“I’m glad no one thought I took those things voluntarily.”
“Well we certainly didn’t think Willow gave them to you!” the chief teased, before growing serious again. “If you hadn’t gotten too much of that stuff, we’d never have questioned anything. It was just good enough to look the after effects of a head injury, but when they found that puncture—”
“How did we catch him in the first place?”
While Frank Varney recounted the story of Ben’s capture, Chad listened closely. “He was moving clothes?”
“Yep. I had her repeat her statement several times. Was sure she was explaining it wrong or something.”
Chad recounted events to keep them straight. “So for several weeks, Ben comes around, kills her animals, moves things around in her house—why? Then we catch him and he refuses to talk at all. Then he’s killed on the way to processing in Brunswick—why? Finally, why make it look like an accident? Why risk me remembering something?”
“Well, the doc says with the dose you had, remembering anything is pretty slim.”
“Why risk killing a cop with an overdose then?” Chad demanded.
“You almost can’t overdose on R2, but it can make you extra vulnerable to other things.”
Chad’s mind whirled. “Ben’s working for someone, gets caught, gets killed by someone else working for someone—”
“What was the name of the guy who paid off Willow’s mother?”
“Solari.”
Chief Varney’s face paled, turning even his red nose a sickly white.
Willow held Aggie’s wedding invitation and weighed it against the different papers in the store. After half a dozen places, she still hadn’t found what she wanted. Frustrated, she turned to Marianne and sighed. “I won’t find what I want, so I’ll make it. I want a few hundred sheets of watercolor paper.”
“We have precut cards and envelopes—”
Marianne shook her head, laughing. “Willow doesn’t work with ‘premade.’ Thanks anyway.”
They left with two boxes of paper—watercolor paper for invitations and linen paper for envelopes. Marianne laughed as they loaded the car with her purchases. “Did you see that man’s face when you bought paper to make your envelopes?”
“Let’s go eat. I’m hungry. Where do you suggest?”
As Marianne drove to a restaurant, Willow discussed options for the invitations. Through lunch, they discussed dates and food, but both women avoided the dress discussion. Willow really wanted to see what was available in wedding gowns but thought that she should wait for Cheri and that meant another week or two.
At last, she couldn’t stand it any longer. “How many people do you think buy their wedding dress the first time they go looking for them?”
“I don’t know, but I doubt it’s very many. There are so many styles and body shapes and finding the two that fit together is probably time consuming.”
Curious, Willow asked Marianne about her wedding dress. “What did yours look like? How long did it take you to find it?”
“I wore my mother’s dress. The basic style was the same as every dress I tried on, but mom’s was prettier so I chose hers.”
A glint formed in Willow’s eye just before she took her first bite of sandwich. “So, if most people don’t find their dress the first day, would it be thoughtless of us to do a little looking before we go home today? Even without Cheri?”
“Yes!” Marianne exulted pumping her fist in the air. Willow wasn’t sure what the gesture meant, but she was fairly certain that they’d be dress shopping within the hour.
Bridal Aisle was Rockland’s “Chinatown,” but for wedding paraphernalia. For three blocks, seventy-five percent of the businesses directly catered to the wedding trade. The Agency, Rockland’s exclusive wedding planners, bridal shops, caterers, bakeries, stationers, gift shops, and even a wedding chapel all made their home on Oakland Drive.
They decided to take the stores in order, but Willow saw “Kari’s Bridal” and strode across the street. “I have to go.”
Willow joked that the store looked like a snowstorm. White gowns were displayed on mannequins in the center of the store, and all along the walls, padded hangers hung dresses of every size and style in elegant rows. “Wow.”
A woman greeted them as they entered but left them to wander around the room for a few minutes before she offered her help. “Do you have a date?”
Willow shook her head. “Not yet. Probably May.”
“That doesn’t give us much time. Do we have a budget?”
“Am I supposed to?” Willow countered.
“Of course not. Some people have to stick to a budget, and I like to know what I’m working with before I make suggestions. I’m Kari, by the way.”
“This is Marianne, my fiancée’s mother, and I am Willow.”
“How unusual for the mother of the groom to bring you shopping,” Kari said, with an expression that clearly wanted to know more.
“My mother died this year.” Willow paused. “That’s actually why I came in here. Her name was Kari too.”
Kari murmured a polite, “sorry for your loss,” before she launched into her generic tour of the boutique. “Well these,” she swung her arm in an arc indicating the dresses on the mannequins, “Are what I call ‘the twelve.’ They represent the basic shapes that I carry at any given time. You have the evening gown look, the princess…” Kari pointed at each dress in succession as she described it. Then, to Marianne and Willow’s surprise, she asked, “Which of these dresses do you not care for?”
That question was easy. Willow didn’t like the mermaid shaped gowns that fitted tightly and flared at the bottom or the evening gowns that looked like nightgowns rather than dresses. The rest, however, she found pleasing, although she was still unsure as to what interested her most.
“Well, we can ignore this section of the racks then,” Kari explained. “Where is the wedding?”
“My home.”
“Outdoors?”
