Past Forward Volume 1 (34 page)

“It’s me.”

“Hey, you ok?”

“I think I understand now. I’m glad you told
me. I don’t want to leave anyone with the impression that I—” She
paused. “I mean it’s kind of embarrassing, but it would be worse if
I—”

“Goodnight, Willow. I’ll come out Friday
afternoon when they drop off the sheep.”

She didn’t disconnect the call. He waited
for it; she’d never hesitated before… “Chad?”

“Yes.”

“Are we ok?”

“We’re just fine, Willow. We’re just
fine.”

“Night.”

He punched the off button, and gripped the
steering wheel even harder. He had loved how untainted she was by
what the naysayers called the “real world.” His job, even in a
small town like Fairbury, gave him constant access to jaded people
in the so-called real world. However, tonight’s fiasco was proof
that there was something to the argument. To be as sheltered as
Willow was and then tossed in with the rest of humanity, cold
turkey…

That was the difference, he realized. Even
people who were over-protective and semi-isolated their children
didn’t usually die before those kids had a chance to spread their
wings. They still had a safe place to land if they couldn’t hack
it.
Lord, if I ever have kids, I want to find a balance between
Kari’s model and the “throw ‘em to the wolves” mentality. Both
sides have their strengths. I want to blend them—somehow.

Chad consulted his cell phone and compared
it with the street sign. Last Street. Original. He turned onto the
street and drove into the half-circle driveway. He’d been there
once before—back when Luke wanted to buy it. He hardly recognized
it; the old place looked wonderful. The memory of Luke’s excitement
over the potential in it washed over him as he realized that his
cousin was doing it after all.

Children spilled from the front door, dashed
around corners, and seemed to drop from the trees. He inched his
truck forward, praying that no child emerged from the center of the
driveway. From a wicker settee on the porch, his Aunt Libby waved,
calling out a greeting. That was unexpected. The Sullivans were
certainly integrating themselves into this family.

“Hey, Aunt Libby! Where’s Luke?”

“You get over here and give me a hug; show
some manners.”

He grinned at the sternness she interjected
into her tone. No one was gentler than his mother’s sister—or more
firm. Aunt Libby grabbed him, hugging him fiercely before she sat
next to a girl. His training kicked in as he extended his hand and
introduced himself.
Brown hair, five four or five, hazel eyes,
about twenty or so. Probably the oldest of those kids.
“I’m
Chad, Luke’s cousin. Nice to meet you. Just came to get some
advice…”

The girl smiled up at him and said, “The
Sullivans are great at advice, aren’t they? Any time I have a
question, I call Libby.” Her eyes roamed over the children who
raced past, watching them with care before she added, “I can use
all the help I can get with my little clan.”

“Well, I’m sure your aunt or is it cousin?”
He frowned. “It’s aunt, isn’t it? Anyway, I’m sure she’s doing a
fine job. She must appreciate your help as well.”

An amused smile played around the corners of
the young woman’s lips. “I’m Aggie. I’m the aunt. It’s just me and
the kids except for when Libby and Luke are around—well, and my
friend Tina is a great help too.”

Chad sputtered. “I—”

Libby took pity on him and intervened. “Oh,
Chad really. It’s a natural mistake. Aggie has a very young face. I
think Luke’s—”

“Right here.”

The front door opened and Luke emerged with
a baby strapped to his back and covered in paint splatters.
Surprised, Chad watched as Luke’s eyes immediately sought Aggie.
Not until he seemed satisfied that all was well with her did he
unbuckle the backpack and help pull the little tyke from it. Chad
raised an eyebrow at his aunt who countered it with a slight jerk
of her head.

So that’s the way the wind blows,
he
thought to himself.

Luke started to set the baby next to Aggie,
but the sight of needles and scissors checked him. “I think I’ll
find Vannie—”

“I’ll take him Luke,” a small voice
insisted.

