“I’m seriously perturbed if you must know. My mother is dead, if you haven’t noticed. I’m all alone as well, and, for your observation pleasure, I even lost my dog!”
“That’s a lie.”
This got her attention. “Just who do you think you are?”
“I’m your friend. I’m proof that you’re not alone. I didn’t want to b—” He stopped himself short. It wasn’t true. Not anymore.
“You didn’t what?”
“That’s not important,” he hedged. “What’s important is that I’m your friend, you’re not alone, and yes, you have every right to be hurting, grieving, angry—just not at me. This isn’t my fault.”
“I want my mother back! I can’t do this! I can’t stay here alone and do all of this alone, and yet I don’t want to leave. I just. Want. My. Mother.”
These words, Chad understood. He also knew how to help. Having a hormonal sister was a decent introduction to grieving friends. He immediately retrieved a “roll of Kleenex” from the bathroom closet, and with one arm around her, unwrapped the Reese’s with his other hand.
“Take a bite.”
“Why.”
“It’s like a kiss on an owie—it makes it all better.”
She quickly lit the lamp and stared at him, dumbstruck. Her eyes were red, swollen, and tear stained. The most callous person would have been moved. Chad was crushed.
“Owie? All better? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Take a bite.”
“I couldn’t swallow,” she choked.
Chad retreated from the room, leaving a stunned Willow staring at the doorway. When he returned, she seemed ready to attack again. “Just walk out—”
“And return with water.”
“Who asked for water?”
“Well if you don’t want to drink it,” he began, “I can always cool you off with it.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to take a bite—”
Exasperated, Willow grabbed the peanut butter cup and shoved the entire thing in her mouth. Almost immediately, she spit it back out staring confused at the paper wrapping. Chad fought to keep a smirk from his face, but it was too late. “Hush. Who wraps their food in plastic and paper?”
She handed it to him, but he backed away. “I don’t want it now. Scrape off the chocolate from the paper with your teeth.”
“What?”
“Just do it,” he said exasperated. All attempts to try to cheer her up were over. He’d tried and failed.
Tentatively, Willow bit into the chocolate, pulling the candy from the paper cup with her teeth. “Oh, this is delicious.”
She removed all traces of chocolate from the cup. Chad choked back a laugh as Willow hobbled from the bed, tossed the cup in the bathroom trash, and washed her hands. “Thank you.”
“Care to talk about it?”
“No. I don’t care to talk about it. I want to break things. I want to scream. I want to throw a tantrum. I want to rewind my life.”
“I know,” he said, feeling worthless. “I know.”
They stood in opposite places. He beside her bed feeling and looking terribly out of place, she in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb and looking pained and ready to bolt. Night breezes blew the heady scent of phlox into the room, yet still they stood.
Her voice, soft, quiet, pained, finally broke the silence. “Please leave.”
To be continued…
Alone without friends or family to comfort her after the death of her mother, Willow Finley’s idyllic life is over—and just beginning.
Follow Willow as she learns to blend her old life with the new, experiences things she’s only read about, and makes the first friends she’s ever had. Living as if in the past, her life is moving forward.
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Check out the Past Forward series TRAILER
Books by Chautona Havig
The Rockland Chronicles
Noble Pursuits
Discovering Hope
Argosy Junction
Thirty Days Hath…
Advent
31 Kisses
The Aggie Series (Part of the Rockland Chronicles)
Ready or Not
For Keeps
Here We Come
The Hartfield Mysteries (Part of the Rockland Chronicles)
Manuscript for Murder
Crime of Fashion
The Agency Files (Part of the Rockland Chronicles)
Justified Means
Mismatched
Past Forward- A Serial Novel
Volume 1
Volume 2
Volume 3
Volume 4
Volume 5
Historical Fiction
Allerednic (A Regency Cinderella story)
The Annals of Wynnewood
Shadows and Secrets
Cloaked in Secrets
Beneath the Cloak
The Not-So-Fairy Tales
Princess Paisley
Everard
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The porch swing rocked gently in the crisp air. Steaming cups of chamomile tea warmed their fingers as they chatted, huddled under a warm quilt. Willow’s head nestled into the shoulder near her ear, and she reveled in the strength and security there. It felt good to have affection again.
The anger that had held her captive in its relentless grasp during the past few weeks seemed more manageable at times like this. The day was over, the work done, and for half an hour in the moonlight with steaming cups of calming tea, Willow and Lily could talk about everything that hurt without Willow’s emotions raging out of control. She loved these times. They reminded her so much of her long talks with her mother. If only the pain and fatigue in her heart was as manageable as that of her leg.
“I don’t know what all to do. I have planned for more work next year—not less.”
Lily pushed Saige away from her feet before asking, “Why?”
“I can. I can sell everything I don’t need myself, so it’ll keep me busy.”
“Busy enough to help you forget—” Lily began, her hesitation audible. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
“Actually, it’s not that. Not really. It’s just that I’ll be doing the work anyway, so why not give Jill what she needs at the same time?”
