“You to know how much I appreciate it. Thanks, Brad.”
At four, Willow finally dragged herself from the bed, grabbed the instructions, and padded toward the bathroom. Chad barely stirred. Though woozy from lack of food and fuzzy from too much rest, Willow felt nearly well. She grabbed test number two and reread the instructions carefully. Instructions for saved urine seemed easier so she retrieved a pint canning jar from the pantry and followed directions step-by-step.
The clock never moved so slowly. As the thought flitted across her mind, Willow realized that it was also a strange thought. How would she know? She’d read the comment repeated times and finally understood the meaning in more than a theoretical sense, but the fact of the matter was, she rarely noticed the passing of time unless it was one of those odd occasions when she realized that something was unusually swift. This was the opposite feeling. If it could go any slower, time would cease.
Finally, the clock in Mother’s room insisted that ten minutes had passed. She picked up the test and examined it carefully. In the “control window,” a nice bold line stood out from the damp background. In the “results window,” nothing. She wasn’t pregnant. Chad would be so disappointed.
Laying the test on the sink where he could see it and tucking the instructions behind the faucet for easy reference, Willow crept slowly downstairs, out the back door, and sat on the porch whistling softly for Portia. “No baby, girl. I couldn’t imagine so soon, but then again, when we bred Dandy, it only took the once so…”
Portia rested her head comfortingly on Willow’s leg. Together, woman and dog, sat on the back porch of Walden Farm, and while the woman imagined life with a tiny baby, a toothy toddler, or an inquisitive child, Portia slept dreaming of chasing butterflies that turned into steak. Or at least, that’s what Willow assumed.
Chapter 114
Being as observant as most males, Chad’s hands were washed, dried, and he was on his way out the bathroom door before he glanced at the back of the toilet. The test was gone. He hurried into their bedroom and eyed the bedside tables, but nothing was there. Back to the bathroom, he glanced in the trash and found the wrapper but no instructions and no used—the test at last.
Comparing instructions to test, it was obvious to Chad that the test was negative. Disappointment washed over him. He’d been so sure. Why was she so sick if she wasn’t pregnant? Willow was never sick and had little opportunity to catch anything anyway. The sound of the back screen door banging softly against the doorjamb told him she was up and dealing with her own discouragement.
She sat on her heels stuffing the stove with wood and mumbling something under her breath. “You’re awake.”
“I think we’re a pair of geniuses. I was just about to make the same observation.” Chad’s heart constricted at the pain in her eyes, but he didn’t move closer. “Lass, it’s not the end of everything. There’s always next month, or the next, or even next year or so.”
“You were so excited…” She reached for another handful of kindling. “It feels like I failed—”
Chad’s hands, on their way to his pockets in his characteristic frustrated stance, reached for her instead. “Oh Willow, I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to feel like that! I jumped the gun. I’ve never seen you sick so I just assumed—”
“But I’m late. I am sure of it. Normally I don’t pay really close attention, but your mother said something about our wedding date needing to fit around it, and I wanted to surprise you so—” She buried her face in his shoulder.
She sagged in his arms limply. “I’m dizzy…”
Chad hoisted her over his shoulder and carried her to the couch. “Put your head between your legs and breathe normally.”
“What happened?” Her voice was a little weak and confused.
“You said you were dizzy.”
“That’s right.” She glanced back up at him but shoved her head back down between her knees. “I want to lie down.”
As he rolled the quilt from the back of the couch into a ball, Chad began thinking aloud. “Maybe you’re dehydrated. Have you been drinking enough?”
“I’ve not been able to keep much down, if you’ll remember.”
“I wonder if I should take you into the clinic…” His voice trailed off in the general direction of his thoughts as Chad considered their options.
“Maybe,” she said obviously feeling better having lain down, “you should consider getting me something with which to hydrate myself first. Water works.”
Absently, Chad poured her a glass of water and brought it back, stuffing a straw in it as he handed it to her. “Drink up.”
“It’s stuffy in here.”
Her complaints brought a smile to his face. Willow must be feeling better if she noticed stuffiness of all things. While she rested, sipping water and resting her eyes, he threw open all of the windows, knowing that with the coming storm, he’d just have to close them again later. “Is that better?”
“I smell a storm.”
“Yep. The forecast is for heavy winds, rain, and possibly hail.”
“Hail?” She sat up abruptly looking visibly woozy. “It gets cold in here when it hails. We’ll need more wood for upstairs tonight.”
“I’ll get it. You rest.”
“Can you open the windows up there too? The breeze just before a storm smells so good…”
With shades drawn to keep the sunrise from slowly filling the room with sunlight, Willow crept from the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Downstairs, she opened the front door and groaned at the sight of her front yard. Tree branches littered the grass; one large one had crashed through the porch railing, and some of her flowers were battered beyond recognition.
