chest. Her hair fanned around her shrouding her from his sight. She wept freely, the silence punctuated by occasional sobs. Chad, unable to help but even less able to leave, awkwardly patted her back occasionally and murmured worthless attempts at comfort.

  “Someone has a serious case of the grumps,” Judith Crane commented knowingly.

  Joe glanced up from a report as Chad slammed his ticket book on the counter. “Something wrong, Chad?”

  “…just a glorified babysitter. Can’t wait to get to Rockland and do real police work,” Chad muttered under his breath.

  Joe’s eyes met the chief’s as Varney peeked around his office door to see what the fuss was. “Tesdall, you get that Finley girl taken care of?”

  “Yes, the babysitter did his job. He didn’t tuck her in and give her a sucker for being good, but hey, he’s learning. They didn’t teach him—”

  “That’ll do, son.” Chief Varney ran a relaxed station, but he didn’t tolerate disrespect.

  “Sorry,” he muttered as he hung the cruiser’s keys on the keyboard and clocked out for the day.

  As Chad tore from the parking lot, the remaining officers and the chief stared at one another, shocked. Chad was such an even-tempered guy; they’d never seen him like this. Joe and Judith exchanged glances as the chief disappeared into his office, chuckling. Unfortunately, neither of them heard the chief murmur, “The boy’s fighting something. Oh won’t Darla love this.”

  Chapter Seven

  “So Chad’s bringing her? Is something going on there or what?” Shannon Dougherty stood with the rest of the movie group, waiting for the box office to open.

  “Not that I know of,” Martinez loved being the center of attention. “He just said—” Carlos Martinez jumped and stuffed his hand in his pocket retrieving a buzzing cell phone. “I hate that vibrate thing.”

  Seconds later, he snapped it shut and turned back to Shannon. “I guess not. He thinks she’d find Beau Geste a little too sad right now. He’s taking her to that Alcott one tomorrow.”

  “Alcott?”

  Eden pointed to the poster near their group. “Yeah. She’s the lady who wrote Little Women. They made a movie out of one of her other books, Eight Cousins. It’s about some kid whose parents died and her uncle has to raise her. That’ll be cheerful.”

  “I feel sick.”

  Chad stared in horror at Willow before he realized that she was not discussing the quality of the movie. Eyes closed, Willow had her hand clapped over her mouth as though the gesture would make a difference. He stared at the remainder of the popcorn in their bucket and tossed it on the floor at their feet.

  “Here, use this.”

  As though permission was all that’d held her back, Willow lost her refreshments. The half-empty theater gave them some privacy but not enough for them to be able to sit still and wait for another wave of nausea. She wiped at her mouth with a napkin and then tossed it in the bucket.

  “I’ve got to get rid of this or everyone else will get sick. Should I get another bucket?”

  “Can we leave? I’m afraid it’ll happen again. I don’t know what is wrong with me, but I don’t want to get everyone sick.”

  Chad nodded and navigated his way down the row of seats to the aisle. He saw Willow stand, take a step, and then collapse into the seat he’d just vacated. He took a step toward her, saw the bucket, and realized he probably needed a fresh one. Immediately.

  Just outside the theater door, a trashcan tempted him, but he resisted. He disposed of the contents of the bucket in the men’s room, tossing the bucket in the garbage, and raced for the concession counter begging for another bucket. “My friend is sick—”

  “You’ll have to buy an extra-large popcorn if you want a bucket.�
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  “I just need the bucket in case she throws up again! Do you want it all over your floor?”

  The pimply faced teenager shook his head solemnly. “Nope, we wouldn’t want that, but I have to charge the full price of an extra-large popcorn, or I can’t give you the bucket.”

  “What about a large drink cup?”

  “Nope,” the reply came before he’d finished speaking. “I have to charge for those too.”

  “I should just let it splatter your floor and see how your customers like it!”

  “Well, I don’t have to clean it up, but I don’t think it would be very nice to do that to the girls. They’d probably be pretty grossed out.”

  Tired of arguing, and praying that he wasn’t too late, Chad shoved another six dollars across the counter and waited impatiently as the kid punched buttons, smoothed bills, faced them all the same direction, and finally closed the drawer. As he began to wash his hands, Chad lost his patience. Again.

  “I don’t need clean hands, I need the bucket!”

  “I can’t handle popcorn after I touch money. The health department is very particular about that.”

  Chad reached ineffectively across the counter for the bucket in the boy’s hand. “I don’t want the popcorn. I just need the bucket.”

  “Oh, I have to give you the popcorn; you paid for it!”

  “But I don’t want it!”

  Patiently, as though speaking to a very young child, the teenager explained cinematic protocol. “It works like this. You pay for the popcorn; I give it to you. You didn’t buy a bucket; you bought a bucket of popcorn. If I don’t give you what you bought, then I get in trouble with the boss. You could pitch a fit and get me fired for not giving you what you paid for so I gotta give you the popcorn!”

  “Fine! Then give me the popcorn!”

  Chad knew what was coming the minute the metal popcorn scoop hit the golden kernels. “Do you want butter?”