“I’ve wondered about a few things…”
“Such as?”
Willow listened as Lily explained how interested people were about life on the farm whenever they heard about it. She told about the schoolteachers who had come to her wondering if Willow would allow a fieldtrip to her farm. She shared how encouraged she’d been by Kari’s journals and the faith that Willow’s mother obviously had. She mentioned the fruits, the vegetables, and the crafts that, while just another part of Willow’s existence, were fresh and exciting to those who didn’t live with them for survival.
“Have you ever named your farm?”
Willow shook her head. “No. We joked about it when we read Anne of Green Gables or Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, but—”
“I think that’s the first thing you should do.”
“Really?”
Lily nodded. “Yep. And then I think you should consider publishing your mother’s journals—either as a compilation of years or as an autobiography journal style.”
“Who would want to read Mother’s journals but me?”
“You truly have no idea how unique your life is; do you?”
Willow wasn’t a fool. Of course, her life was different. She lived it and saw how those around her lived. What she didn’t understand was the attraction to the novel for novelty’s sake.
“I know that I live differently. Chad made that glaringly obvious with his continual questions of why I didn’t do this or that as sacrifices to the infernal god of time!”
“Don’t be ugly.”
For a moment, Lily’s words scratched at the hardened door of her heart.
The woman—so near her own mother’s age—rarely corrected her, but of late, she had shown little patience with Willow’s latent antagonism toward Chad. Lily seemed tired of it. “Do you have any idea how often he asked me why I didn’t want to save time on this or that?”
“Do you have any idea how much of his own personal time he devoted to ensuring you didn’t lose your harvest?”
“I tried to pay him—” she protested.
“You kicked him in the gut.”
A smile spread across her face but she hid it from Lily. “Literally.”
“What?”
“I kicked him in the gut the night before—”
“Before you lost your senses?” Lily interrupted, each word laced with irritation.
“I understand Chad is your little pet, and you feel badly that I don’t worship at—”
Lily stood and moved toward the front door as if she’d rather go to bed than listen to any more. “Your anger has rotted into bitterness. You’re taking it out on the wrong person. Attack Satan with your grief—not the people who have shown you nothing but love and affection in the face of your loss.” She paused and turned back, her own emotions taking hold. “Let Jesus take these broken pieces of your heart and create stained glass art from them. Don’t use them as weapons against the people who love you.”
Tears overcame her—again. “Why do I get this way? I hate it! Why do you think I pushed Chad away?”
“Because you don’t trust him.”
Willow shook her head, watching the shadow move on the moonlit porch. “But I do—” Her voice quieted. “I think I don’t trust me.”
Lily returned, sank back down into the swing, and rewrapped the blanket around them. Willow dissolved into a fresh wave of tears. Between sobs and choking back sobs, she confessed, “I miss him.”
“Let me call.”
Her heart froze at the thought. “No.”
Chad’s shoulders slumped. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Now?”
“I thought it’s what you’ve been workin’ for, Chad. They called and asked for my best rookie. I told them that was you.” The chief leaned against his desk, both palms flat on the top as though ready to shove it across the room.
Hands stuffed in his pockets, Chad shuffled his feet. “When would I start?”
“Thirty days.”
He kicked his toe against the chair in front of him. “When do I have to decide?”
Varney sat quietly for what felt like hours. At last, he spoke. “Chad, son, it sounds to me like you already did.”
The words twisted in his gut. The decision—it could affect every hope he had for his career. He wanted to shout, “I’ll take it!” but instead he grit his teeth and muttered, “Yeah.”
Chief Varney came around the corner of the desk and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Well, I’m a little surprised, but I can’t say I’m sorry. You’re good for this place.”
As Chad stepped out of the office, he heard the chief call for Martinez. It felt like a kick in the gut. He’d worked so hard for that job. He wanted that job. But until he knew Willow would be ok…
Her words flooded his memory as he grabbed his hat and the keys to his cruiser. “No, Chad, I don’t need a ride home.”
“Come on, Willow, this is ridiculous—”
“Well, ridiculous or not, I want to walk. I can do it now, so I want to,” she argued.
“You’ll be hurting by the time you get halfway there. You’re going to overdo it—”
A crowd of people outside the church and across the street in the park overheard it and glanced their way. “Well it’s my life to overdo, isn’t it? You know, I am beginning to understand why my mother avoided people!”
He’d stepped forward, put an arm on her shoulder. “Willow, I’m sorry, but—”
“Just go away, Chad. Leave me alone. I’m tired of being your little project. I think it’s time you found a new one. I’m not interested.”
Tom Allen had stepped in and reminded her of all Chad had done to help her since her mother’s death, particularly since her accident but had only fueled Willow’s anger even further. She’d reached into her purse, pulled out a large wad of bills and tossed it onto the ground at his feet, turned, and fled weeping.
Even now, weeks later, Chad remembered the limp in her awkward gait and the anguish in her voice. When her anger and her rejection pierced deepest, her earlier words soothed. “That’s why you’re safe to attack.” Until she no longer needed someone to bear the brunt of her pain, Chad wasn’t going anywhere.