Chad opened the back door an hour later to find the chickens pecking at the seed in the yard, Ditto in a freshly cleaned stall, and Willow dragging tree branches behind the barn. As he watched her, his hands found their way into his pockets and the crease between his eyebrows deepened. She looked tired—exhausted really. Every move, every step looked labored.
He hurried inside, filled a glass with water, and brought it out to her. “I’ll finish that one; you go sit on the steps and drink up.”
“But—”
“Lass…” His tone was one he’d only used once before—when he’d ordered her from his parents’ house that winter.
“I’m going, I’m going.”
She sat long enough to empty her glass and then pulled her gloves back onto her hands and started pulling debris from the flowerbeds. They worked for another hour. Chad detached the railing from the house and dumped it in the back of his truck. “I’ll go get another one later.”
“I’m hungry.” Willow sank into the porch swing exhausted, weak, and thirsty.
“You,” Chad called as he went inside for the couch quilt, “you need your rest. I’ll go get a new rail top and be back in no time. I’ll grab something for us to eat on my way back.”
Willow pointed at the empty glass and promptly fell asleep. Chad refilled it, set it on the ground next to her, and watched her sleep for a moment before he jogged to his truck and drove toward Brunswick. His watch told him he had just enough time to get there, get the materials, and get it fixed before he had to change for work.
His phone rang. “I just left you sleeping!”
“I heard the truck start. Listen, I was thinking. Can you get me some red exterior paint?”
“Red?”
Her impatient voice snapped back, “Yes red. You know, the color of tulips and candy canes?”
“Whatever for?”
“I really loved Aggie’s door, but I thought I couldn’t have one because the screen would hide it. Why go red if you can’t see it, you know?”
Chad nodded absently. “Ok…”
“Well, if I paint the screen, I get that bright and cheerful door after all. A gallon will probably be too much but it’ll be good for touch ups.’
“Red. Got it. Anything else?”
She smile
d to herself. “Do you remember last summer when I had a bad day and you brought me some chocolate thing?”
A grin spread slowly over Chad’s face. “I do indeed.”
“Can I have another one?” She hesitated. “I promise I won’t eat the paper this time.”
“You can have a case of ‘em.”
Willow smiled to herself. “That’s ok. Just one will do. Thanks, Chad. I’m going back to sleep now.”
“Sleep on the couch; it’s more comfy.”
“That’s your opinion,” she argued. “Nothing beats nostalgia on a June morning.”
She was still sleeping as Chad pulled slowly into the yard. He pushed his door shut gently, grabbed the grocery bags from the back of the truck, and crept past her to the back door and into the house. He set the table with bowls, spoons, and a gallon of milk. He filled glasses of orange juice, fried bacon in a pan on the stove in the summer kitchen, and then crept out the front door to wake her.
“Willow, breakfast’s ready.”
“Wha—”
“I brought home breakfast. Come on, the bacon is getting cold!” He shook her shoulder glancing at the empty glass of water. At least she’d taken hydration seriously.
She dragged herself off the swing and followed him clumsily into the kitchen. “I am so tired.”
Chad looked at her sharply. Dark circles beneath her eyes made her look as though she hadn’t slept in days. “You look it.”
“Ever the flatterer—what is this?”
“Cereal smorgasbord! I bought all of my favorite kinds and the one Mom likes.”
“Frosted Mini-Wheats, Cocoa Puffs, Lucky Charms, Fruit Loops, Cap’n Crunch Berries, and Wheaties? Let me guess, your mom likes Wheaties. They just sound closer to real food.”
He shook his head. “Nope, she likes Cap’n Crunch. I think it’s gross, myself. I got the berries because I think it makes them more edible.”
“What’s with the milk? We have plenty—”
“Well, your milk is good, for goat’s milk that is, but cold cereal was designed for cow’s milk. It’s like eating pizza without the sauce.”
As he spoke, Chad filled his bowl with Cocoa Puffs and smothered it in milk. She reached for the first box, poured a tiny bit in the bowl, poured milk over it and took a bite. As she chewed, she read the box ingredients, glanced over the packaging, and then closed it. “Lucky Charms are gross. Tri-sodium phosphate? I use that to clean.”
“Then your insides will be clean.”
She picked up the Fruit Loops box and repeated the scenario. At the end of her buffet of cereals, she pronounced Wheaties the winner with Frosted Mini-Wheats a close second. “The orange juice was really good too.”
She rinsed her glass and poured half a glass of milk as she reached for a cold slice of bacon. “I love bacon. Mother would bring it home sometimes, and the butcher usually brought us a pound of it with the cow if Mother remembered to ask.”
