Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 5

by Chautona Havig

  Just as Willow stood to take the boys upstairs for diaper changes, Becca returned. “Willow?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Make the dress. Even if you keep every single thing you own, make that dress. I think Chad needs to—” she stopped mid-sentence and turned. “Never mind. It’s none of my business.”

  “I’d rather hear it, actually. What do you think Chad needs?”

  The young woman froze, but didn’t turn. Several seconds passed in which flies tried to annoy her boys and Willow grew impatient. Just as she started to repeat her question, Becca spoke. “I think he needs to know that you care about attracting him.”

  At four o’clock, Marianne pulled into the drive and Willow carried out Becca’s dress, covered in a muslin sleeve. She waved at her mother-in-law and carried the dress to her friend while keeping an eye on her wandering sons. Marianne picked up each in turn, swinging them in an arc. Calling had been the right decision.

  Her eyes slid to the covered dress. Asking Josh to bring out some red chiffon and lining would also be an excellent decision. Yes it would. In fact, she had already imagined a slightly altered neckline for it—one Chad couldn’t help loving. Mother, you’d be amazed at what kinds of awkward things a woman will do for the right man. I’m going to put enough cleavage in that dress to make it utterly inappropriate.

  At Becca’s side, she kicked the girl’s shoe. “Weed eradication process complete. Now take this and get out of here. I expect you to spend the next three hours resting and getting ready.”

  Becca stood dusted herself off, and pulled off her gloves. “I was just cleaning up the weeds…”

  “Which you can do tomorrow. Now go!”

  “Bossy.”

  Willow nodded sagely. “That I am. It’s my job. Yes it is. Now go!”

  Three steps away, Becca turned and asked, “Is this going to be as amazing as I think it is?”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “I have no clue. I just have this feeling it’s going to be incredible.”

  Relief washed over Willow. “It is. Now go.”

  “Go, go, go,” Becca muttered as she passed Marianne. “She’s just always trying to keep me on the go.”

  “You’re supposed to be getting ready! What’s wrong with this picture?”

  Willow beamed. “Listen to my brilliant mother-in-law, Becca. She knows of which she speaks.”

  Before Marianne could respond, Willow’s phone rang. “Hey, Josh.”

  “Is it safe?”

  After waiting for Becca to step around the corner of the house, Willow relaxed. “Give it five minutes. I just convinced her to leave.”

  “Then I’m going to swing through town and grab a smoothie. Want one?”

  “Yes. I’m starving.”

  Josh laughed. “I heard you were up all night. Bet you forgot to eat. Want me to stop at The Deli and get you a sandwich?”

  Though tempted, Willow remembered the leftover roast in her icebox and shook her head. “No thank you. I think I’ll make one here. See you soon.”

  Marianne shooed the dog away as she said, “You do know he can’t see you shake your head, don’t you?”

  “Yes. It’s a habit.”

  Liam tugged on Willow’s skirt, practically jumping to get into her arms. She lifted him and nuzzled his neck. “Let’s go help me make a sandwich, little man.” She called for Lucas, but the boy chased something—what they couldn’t tell—and refused to come.

  “I’ll get him.”

  “Don’t let him get away with squawking at you. He thinks if he protests enough, we’ll leave him alone.”

  “Takes after his father,” Marianne muttered. “Chris started with the classic, ‘no’ and moved into negotiation. Cheri cried and begged. Chad just protested.”

  “Good. I’m blaming him.”

  Marianne laughed. “He’s read your mother’s journals, Willow. You’ll never convince him that you are not equally to blame for any stubbornness of will.”

  “I can try.”

  Rolling her eyes, Marianne tweaked Liam’s nose and said, “I rest my case.”

  Near a trio of tulip trees that sat out in the grasses of the far pasture, Josh and Willow worked to finish their preparations in time. While Josh unloaded the garden carts, Willow dug the first hole for the tent with the posthole digger. Each time she finished a hole, Josh came to hold the pieces in place while she hurried to set up the next one. Once assembled, the tent frame proved surprisingly sturdy.