Behind him, Chad saw a little girl with dark
braids and a gentle smile, arms outstretched to take her little
brother. She didn’t seem big enough to carry around a baby, but
Luke handed her the child. His cousin’s eyes followed the girl
around the corner of the house and smiled. Chad quirked an eyebrow
at Luke, the silent question hanging between them.
Isn’t she a
bit young for that?

“
Ellie is a responsible
girl. She’ll take good care of him.”

Eager to avoid insulting everyone around
him, Chad tried to change the subject. “Let’s talk
gravestones.”

His heart sank into his stomach as his poor
choice of phrasing registered. He backpedaled, but Luke took a step
toward the front door. “Follow me.”

Children seemed ever-present. Outside,
inside—did one really just disappear into the stairs? The two
little girls from Uncle Zeke’s farm raced around the kitchen,
screaming. Luke picked up one, looked deeply into the child’s eyes,
and then set her down. He grabbed the escaping counterpart and
nodded as if to himself. “Cari. Enough. If you want to run, do it
outside.”

“But—”

“The step. Sit there until I’m done.”

The child looked ready to protest, but
something in Luke’s face stopped her. With a droop to her shoulders
and bottom lip that tore at Chad’s heart and made him wonder if
Luke’s was now made of ice, the child shuffled out of the kitchen
and over to the staircase.

“Man, Luke—”

His cousin’s eyes stopped him cold. “Do not
undermine me, Chad.”

“They just lost their—”

“We either talk headstones or you go
home.”

Luke sketched as Chad described what he had
in mind. All around him, evidence of Luke’s skill proved that he’d
come to the right place. The cabinets—he’d never seen anything like
them, but the careful attention to detail screamed “Luke.”

“I can do this. I’ll get some kiln-dried
teak and oil it well. It should last forever. It’s simple enough
that it shouldn’t take long.”

He’d fought his next question. Despite his
resistance, he heard himself ask, “Is there any way that I can
help?”

Luke’s eyes slid sideways for a moment and
then back to the paper. The unspoken question was clear. “No, Luke.
Nothing like that. She just has no one, and I’m almost the only
friend she has. I think it’d mean more to her if I helped.”

“Uh huh.”

“Luke…” A note of warning coated that single
word.

One of Luke’s maddening silences followed.
Chad repeated himself, but still nothing. Just as he was ready to
demand some kind of response, Luke shook his head. “I said
nothing!”

He had one more question—one he hoped
wouldn’t create more trouble “Willow—do you think Aunt Libby would
like to meet her?”

“I don’t see why not, but why?”

In between interruptions as Luke directed a
child here, or reminded the little one—Cari—to stay “there,” Chad
described his awkward discussion with Willow. “I just think that
she’s going to be starved for affection. Maybe with a woman in her
life—someone motherly…”

“I’ll ask Mom.”

“Thanks. I’ve got to go. I’m on early
tomorrow morning, and I didn’t sleep much last night after that
discussion.”

As Chad stepped outside, Luke muttered,
“I’ll bet.” He turned to blast his cousin, but little Cari’s voice
stopped him.

“Wuke…”

“Coming.”

“Can I get up now? I won’t wun. Weally!”

Chad watched from the side window as Luke
hunkered down on his heels before a penitent but mischievous little
girl. “You go confess to Aunt Aggie, and we’re good.”

“Do I have to?”

“You have to.”

The impish child paused halfway to the door
and looked back to see if Luke was watching. “Wuke?”

“Yep.”

“Sometimes I don’t wike you vewy much.” She
continued to the door before Luke called her name.

“Cari?”

“Yeth?”

Chad smiled as he saw Luke cross the room,
hunker down, and smile into the little girl’s eyes. “I’ll always
love you
very
much.”

I bet you will,
he thought to
himself, smirking as he jogged down the steps and waved goodbye to
the ladies.

