“So the bus coming in should be full?”
He answered affirmatively before they continued up the street. Her observations never ceased to amaze him. Willow Finley was the most irritatingly unique and interesting person he’d ever met, and he still didn’t know what he thought of her.
As they strolled down the street, he kept an eye on his watch but tried to let her enjoy the sights. She’d never seen a Fairbury street fair. Considering Willow was a lifelong resident of Fairbury—so to speak—that fact astounded him. She fingered handcrafted jewelry and beautiful woodwork. As familiar as Chad had become with her facial expressions, he felt reasonably confident in knowing when something impressed, amused, or disappointed her.
Wayne Farrell at the Pettler handed her a daisy and smiled at her truly delighted expression. “Have a happy day, miss.”
“Wasn’t that kind of him? I feel like I should pay for it but—”
The florist’s delight in her appreciation reminded him of what a nice town Fairbury truly was. It was easy to forget that in the press of everyday living. “Did you see the barrel of daisies?”
“Mmm hmm.” Already, Willow was engrossed in her flower and the sight of a fruit stand.
“He gives one to everyone who passes by. It’s his thing. I even heard once that he gives twins two.”
“I’ve never really cared for daisies, but I love this. It’s bright and fresh. The ones we grew were orange and ugly. These might be my new favorite flower.”
Around the corner from the Fox, a small ticket vending machine stood waiting for her to insert her credit or debit card to purchase her ticket. “I don’t have a card. I just have cash.”
“I’ve never used the bus, but you can probably pay the driver.”
They sat on the bench, Willow growing more nervous every second. “Where is everyone? What time is it? What if he won’t take my money and I can’t go?”
Without a word, Chad stood, went to the vending machine, and purchased a ticket for her. Though he knew he couldn’t relieve all her concerns, this was something he could fix. “Here. You’re at least safe until you get there.”
Willow glanced at the ticket price and pulled her mother’s wallet from the tote bag she carried. As she reached in to retrieve the fare, Chad’s hand clamped over hers. “Not now. Who knows how much money you’ll need in Rockland? You can pay me later if you like. Keep your cash for an emergency. And tell Franklin to get your ticket home.” He glanced up and saw the twenty passenger shuttle-like bus pull slowly into the parking lot. “Call me when you find Franklin, ok?”
Willow nodded, feeling oddly like she should hug him or something. She picked up her suitcase and waited for the bus full of passengers to exit. After the last passenger stepped off the bus, she moved to climb aboard.
“Oh, and call me when you’re on your way back so I know what time to pick you up,” Chad added as an afterthought.
“I’ll do that! Thank you! I left a note for you on the table in the living room.”
She handed the driver her ticket and slipped into the first seat on Chad’s side of the bus. From the window, she waved, and as he turned and disappeared around the corner, she sighed.
“Missing him already?”
Willow’s eyes flew to the bus driver as he slid from his seat to check the bus. Her mouth opened to say no and clamped shut again. Confusion swirled through her eyes for a moment and she replied, “Yes.”
Chapter Nine
The Rockland skyline grew larger with each passing mile. Willow felt quite intimidated and nervous as she watched buildings grow from bumps on the ground to towers in the air. By the time the bus reached the Metro Travel Hub just inside the city limits, she seriously considered returning immediately to Fairbury.
She held her phone ready to dial as they pulled into the bus terminals. She watched as the Amtrak trains whizzed into the station across the way and as an airplane took off in the distance. The sheer numbers of travelers was enough to overwhelm her without the people, buildings, and of course, the taxis.
Most of the bus passengers in the station thronged to a set of escalators and Willow was swept along with them. A street musician sang a morbid melody at the corner with his guitar case open. Few people stopped to listen and fewer dropped spare change in the case.
Just as she reached the escalators, she jerked back, bumping into a woman. “Oh I am so sorry! It’s moving!”
“What do you think? Watch where you’re going!”
