Past Forward Volume 1 (33 page)

However, as she reached the grill, the wind
snapped her sheets behind her. “Ugh,” she groaned to herself. She
left the steaks on the grill and hurried inside for her laundry
basket. Smokey sheets weren’t her idea of a refreshing night’s
sleep.

Chad whizzed down the highway, pealed onto
her driveway, and sent a cloud of dust around his truck as he
ground to a stop. His truck door slammed behind him, and he jogged
around the corner of the house calling her name. She whirled at the
clothesline as his voice reached her.

“Chad! What’s wrong?”

“Your phone. That’s what’s wrong. I’ve been
calling all day! I was worried sick, but we’ve had trouble at the
lake. Three drunk and disorderlies, and that Kallikak kid did
another thorough TP job on the—” He stopped midstream. “Why haven’t
you answered your phone?”

Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed
the clothespins holding a pair of jeans from the line and looked
around for where to put them. When he saw her stuff pins in a large
pocket on the front of her apron, he clipped them back to the
clothesline. There was no way he was stuffing his hands in her
pocket like that.

“I got half a dozen calls before ten-thirty
this morning; it hurt, so I turned the phone off.”

“It hurt?” He finished the row, one pair of
jeans at a time, while Willow worked the next row of tops and
skirts.

At the end of her row, Willow went back
collecting the clothespins he’d left behind, and Chad started on
the next row—socks. “People who have never called before had to
call because it was my birthday and Mother died.”

Chad considered the statement, took note of
the edge of bitterness, and continued rolling sock pairs, dropping
them in the basket. Before he could respond to her, he reached an
oblong padded bandage of sorts and wondered if it was some kind of
freezer wrap for headaches. His mother had made microwave rice
things for Christmas gifts one year. A long row of them spread out
on the line. That’d be an awful lot of headaches. “What are
these?”

Willow glanced up from folding kitchen
towels. “Oh, those are pads.” Noticing he waited for clarification,
she shrugged. “You know, for my monthly.”

Red stole up his neck as he dropped pad and
clothespins both in the basket, mumbling something about getting a
drink. She finished taking in the laundry and followed him into the
kitchen. “You ok?”

Chad choked on his water wondering how his
concern for her had become her concern for him. “Fine. Fine.”

“Can you go put this up on my bed for me?
I’ll go out and fire up the grill. I have two steaks—Tessie was
supposed to get one, but I can give her left over chicken pie.”

At the top of the stairs, Chad heard her
wail and then speak sharply to the pup. “Wrong Truffle! Wrong.”

He took the stairs three at a time. In the
yard, he saw the puppy delightedly gnawing on steaks that were now
covered with a lovely layer of dirt, grass, and canine saliva. It
took all of his self-control not to snicker. “Um—plan B for
dinner?”

“There isn’t enough left over chicken pie—I
guess I’ll make sandwiches.”

“How about pizza,” Chad suggested kicking
himself. “I could call Antonio’s.”

“I’ve never had pizza—”

Chad’s fingers flew over his phone screen
before she finished. There was something seriously wrong with an
American who had never eaten pizza. She listened for a moment as he
haggled for a pizza delivered to the end of her driveway and then
carried the basket upstairs herself.

“You said something earlier that I don’t
understand.”

Willow wiped her lips and met Chad’s eyes.
“What?”

“You said all the calls on your birthday
made the day even worse. I would have thought—”

After a drink of her milk, Willow sighed,
her fingers picking at the bits of crust that were left on her
plate. “I don’t want to appear ungrateful. I do appreciate the
thoughts and concern.”

“But—”

“But it makes life feel even emptier when
everyone is trying to crowd out loss by their presence, when they
wouldn’t be so ever-present if the loss wasn’t there.” She paused,
her eyes beseeching him to understand. “You would have called—if we
were friends before Mother died—you would have called to say happy
birthday. Bill probably would have too… and maybe Chuck. I don’t
know about Lee, Alexa, and Mrs. Varney. I checked my messages when
I took the basket upstairs. Almost everyone from the Bible Study
called. My lawyer called!”

“It’s bad that people want you to know that
they’re thinking about you, praying for you, and are sorry you
don’t have the one person you want most on this day to celebrate it
with you?”

“I knew you wouldn’t understand. I know it
sounds crazy, but it’s real. The feelings are real. I’m the prayer
need of the month. Next year, most of these people won’t remember
it is my birthday much less bother to call.”

“That’s not really fair, Willow. That makes
it sound like it’s bad that they do what is right this year even
though they might fail next.”

She shook her head impatiently. “It isn’t
bad. I do appreciate it. I really do. It just has an added pang to
realize that I am in a position to need this kind of support. I
don’t garner it because of love for me but because of pity for my
situation. It may seem pathetic or selfish or wrong to you, but
it’s how I feel.”

She jumped to her feet, visibly fighting the
tears that made him feel more like a heel than ever. “I want to
swing. Come push me.”

Chad didn’t know how to respond to her. She
didn’t make sense, and yet somehow he understood at the same time.
Her solution to hating feeling alone was to turn off the phone and
be
alone. Now she wanted to wipe away all traces of her pain
by swinging. How could this possibly help?