Willow nodded and pointed to the gown Kari had described as ‘Grecian inspired.’ “Do you have something like that but—um—different?” She blushed as Kari chuckled. “I’m sorry, that must be the most annoying question. I like the fabric and the way it flows—chiffon is so beautiful—I just don’t care for the one sided strap look.”
“Why do you go get undressed in the fitting room and your—Marianne and I will bring you similar gowns. What size—”
“It depends on the chest. I’m small everywhere else but at least one size larger in the chest.”
Marianne wiped away a few tears as Willow appeared in her first gown. The strapless bodice obviously made her very uncomfortable, but she was beautiful. “It’ll need alterations— whatever dress you choose even if it isn’t from me. You have the perfect Barbie figure or at least the figure they try to give an illusion of.”
“I want some kind of strap or sleeve. This is uncomfortable.”
“Well, she knows her own mind. That is a relief. You don’t know how many brides come in here thinking they know what they want but in reality are clueless. And that just cuts the dresses left in about half.” Kari pulled a few dresses from the racks putting most back as she did. “I assume long sleeves for an outdoor May wedding are out?”
“Definitely.”
The second dress everyone liked. It was pretty, feminine, and well suited to Willow’s personality and features, but she shook her head after a few turns at the trio of mirrors. “I love it. It is beautiful. It’s just not right. If I don’t find anything else, it’ll work, though.”
She tried on dress after dress, twirled around the shop in them, and rejected each one. Most were beautiful, several Willow liked, but she sensed that Marianne was waiting for her to find the one dress that said, “buy me,” so she kept changing dresses. “I could get used to walking around in yards of fabric. Now I see why Alexa likes her clothes. They make you feel beautiful simply because you’re wearing them.”
Ma
rianne pulled a gown from the rack that she’d replaced several times. The ice blue accent sash would clash with the wedding colors, but after a dozen or more dresses, she knew it’d be exquisite. “Try this on. I know the color is wrong, but it’s so beautiful.”
“I could easily replace that with white silk or satin. I like it.”
Before Kari could comment, Willow disappeared into the dressing room. “That comes in ivory, white, and blue. She can just order it a different color.”
Willow’s voice called for Marianne’s help from the dressing room. “It’s another one of those lace up the back things.”
They all agreed the gown was Willow. It wasn’t just “a good choice” for Willow; it was Willow. “It feels a little formal, but then they all do.”
“I love the dress, the way it fits you, it hardly needs adjustment.”
Kari shook her head. “No, look,” she insisted and pulled the sides in for a more fitted look along the sides to the waist. “It needs to be altered but—”
“How long does it take for them to come in once they’re ordered?”
Willow’s head whipped back and forth between Marianne and Kari. She hadn’t thought of ordering. “Order?”
“These are samples, Willow. They don’t sell the samples,” Marianne explained.
“Well, with alterations, it’d be twelve weeks minimum.”
“What about without?” Willow asked nervously. If the dress wasn’t available, she’d make one a lot like it.
“Eight to ten weeks.”
“Buy it.” Marianne’s voice cut through the boutique.
“Do you think?”
“You don’t have time to think, Willow. To get it here in time for you to alter, you need to buy it now.”
“What about Cheri?” Willow hedged.
“We’ll get to go shopping all kinds of things. She’d feel terrible if your dress didn’t make it because you waited for her to go shopping.”
Hesitation choked her. Willow wanted to purchase the dress and didn’t want to look for another one, but she didn’t feel comfortable leaving Cheri out of the process. She knew instinctively that Cheri would want to share this time.
“Can you call Cheri? Ask her to come here?”
“She’ll know about your engagement.”
Nodding, Willow started for the dressing room to retrieve her phone. “It was her idea— she should know. I’ll call Chad.”
The phone rang several times before Chad answered. “Your mom and I went to look for dresses after we found the paper—”
“Dresses! Really?”
“I found the dress. I have to order it now if it’ll be here in time.”
She could hear the grin in his voice as he said, “Order it.”
“Cheri. She should be here. She should give her opinion.”
“Call her.”
Relief flooded Willow’s voice. “I’m really glad you said that because your mother is calling her as we speak.”
“You know me too well already. I should be afraid.”
“I just got a thumbs-up from your mom. I think that means Cheri’s coming.”
“I wish I could be there.”
“I’ll bring a picture home,” she promised.
“I’ll be waiting for it.”
Silence hung between them for a few minutes. “Hey, Willow?”
“Yes?”
“Are you in your dressing room?”
She thought she knew what was coming next. “Yep.”
“Can you take a picture of your reflection in the mirror and send it?”
“I can do better than that. I’ll get your mom to take one.”
“Don’t,” he protested. “She won’t understand.”
For several minutes, Willow tried to get a picture of the dress but failed to get a good one. “Well, that’s the best I can do. Your mom’s calling. I need to go.”
“Bye.” Chad clicked open the picture and smiled. “I can’t wait to see it in person,” he murmured to himself.
Steven Solari’s pocket buzzed. He glanced at the name on the phone and answered. “Yes.”