Stunned at the rude words and cold stare, Willow jumped back and watched as person after person stepped onto the moving stairs and disappeared into the cavern below. While she assumed that she should follow, fear welled up inside her. What was down there? Was it safe? Would she hurt herself on the steps that appeared from seemingly out of nowhere? Why hadn’t Mother ever mentioned these? She knew about elevators, of course—boxes that were pulled up and down in the walls of a building—but moving stairs?
The musician watched with a curious eye. Suddenly his tune changed, and Willow noticed the upbeat jingle almost immediately.
“…the step and you will see
Little miss just please trust me
The escalator is lots of fun
And keeps us all on the run.”
A laugh escaped before she could stop herself. The rhyme was truly pitiful. The musician shrugged and said, “I just play ‘em girl, I don’t write ‘em. Go ahead. You’ll be fine. Fine. Ok. Safe.”
He made motions that meant nothing to her. For a moment, Willow didn’t understand why he talked as if she couldn’t understand his words and then she laughed again. “I speak English.”
“Oh. Thought you were one of them tourists from places that don’t have escalators.”
Before she could answer, Bill jogged up to her and took her suitcase. “Willow! I’ve been looking everywhere!” He glanced at her briefly. “Nice dress. It’s perfect.”
Without realizing he’d interrupted a conversation, Bill led her away from the escalators. Willow glanced over her shoulder apologetically and waved, mouthing a “thank you” as she did. Suddenly, she broke away from Bill and returned to the man’s guitar case. She dug through her tote bag, found her mother’s wallet, and pulled several bills from it, avoiding twenties, fifties, and the three hundred-dollar bills she’d brought with her. With a smile of gratitude, she dropped the money in the case and returned to Bill.
“He was so nice to me. I had to do something.”
“If you drop money like that to every panhandler in Rockland, you’ll be broke in no time. This is a dangerous city—especially for women as naïve as you. Just be careful.”
“Well, I can’t give money to everyone, but I could to him and I’m glad I did.”
Bill hailed a taxi and dumped her suitcase in the trunk. Confused, Willow asked why he hadn’t driven his car. “I just assumed—”
“I never bring it down here. Crime is terrible around here, and my car is one of the most stolen makes.”
With a shudder, Willow queried, “How can you stand it?”
“Stand what?”
“Living here—like this. Where you can’t even drive the car you own because it might be stolen or vandalized or whatever else you’re afraid of.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the cab door for her and told the driver where to go. Eyes wide, she gaped at the sights as the cab drove into the heart of the city and along Massinger Avenue to the Rockland Arts Center. Adjacent to the enormous convention and theater center stood the Rockland Towers—her hotel. The taxi dropped them off near the entrance, and as Willow stepped from the cab, she froze. Bill grabbed her suitcase and gestured for her to follow, but she stood immobile, her feet firmly rooted to the cement beneath her feet.
“Come on, Willow—” Fear slowly crept over her features until Bill handed the suitcase to the bellhop, and sent it inside ahead of them.
“It’s so big. Look how tall they are! How can you breathe?”
Her shall
ow, rapid breathing caused his voice to raise a little, alarmed. “Take a deep breath.” Her attempt was weak at best. “Deeper. Slowly in, now out. Repeat. Come on, slowly. A little deeper now. You can do it.”
Willow’s breathing slowed and leveled to a more normal pace. Each second that passed showed another building—another string of vehicles in the parade beneath giant skyscrapers, as though playing the children’s game, London Bridge, and waiting for the moment when they “all fell down.”
“How—”
“Let’s go inside. You’ll feel better, I think.”
Inside, her panic slowly evaporated, and she found herself entranced by the décor. The beauty of the furnishings, the elegance of the fixtures, and the detail in the interior architecture belied the tall, boxy tower’s exterior. As she admired the frescoed ceilings, a new sense of claustrophobia engulfed her, sending her eyes across the registration desk in fresh panic.