Chad felt Luke’s eyes on him as he buffed, polished, and generally avoided what both men knew; the headstones were finished—had been for days. “Chad, you’re going to wear that thing out. Just take it out there.”
“She doesn’t want it from me—not now.”
“Yes she does. She wants you to keep fighting for her.”
Chad stared at Luke with new interest. “Does Aggie flip like that?”
“Yes… well, not the same but they all have at times. Also, she has the children to hold onto. She has Mom and the church, Tina and William. And, she’s had a few more months to deal with it.”
“I’m so out of my element, but—”
“She’s alone,” Luke finished. “The aloneness strips you raw just to watch it.”
“Yes! How’d you know?” The moment he spoke, Chad felt the foolishness of his words as they knocked the wind from him. “Dumb question.”
They loaded the headstones into his truck, and Chad stood, leaning his head against his door. “How do I do this? She’ll throw me off the property—”
“Just go put it on the grave. Don’t ask. Just do it. She’ll be glad… eventually.”
The shovel pierced the ground. Piles of dirt fell beside him as he made room for the headstone. Time continued as he dug, as if the pain represented by those slabs of wood meant nothing to the rest of the world. He worked slowly, each shovelful deliberately and precisely removed before he planned the next—a pathetic attempt to drag out the process in hopes she’d come see—yield. She didn’t. Procrastination failed, he settled Kari’s headstone into place, and moments later, the smaller marker for Othello stood proudly beside Kari’s.
He sat, leaning against the tree and admiring his handiwork. Had he chosen the right wording? Was making one for Othello too much? The Finleys considered animals pets, not family. Chad shook his head as if to clear it. He had to stop second-guessing himself. The sun wrapped him in a warm cocoon, and the autumn breezes rustled the golden oak leaves above him, until Chad Tesdall fell asleep.
“Why won’t he just leave!” Willow’s fury neared epic proportions. “What is he doing out there?”
Though her leg and foot still didn’t have the strength it once did, she went about her fall housecleaning as though unencumbered, only the pain that the mirror showed around her eyes proving that the effects of the injury still lingered. She swept the attic ceilings, wiped the walls, dusted and oiled the stored furniture, removed the rugs, beat them to within an inch of their existence, and when all was spotless, covered everything up there with the roll of sheeting plastic Chad had brought her weeks earlier. Just seeing that plastic irritated her. She didn’t want it. In fact, she wanted to toss it at Chad’s head.
From the porch, she glared at Chad’s truck and nearly went crazy trying to see exactly what Chad was doing. He seemed to be sitting there at her mother’s grave, which infuriated her further. “He’s probably whining to Mother. Tattling!”
Half an hour later after dragging the rugs back up two flights of stairs (and ordering the memories of how helpful Chad had been the last time she’d beaten the rugs from her thoughts), Willow lost her patience and stormed out the front door. She called for Saige, but the dog seemed to have vanished.
Halfway across the field, Willow saw Chad rise from the base of the tree and walk toward his truck. Just before he climbed over the fence, he waved at her, paused for a response, and jumped over the fence. His truck
roared to life, and he backed onto the highway. Tires squealed as he sped away from the farm.
“Yeah. You go. Go and stay gone. Everyone needs to just go away and stay away.”
Her anger melted slightly as she saw the headstone. The handwork on it—so lovely. The carved lettering, the small cross at the top, and the well-oiled wood appealed to her love of beauty. The hand-carved inscription tore at her heart.
Kari Anne Finley
Mother * Mentor * Friend
Beloved
It was perfect, every word expertly chosen, placed, and the result was lovely. She wanted to thank him, but as seconds passed, her heart hardened again.
Darkness fell as she sat in the same spot Chad vacated hours earlier and poured out her soul to the Lord. Anger permeated her thoughts so thoroughly that she truly didn’t think she’d ever rid herself of the rage now anchored in her heart. In rational moments, she knew she was wrong, but her pain always swallowed her reason and left her even more bereft and heartbroken than ever.
Bill had called and come by several times, but with no answer to his knocks and calls, he went away again. She’d stopped answering her phone. Chuck had come by twice, but each time she’d stepped outside the door, hugged him, and told him to go home. Lee’s visits were brief. Willow didn’t care to talk, but she didn’t send Lee home. Only Lily’s visits did she welcome and greet without question or orders to leave.
She no longer went to church and knew her rare visits to town reminded longtime residents of her mother—head down and her eyes focused on the destination, never meeting another’s eyes if she could help it. Much of her adaptation to life around her was now lost in a cocoon of self-preservation—much like Kari’s.
Hunger drove her into the house. Saige’s side-swaggle walk failed to amuse her as it usually did. Her beef stew simmered on the stove, the bottom sticking to the pan but not yet burned. “That was close,” Willow muttered to herself. She glared at the Dutch oven. “It’s his fault.”
Past Forward Volume 1 Page 37