The swing, despite his doubts, did seem to
reduce whatever frustration and grief that had gripped her and held
her captive. With each pump of her legs, he could feel the tension
dissolve, blowing away as if on the wind. How long she pushed
herself higher into the air, he didn’t know. His heart did a quick
flop as she flung herself from it, landing in the grass several
feet away.

“You’re good?”

“Yes.” She stepped close, looking for
something in his expression, but it seemed that she didn’t find it.
“Bill wondered too—thought I had hurt myself.”

“How else do you get out of a swing,
right?”

Willow sighed—the personification of
contentedness. “Exactly.”

As they strolled back to the house, she
slipped her hand in his, talking about the work ahead of her. He
stared down at it for a moment, trying not to let his discomfort
show. As they walked, Willow seemed to observe him—to watch his
movements. “Is something wrong?”

“You aren’t bothered by no moon.”

“Why should I be?”

“Friday night, I brought Bill out here. He
didn’t like it. He was nervous—even holding my hand.”

Unease settled around Chad’s heart as she
spoke. He remembered several times when he’d comforted her, held
her hand, given her a hug, patted her back. The longer he thought
of it, the more times he could recall seeing her hug Bill—and
Chuck. Chuck would be a mistake. That man couldn’t see the
difference between sisterly and flirty.

This wasn’t good. Did she have any clue
about the mixed signals the guys might get? He didn’t think she
did. Willow wasn’t a flirt; she wasn’t careless with her behavior.
The truth of it hit him. Willow Finley had no experience
differentiating between male and female friendships. She had no
experience with any kind of friendship, and she’d been thrust into
several almost overnight.

Chad knew he had to say something, but how?
He followed her back to the porch swing, leaning back in one
corner, trying to sound nonchalant. “Willow?”

“Hmm?” She sounded lazy and happy.

“I don’t know how to say this, and I
normally wouldn’t do it today, but I think it’s kind of
important.”

She sat up, alert, drew her knees to her
chest, backed herself into the opposite corner of the porch swing,
and nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Well, I just realized how warm you are with
everyone…”

“That sounds like a problem—” she began.

“Well it isn’t a problem, exactly, but since
the people you know best are men…” He wasn’t sure how to continue.
The last thing he wanted to do was give her the impression that he
misunderstood her.

“I don’t understand. I don’t treat anyone
any differently than I did Mother, except—”

“Except what?” Chad hoped she’d begun to
understand.

“Well, I don’t think I’d kiss any of you
guys. Actually, I got a little irked at Bill when he tried to kiss
me the other day. Somehow it’s not the same kissing a man as it is
kissing your mother.” She paused. “I think.”

“You think?”

“I’ve never kissed anyone but her, but
somehow men—seems more intimate. Don’t you think?”

Yes he did think. He didn’t want to think,
but he did think. “Yes. I agree. But Willow—” Could it get any more
difficult? Chad tried again. “Most guys would assume something a
little more than just friendliness when holding hands with a woman.
Any woman watching would assume the same thing.”

She didn’t respond for some time. “Did you
think I was—”

“No! I understood you, and I’m a friend, but
I know that Bill li—has started—well, he’s interested. He might
misunderstand. I
know
Chuck would. Chuck misunderstands the
meaning of thank you.”

“Chuck
is misunderstood,” she
countered hotly.

“Oooohh ho ho. Defensive. Looks like a nice
triangle!”

She stared at him blankly. “Umm you lost
me.”

“Well Bill likes you—in a friendlier fashion
if you know what I mean—you’re leaning toward Chuck, who is also
falling hard and fast…”

She stood quickly. “Whoa! What are you
talking about? One minute I have three good friends who happen to
be men, and the next you’re talking about Cleopatra!”

Silence hung between them for a moment
before they erupted in laughter. Willow gained control first. “So
what you’re saying is that holding hands with women is fine but not
smart with men—same with hugs?”

His throat went dry. “Um, well honestly,
most women don’t hold hands either. Everyone hugs briefly at times.
It’s like the modern ‘holy kiss,’ you know?”

“Holy kiss?”

“‘
Greet one another with a
holy kiss; all the churches of Christ greet you.’ Romans 16:16—got
that one drilled into my head as a kid.”

She stood, staring down at him in disbelief.
“So instead of a kiss like back then, we hug?”

Chad shrugged. “Something like that,” he
said, standing as well.

“That’s ridiculous! I can’t believe I’m
hearing this!”

His gut twisted as he tried to explain. “I’m
not trying to jump on you or anything. I just thought you should
know that someone might misunderstand.”

“You’d think that people wouldn’t make
assumptions about one another. I’d never assume any kind of special
attention just because someone showed affection.” Her hands gripped
the railing as she continued. “People need it,” she growled. “I’m
supposed to just shrivel away here without any human contact
because God saw fit to remove all I ever had? That’s madness!”

“I wasn’t accusing, and no one expects—”

Her voice grew cold and she stepped back
away from him. “I think Mother had the right idea. I think she knew
how mixed up people were. I bet someone would have accused her of
misleading that guy—” Willow choked back a sob.

The conversation died. She seemed to wait,
expecting him to leave. He wanted to explain—tried—but the words
refused to come. Feeling like a hypocrite, Chad gave her a quick
hug and left, waiting in his truck until he saw the light come on
in the living room. As he turned onto the highway, his phone
rang.