“How old is this building?”
The desk clerk smiled and ignored the interruption to her check-in process. “The tower was built almost ten years ago. The RAC and Convention Annex is about fifteen years old. We took over the parking garage and they built a larger one across the street.”
“Is it safe?”
Bill’s eyes flew to Willow. “Safe?”
“The building. Is it safe?”
He thanked the desk clerk for her help, took the room card key, grabbed Willow’s suitcase, and led her toward the stairs. A glance at the room number stopped him. “We have to take the elevator. You’re on the eleventh floor.”
“Oh, I’ve always wanted to ride in an elevator!”
Bill led her to the elevator and punched the appropriate button. Willow glanced around her, absorbing every detail as the silver box shot upward into the hotel. He wanted to talk to her—reassure her that all was well. However, it seemed best to wait until she was safely in her room.
As the doors opened, she followed her escort through the hallway to a corner room at the end of the hall. Bill apologized as he opened the door for her. “I didn’t think about how unfamiliar all of this would be. It just never occurred—I was concerned about court, dealing with the traffic and such, but not this. I’m so sorry.”
“Is it safe? I keep thinking of the weight of several more stories above me and wonder why they don’t come crashing down on top of us.”
In an attempt to reassure her, Bill said the worst thing possible. “Well if it hasn’t fallen down in ten years—”
“But that is my point! Every year brings decay. Things get weaker! When will it all come crumbling down?”
“There are multi-storied buildings in this city that are over fifty years old. They’re still standing strong. There are stone castles several stories high that are centuries old. There is a whole science to structural engineering. You’re safe.”
Willow took a deep steadying breath and glanced around the room. “It’s a beautiful room—so large for just a place to stay overnight!”
“Come over here. Look at the city from up here. Maybe it’ll take away that closed-in feeling.”
She shook her head vehemently. “I think it would be too much.”
“What if I hold your shoulders?”
She stepped closer to the large window overlooking Rockland Boulevard. Bill stood behind her, hands on shoulders, and waited for her to step close enough to see the city. “Wow, even from up here the buildings are so tall and close. You get more sky, but there are still a lot of really tall buildings.”
She took another step and reached out to push aside the sheer coverings of the windows. Long heavy drapes hung at the sides ready to close her off from a view of the skyline at the flick of a wrist. “You still there?”
Bill gave her the slightest nudge and she touched the window lock. She leaned nervously against it to get a closer view. The street looked like a paint swipe on a canvas rather than the four-lane boulevard that it was. “Wow. That’s amazing. It almost makes you dizzy but in a neat way.”
She turned comfortably away from the window as though she’d grown up in a penthouse and wandered around the room examining furniture, testing the bed, and peeking into the bathroom. One look at her reflection in the mirror and Willow hurried to retrieve a brush from her tote bag. She turned to the room mirror and brushed out messy tendrils. “There. So now what?”
Bill glanced at his watch. “We might be a bit early, but we can get out of the cab a block or two away and walk the rest. You can get a feel for the city better if you’re on the sidewalk.”
She expected the cab to whiz through the city streets at a breakneck speed, but instead, the taxi crawled along behind dozens of other taxies and what seemed like millions of cars. It took twenty minutes to travel just over a mile. In the old town district, buildings were constructed of brick and brownstone some in neoclassical architecture. The Oakes stood strong and beautiful as a perfect example of an historic Greek revival home. Built in the late eighteen hundreds by Rockland’s unofficial founder, it was a wedding present for his youngest daughter.
Willow was entranced. As she took her seat, she sniffed the creamy roses on their table, ran one finger lightly down the vase, and caressed the butter-soft napkin as she unfolded it and slipped it into her lap. She requested water and complimented the hostess on her pink boutonniere. A string quartet played softly in one corner, and as the song changed to one she knew, Willow dropped her hands in her lap and watched them, entranced.