  “You guys really do have to find someone to build these. This is just amazing.”

  “It’s pretty simple. Maybe Luke wants to teach Laird. That might be a nice side business for a boy.”

  “How old?” Josh sounded skeptical.

  “I think… he’s what, twelve, thirteen now?”

  “My parents wouldn’t have let me near power tools at that age.”

  Willow shrugged. “Who says it has to be power tools. Mother did everything she did with hand tools—or very nearly.”

  She helped Josh carry the dropped leaf table from her living room into the tent and left him to carry chairs and table settings while she went to work hanging the sheer curtains they’d made for it. “Whatever that machine you have is, these hems are amazing.”

  Josh paused and then shook his head. “Serger. Just did a rolled hem. It makes such a difference. I had all the panels hemmed in less than half an hour.”

  Willow’s arms dropped and she stared at him. “You’re kidding me! I spent six hours hemming—” She swallowed hard. “—a dress recently. I want to see how this machine works. Maybe I can learn something from it.”

  “You would—want to that is. I doubt you’ll be able to replicate it. They use like four threads at once.”

  With the curtains hung, she stood back and eyed the effect. “I don’t like it. It looks sloppy, and if a breeze comes up, they’re going to fly up into your plates.”

  “I’ll see what I can do in a minute.” Josh sat in the chair and it rocked. “I keep moving this around until I find a solid place for it, but I don’t know if I can.”

  “What about an old area rug? I have one that’ll fit in here up in the attic. It’s a bit worn, but—”

  “Perfect. I’ll pull everything back out and try to figure out how to make the curtains work better. Or do you want to do that and I’ll go get the rug?”

  The dread in his voice amused her, but Willow didn’t have the heart to laugh. “I’ll get it. By the time I explained which one I think would work, I could be halfway to the house.”

  When she returned, the rug filling their smallest garden cart, Josh had tied back parts of the panels to the posts and the others hung in straight, sheer lines on three sides. On the fourth side, he had looped the panel several times around the top bar of the tent and tied it to the bar in the middle. The panels rippled lightly in the wisp of an evening breeze that wafted across the pasture from time to time.

  “That is perfect! How did you do it?”

  “I pushed the posts down a bit further and it gave me just enough extra length to staple them to the bottom bars. It’ll be a pain to get out without tearing them, but it’ll work.”

  “How did you get the posts to go down more?” Before Josh could answer, Willow saw the digger abandoned at the side of the tent on the opposite side from where she’d left it. “You lifted that thing and dug more?”

  “Well…”

  “Don’t tell me this is too rustic for you. You’re becoming a natural already.”

  Josh shrugged. “Where’s that rug. We’re losing time here.”

  With the rug in place, very little grass remained inside the tent. The table sat in the middle and with a few adjustments, the chairs no longer wobbled beneath them. “There,” Willow said with satisfaction. “Now what do you want where? I’ll get it done and you go get dressed.”

  “I have almost two hours left. We’ve got time. Tablecloth first.”

  The incongruity of embroidered linen tabl
ecloths, fine china, and crystal in the middle of a meadow touched Willow with its heart aching beauty. She pulled out a bucket of pink and pale yellow snapdragons and started to carry them to the vase Josh pulled from a well-padded box, but he reached into one of the coolers and withdrew a bouquet of pink and ivory roses.

  “Think she’ll like them—oh.” He flushed.

  “They’re beautiful, Josh. Of course she’ll like them. What do you think about me tying these to the posts with the jute?”

  They worked in silence for a minute or two before Josh murmured, “Willow?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Thanks for not being offended.”

  “About what?” She carried the carriage lantern to the table and inserted the thick pillar candle he had purchased for it. Why her candles wouldn’t work, she didn’t know, but the faint apple scent did smell lovely next to the roses.

  “The flowers. I know you cut those especially for her. I didn’t think—”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. This is about you having things how you want them for your fiancée.”

  “To be.”