“I thought you would want to know; there’s a party going on in a bridal boutique on Oakland.”
“Bridal?”
“I got a picture. I’m sending it.”
The picture on the screen alarmed him. “Who’s the one holding the sides?”
“Kari.”
“What!” Blood rushed to Solari’s temples as he drew rapid breaths.
“The owner of that store. Don’t know her last name but she’s Kari something.”
“Why is she trying on wedding dresses?” Solari swore. “That cop! It’s gotta be that cop.”
Tyler didn’t like the sound of Solari’s voice. “What do I do?”
“Nothing. Make sure she gets home ok, and see if she buys it or if she’s just looking for something else for that ball. This has color on it so maybe—”
“Yes sir.”
Steve stared at the phone in his hands. Tyler had disconnected the call before he could hear any more. Steve grinned. Tyler knew that to stay in Steve’s good graces he had to follow orders and hear nothing he wasn’t intended to hear.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Friday Willow awoke to a house all to herself again and enough work to keep her busy for weeks. She hadn’t felt so wonderful in ages. Seedlings sprouted in the greenhouse, chicks grew in the barn, and invitations blossomed under her fingertips.
Several hours into her day’s work, she pulled out her mother’s journals to make sure she hadn’t missed anything during her week of company. Her mother’s February lists were now incomplete with the work in the greenhouse, and she’d missed the hallway scrubbing but otherwise, she was almost caught up and it felt good. By Monday, she’d be on track again.
Chad found her upstairs hanging clothes in the hallway just before lunch. She stood in the middle, pulling the lines through the pulleys as she hung her sheets, towels, skirts, jeans, and personal items. “Hey, grab some pins and go to work!”
Without thinking, he reached into her apron pocket, pulled out a handful of clothespins, and then stared at them for a minute. Had it really only been a few months since he’d helped her bring in her clothes and felt too awkward to put her clothespins in her apron? “So, what’s on today’s agenda?”
“I thought I’d finish hanging these, and while they dry, I’ll take a walk upstream. It’s always so pretty this time of year, and I haven’t had a chance with that man…”
“Is that something you prefer to do alone or—”
“Usually. However, I might be persuaded to invite a certain someone if he’d finish the laundry so I could check the bread.”
“Gimme the apron,” Chad demanded. “Don’t want any overcooked bread.”
She dumped the apron in his hands and jogged down the stairs. The scent alone told her the bread would be perfect—and it was. Willow dumped the pans on cooling racks and rubbed butter over the top crusts. The scent—oh how she loved the scent of fresh baked bread. Combined with venison stew, there wasn’t anything better on a winter’s afternoon.
She ladled stew into bowls, buttered hot rolls, and set the table.
“Chad! Lunch is ready…”
Upstairs, Chad leaned against the wall, allowing the sound of her voice to wash over him. Something in the way she called—perhaps the familiarity with it—warmed his heart. Such a natural thing—a call to a meal—and yet, it was a picture of a life to come. Twenty or thirty years in the future, Lord willing, she’d be calling him to a similar lunch on a similar winter’s day. Maybe there’d be children in the house. Would she call all of them at once or would she call his name first?
His heart constricted and his throat swelled at the thought. Would she? Like his mother, would she call him before children? Memories of tearing through the house, racing through the kitchen to the dining room, and bumping into his parents as they snuggled by the stove. That first call for his dad always felt co
mforting somehow—a subtle reminder that in her affections Dad came first, even before her children.
Ten, twenty years down the road, would he be first in Willow’s affections? Would their children know that? He glanced at the doors at the end of the hall. Would they have children? They had to have children—somehow. This world of Willow’s was too wonderful not to continue through the lives of children who would love and appreciate it.
“Hey.” Willow’s voice startled him. “Did you hear me call? This can wait. Let’s eat while it’s hot.”
Chad set the down the basket and followed her downstairs, still dreaming of pigtailed little girls and boys with hair in their eyes and frogs in their pockets. “Willow?”
“Hmm?”
“Have you thought about children?”
A sharp intake of breath sent her bread down her windpipe. Coughing and sputtering, she shook her head. “What?”
“I guess that’s a no.” Chad took a bite of his stew and suppressed the sigh that tried to escape. He wanted that little girl.
“Well, you’re right. I haven’t thought about children—not for a while anyway.”
Chad’s eyes brightened as he glanced back at her. “So you have considered children?”
“Well, I always thought I’d have a couple of boys, but sometime after mother died, I realized I’d have to have a husband for that, so I put the idea of children out of my mind.”
After a short struggle to find the right words, Chad scooped up a spoonful of stew and commented as casually as he could manage, “I was just thinking how your childhood should be repeated. Children should live this life.”
She watched him work his jaw as he chewed his food and tried to avoid eye contact. Did he think she’d refuse to have children? She hadn’t thought of it yet—not since being engaged anyway. Pregnancy, childbirth—horrible things. How similar would her experience be if she were to—Willow swallowed hard at that thought. Childbirth. She wouldn’t be alone. That had to be an improvement right there. No, the real problem came long before childbirth. Rising panic washed over her.
Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Episode 11 Page 2