Behind her menu, Willow read each entrée carefully, unsure what to choose. The beef entrees did little to tempt her. She ate good cuts of beef frequently and was looking for a new experience. “Should I choose seafood or poultry? I’ve never had duck, but I read that it’s oily.”
“It is. It’s terrible actually. Well, some people like it, but I never have. I love their prime rib.”
“I wanted to try something I haven’t ever had...”
Bill set his menu aside and smiled across the table. “What is one thing you’ve always wanted to try—don’t look at the menu—but never could.”
“Shrimp or lamb.”
After a moment’s pause, he tried again. “How hungry are you?”
“Famished.”
“Order the roasted lamb with rosemary and whatever else they do to it here. I think you’ll love it.”
Without a second glance at the menu, Willow laid it aside as well and smiled across the table. “Thank you. You’re having prime rib? I don’t see it on the menu.”
“They only serve it on Saturday nights. I’m having the veal. It’s delicious.”
Their candles flickered, the roses sent occasional wafts of their heady perfume across the table, and the music seemed to dance in her subconscious self. Bill appraised Willow’s outfit with evident admiration. “That dress is lovely. I won’t ask if you made it. I will ask, however, where you found such beautiful fabric when I know you and your mother only shopped by mail.”
“Mother ordered six yards of voile for decorating her room last year. They sent sixteen.”
“Well, those roses are just amazing. I remember that fabric incident. Your mother called me from Fairbury about it. She wasn’t sure how to pay for it without them sending more fabric.”
“Right. Somehow the person who accepted the order and processed payment understood what we ordered but the cutter didn’t.”
“I’m just amazed at the cost of the fabric. It wasn’t very expensive, but that is a finely stitched design on there.”
“Oh, I did the embroidery after I finished the dress.”
“You hand stitched that entire pattern on your dress? Why? Why not just buy embroidered fabric?”
Willow had learned quickly from Chad that doing for yourself what you can pay others to do instead was almost a universal virtue in this new world she’d entered. “Because we had ten yards of the fabric and I wanted a pattern to my dress so I made it. What would we do with ten yards of voile unless I stitched it into a dress?”
Bill sen
sed that he’d touched on a sore spot. “Well I think you did an incredible job. I was impressed with your cutting skills—not a single petal cut off and all—but doing all that handwork…”
Her eyes sparkled with repressed amusement as she realized that Bill was trying to save face. The effect, enhanced by candlelight and the flush of excitement on her cheeks left her looking unusually attractive. “I never realized how lovely you are Willow.”
“Thank you. Tell me that after I’ve been milking Wilhelmina, and I might actually believe it’s something other than candlelight and roses.”
Their miniscule salads arrived before he could respond. Once finished the waiter suggested wine for their main course which Bill immediately ordered. The waiter glanced at Willow and smiled. “I’ll need to see your ID please before I can serve you.”
“I don’t have ID. It’s why I came to Rockland. We’re going tomorrow to get everything taken care of—unless you want to see my journals—no, they’re at the hotel…”
Seeing the waiter’s wary expression, Bill asked, “What can you recommend that is non-alcoholic?”
When the waiter left, Willow turned back to Bill and shrugged. “Did I say something wrong?”
“He thinks we’re buying you a fake ID.”
“Why would we do that?”
Amused, Bill explained that people often purchased counterfeit identification in order to purchase alcohol or frequent nightclubs before they were legally old enough. “Of course, people use it for serious crimes as well as things like that. Identity theft is a terrible problem right now.”
“I am beginning to understand, in ways I never could before, why Mother was so adamant about staying away from people—especially people in the city.”
Willow stood in J.C. Penney’s, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of available clothing. She held skirts that were hardly long enough to hide the most basic of undergarments and blouses that plunged lower than her custom sewn bras. On the other hand, perfectly lovely skirts in every size and color fought with complimentary or contrasting tops to do little more than thoroughly confuse her.
Past Forward Volume 1 Page 9