  “She already said yes.”

  Josh shook his head. “Not officially. Officially, I asked nothing, she heard nothing, she answered nothing.”

  “You’re both nuts.” She stood back. “But it is beautiful.”

  Josh carried an old crate to the corner and tucked a boom box behind it. “Can you save enough of those to cover this or something? It’ll look nice there in the corner.”

  Willow pulled several stalks of snapdragons from the tent corners and added them back to the bucket. She dug through everything she could find, but nothing seemed to work. “This bucket is too big; the bowls are too small… I need a pitcher. I’ll be right back.”

  “Can you bring a few washcloths too? I just realized that something is likely to spill. It always happens.”

  At six-thirty, she and Josh stood inside the tent, glancing around them to ensure they had forgotten nothing. He had not left out a single detail. Candles, music, décor—everything looked out of a magazine. She pulled her camera bag from the cart and took dozens of shots—most of which she expected would be worthless. “If I can just get one or two really good ones…”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  “Are you sure she won’t mind me here taking the pictures?”

  Josh shook his head. “I’m sure. You’ll be subtle, and I intend to monopolize her attention.” He winked. “And if I don’t, maybe her ring will.”

  Dismay flooded her heart. She’d seen that ring. How Becca would be able to do any real work with something like that sticking up on her finger, Willow couldn’t imagine. “She’ll love every bit of effort you’ve put into all of this. What woman wouldn’t feel cherished?”

  He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a larger jeweler’s box than she expected. “I got this to go with her ring. Do you think it’s silly? Will she understand or—”

  Willow opened it and smiled at the thick chain nestled in the bottom of the box. “That is a great idea!”

  “I couldn’t afford gold—not that thick—but I thought silver would work with the white gold—since it’ll be worn inside her shirt most likely.”

  “You’ve almost thought of everything.”

  Josh’s head whipped up as he stared at her. “Almost?”

  “You’ve forgotten one important thing, but other than that…”

  “What’s that?”

  Her eyes traveled up and down his filthy, sweat-stained body. “A shower.”

  Chapter 169

  The camera and a note sat on the kitchen table as Chad came in that evening. His disappointment in not seeing Willow waiting for him took him by surprise, until he remembered how little sleep she had gotten. The note was brief.

  Chaddie,

  Look at the pictures before you come to bed. You won’t regret it. I got two or three that even Wes wouldn’t be ashamed to show! It was beautiful. And yes, she did say yes—again. Smart girl.

  Thank you for letting me sleep this morning. I tried to stay awake tonight, but I couldn’t.

  I love you,

  Willow

  As he ate the reheated enchiladas from Rosita’s, he smiled at the recollection of his mother’s call. “Chad! She forgot dinner—completely forgot. She just stared at me and said, ‘I didn’t make anything, plan anything—nothing. I have no idea what to fix.’ It is probably the first and last time in the annals of Finley women forgetting to plan or follow one, and I thought you might enjoy it with me. Now what should I get to bring home?”

  Willow forgetting to make dinner. The only advantage was Rosita’s shredded beef enchiladas. He couldn’t imagine it. Still, as he ate, he scrolled through picture after picture after the second one that he thought looked print worthy, he grabbed a notepad and paper from the windowsill and began writing down numbers. The angles told him she’d spent most of her time on the ground, crouching or kneeling. One showed that she had climbed a ladder to angle down at them. However, their eyes meeting the camera lens told him it would be the last.

  How they had managed to create such an elegant “room” in the middle of a field, he still couldn’t imagine, but the tent frame had worked well. In fact, it looked so nice that he suspected he should show it to Luke. Someone should take the design and run with it. “And I thought it would fall over…” he muttered as he took another bite and switched screens.

  Six shots, almost identical, preceded the presentation of the ring. After several that looked like any snapshot, she had leaned forward precisely the right amount at just the right time and captured Josh’s hopeful expression and Becca’s excitement. “I know what she’s going to say, Lord. She’s going to say, ‘I can’t believe he looked even a bit uncertain. She already said yes!”