A summer storm rolled into the Rockland area
on Wednesday night. Willow pulled Willie into the barn, much to the
delight of Roxie, Tib, or Greta—depending on Willow’s preferred
name choice at any given second. In the pasture, she led “Dinner”
to the corner of the field and convinced the cow to enter a section
with a gate and a three-sided shelter if the animal chose to use
it. The chickens, she left in their coop. It was dark by that time,
but she lit a few Coleman lanterns and hurried to the garden with
buckets. Though she preferred picking for Jill on Thursday nights
and Friday mornings, Willow decided to do it before hail or tornado
arrived and flattened it all.

She worked for hours in the wind and driving
rain. Small hailstones pelted her for a few minutes, but to her
relief, didn’t last. Her feet sank into mud as she worked. Soaked,
tired, and anxious to get out of the wind and rain, Willow carried
buckets and baskets of produce into the summer kitchen, filled the
fridge, and carried the rest down the cellar stairs. “Hot shower,
here I come!”

The steady drumbeat of rain on the roof,
combined with the weariness that follows a hard day’s work,
provided the best sleep she’d had since the “horrible morning.” She
awoke on Thursday to a steady downpour. Her garden work was out of
the question. She milked Wilhelmina, apologizing for the
incarceration with an annoying puppy, and let the dog outside. The
pup made for the back porch as if expecting to be allowed inside.
“Tuff luck, Antsy.” She stared at the bouncing ball of fur as she
approached the house. “That one almost works. Will it fit when
you’re eight and lazy?” The pup’s eyes seemed to dance with
exuberance. “Maybe if you were one of those little dogs. Mother
said those things are hyper until they die. I wonder how she
knew.”

Eggs, sausage, biscuits from the oven now
that the day was cooler with rain—it was a rare summer treat. She
sopped her biscuit into the last of the gravy and frowned at the
leftovers in the pan. She knew how to cook for two—one not so much.
With a sigh, she grabbed Mother’s bowl and dumped the rest in it,
setting it outside for the pup. “It’s too bad Chad didn’t stop by.
I could have given it to him.” The dog stared at her before turning
back to the bowl and wolfing down the last few bites. Once licked
clean, Willow carried the dish into the house and washed it and the
other dishes.

That sparked a new idea. Friday was
housework day, but since she couldn’t do the day’s work, she’d do
tomorrow’s. She scrubbed the kitchen cabinets, wiped down the
walls, pulled the curtains from the window. The small woven mats in
front of the sink and stove, went into a pile by the back door. She
pulled two new ones out, smiling weakly at the memory of she and
her mother taking turns reading aloud as the other wove. Tears fell
as one more familiar thing twisted her gut. Sobs shook her
shoulders. She gripped the counter as she realized that it was yet
another thing she’d never do with her mother.

Frustrated, Willow brushed aside her tears,
choked back the next sob, and carried her cleaning supplies to the
dining room. She oiled bookcases andthe dining table with the extra
leaves they only used for cutting out large pieces of fabric. As
she worked, Willow heard herself asking her mother about it when
she was a little girl.

“Why do we have three tables, Mother? We
don’t even have enough dishes for three tables. Why don’t we have
more dishes? If we had more dishes, we could wash them once a
day!”

“We don’t have more dishes for that very
reason. I had four of everything before you were born. I could go a
whole day without washing dishes and still be able to eat
breakfast. So, I put the extras away.” Mother’s hand cupped
Willow’s chin, stroking the little cheek with her thumb. “I will
never forget how excited I was when I pulled out a second set for
you. I was happy to wash two of everything three times a day after
that.”

“But the tables—”

“What about them? Mother ran her fingers
along the edge of the dining table as she spoke.

“We have one in the kitchen, we have this
one in here—we never use this one—and the one in the living room
we
could
use.” The unspoken words hung
between them. “
—
if you’d let us.”

“I know you think it would be exciting to
eat at that table, but it’s just a table. We have a kitchen table
and a dining table. The living room table is for writing.”