  Monday’s beat took on a new rhythm. Stroll the streets, slow down traffic, pass out a couple of speeding tickets, arrest a shoplifter, and watch Aiden Cox as he— Chad stared at the boy, confused. No helmet. No knee pads. No skateboard, scooter, or bike. However the kid did spend a lot of time checking out parking meters and running in and out of stores.

  Each time Chad started toward the boy, something interrupted him. The emergency alarm at The Fox went off when two kids started fighting in the middle of the latest epic fantasy movie. Apparently Warden’s forces were cooler than Fydrok’s—unless you talked to the “Drokers” who preferred the Fydroks.

  Still he stepped outside again in time to see Aiden dash around the corner and into the bank. He’d been there twice already. A meter near him showed expired. Chad wrote a ticket and slipped it under the windshield wiper and moved on to check the next.

  A man stepped out of Bookends, protesting. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Writing a ticket for an expired meter.”

  “Since when does Fairbury have meters?”

  Chad tried to keep his demeanor as pleasant and calm as possible, but inwardly he wanted to scream, Even the Rockland news stations have talked about it. Where have you been? Instead, he pointed to the meter, to the parking signs, and repeated the prepared statement Varney had given them. “There have been notices in the papers, on the news, and signs posted for weeks. If you object to the fine, I’m sure Judge Waller will be happy to listen to your grievances.”

  “That’s ridiculous! I—”

  In an attempt to diffuse an unhappy citizen, and to be able to follow Aiden Cox on his next mission, Chad leaned forward and interrupted. “Sir, it is not the official position of the department, but it is my personal opinion that you will find the judge very willing to dismiss first tickets. They don’t want to antagonize citizens. They’re just trying to pay for another officer.”

  The man’s bluster fizzled. “I guess that makes sense—not that I like the meters— but forgiving the first ticket, I mean. This is what I get for taking a year to visit my cousin in New Zealand.”

  Aiden raced around a corner, capturing Chad’s eye. “I think I’v
e got a boy who needs something to do. Can’t call it loitering, but he’s up to something.”

  “That Aiden Cox? Man, he’s grown. Still fighting the helmet?”

  Chad laughed. “No… not today anyway. But he’s been running all over the place. I can’t figure out what he’s up to. Seems odd, though.”

  “Well, at least he’s out there doing something. Most kids his age seem attached to a screen of some kind.” The man—one Chad couldn’t name—shoved his hand in his pocket for a quarter and came up empty. “Man, I’ll have to start carrying change now.”

  Before he strolled toward where Aiden disappeared from sight, Chad fished out a few quarters from his pocket and popped them in the meter. “Just feed one for someone else sometime.”

  “And that’s what I like about living here,” the man called after him. “Small town atmosphere is highly underrated.”

  Two more hours passed before things settled enough for Chad to be able to watch Aiden. He had tried following the boy, but where a kid could run down the sidewalks, for an officer to do it would create a general protest. At last, he hid himself behind a large shrub at the corner and waited. Within seconds, the boy appeared and began scanning the meters. He paused at one, glanced at the car, and continued. However, the next one he stopped at sent him running. He dodged in and out of several stores until he went into the hair salon and didn’t come right back out again.

  Time ticked past at an obscenely slow rate. Chad couldn’t see the meter, but it had been close to expiration when he had passed. Fran wouldn’t like having to pay for a ticket. Torn between the desire to see what happened with Aiden and the feeling of obligation to help prevent Fran from getting a ticket, Chad inched his way around the shrub. Aiden flew out of the salon and plopped three quarters into the meter.

  That seemed odd. Then again, Fran lived on Aiden’s street. It was nice of the boy to warn her. Still, he seemed a bit obsessed with those meters. Just as Chad stepped out again to talk to the strangely good Samaritan, Aiden paused before a car that Chad vaguely recognized. It parked in the same spot of the parking lot at the church—every Sunday. He just couldn’t identify it. However, apparently Aiden could.