She took a drink of milk and nearly choked. Chad’s expression was priceless. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s awful! It tastes like— like, some kind of chemical. I don’t know how to explain it but it’s almost dusty tasting or something. Ew.”
Chad quickly poured him a glass and took a large swallow. “Tastes great to me.”
“Oh, that is just—ew.” She watched fascinated as he guzzled the rest of his drink and then poured the rest of hers into his glass. “Here, finish mine then.”
She stared at the boxes of cereal on the table. “Do you realize how many boxes we have? It’ll take forever to eat all of this!”
Chad grinned. “But think of the fun we’ll have.”
As much as she wished she felt the same, Willow was dismayed to think of many more breakfasts with cold and dry cereal growing soggy before she could get to the final bites. She shuddered inwardly just thinking about it. Carrying the boxes to the pantry, she set them on a shelf at eye level so she wouldn’t forget about them. It’d be wasteful to let them get stale and inedible no matter how appealing the idea seemed.
She sank into her chair and reached for her glass. Willow sighed as she realized she’d have to rinse it again before she could fill it with water. Chad noticed, and took it to the sink rinsing well, and then brought it back. “Keep drinking. I want to see those circles gone from under your eyes.”
“I need another nap. I think I’ll go back upstairs.”
As she disappeared from the kitchen, Chad stared at the empty doorway. She acted so pregnant! The test said no, but she was tired, she’d been so sick, and the dizziness all seemed like symptoms he’d heard over the years. Uncertain of what else to do, he dialed home.
“Mom?”
“Chaddie! I’ve been going crazy! What did the test say?”
“Test was negative, Mom but she’s still acting so weird. She is sleeping so much, she has dark circles under her eyes, she’s gotten dizzy a couple of times, and milk tastes funny to her.”
“Well, her milk tastes funny to me too but—”
“No mom,” Chad interrupted impatiently. “I brought home real milk to put on cold cereal—did you know she’s never had cold cereal?”
“Did you get her Cap’n Crunch?”
“She didn’t like it any more than the others I bought. She hardly commented on it at all, which tells me she’s still sick. Willow never keeps her opinions to herself with me.
“So maybe it’s just too early. If she doesn’t start in a few days, have her take another one.”
“But if she’s too early to show up on a test, wouldn’t she be too early to get sick?”
“Well, for most women, yes. But who knows with her? Maybe she’s one of those women who gets sick within a few hours. I’ve heard of women who start vomiting within minutes, but I admit that it’s rare.”
Chad thought about that. “Oh Mom, we can’t have her that sick. There is too much here for me to do myself, and she was totally incapacitated.”
“So you’ll buy canned tomatoes and peaches and whatever else she does. The gal who buys from the garden can do her own picking, and when you’re working, that boy can come feed and milk. It’ll work.”
His mother’s words, while logical and practical, were not encouraging. “I hope this is just some kind of stomach bug. Maybe she ate something fishy in Rockland during her deposition.”
“This being ‘just a bug’ isn’t going to erase the possibility of a difficult pregnancy, Chad. You have to…”
“To what mom?”
“Well, I just thought of something. Did Kari keep journals that far back?”
“Yes. She has journals from her college days.”
Marianne added, “I’d find the right months and look and see how she reacted to pregnancy. See if she mentions getting sick, how bad, and that kind of stuff. Willow might remember, but I’d look it up myself. That must be hard—”
“Willow hasn’t ever read them and therefore; neither have I. She just skipped to the one when she was about to give birth and ignored the rest.”
“Read it, son,” Marianne urged. “It can only help. If her mother was this sick this early, you’ve got a better idea of what might be happening. It doesn’t mean anything if she wasn’t, but it’s a starting place.”
Before he could say another word, the horrible sounds of retching reached him. “Gotta go, Mom, there she goes again.”
“Sick?”
“Yeah,” he groaned, rushing to dampen a washcloth as he tried to extricate himself from the conversation.
“Praying.” The phone clicked.
Willow sat up in bed looking tiny, miserable, and confused. “I thought I was done, but—” Another heave sent the rest of her breakfast from her stomach. “I guess not.”
Chad glanced at the clock. It was nearly ten and he had to be at work by two. They had to get to the bottom of this and soon. He laid the cloth across her forehead and told her to lie back and rest. Fighting the urge to lose his own breakfast, he dumped and scrubbed—again.
> “I’m sorry, Chad. I don’t know what is wrong with me…”
“You’re sick. Either with a stomach bug, some kind of food poisoning, or possibly a baby or two.”
“Two?”
“Mom said something about twins maybe being why everything was so bad so fast if you are pregnant.” Chad remembered the sinking feeling he had trying to imagine two babies at once and how it had mingled with a momentary feeling of excitement. Two! He couldn’t let himself think about it.
“I guess twice the children, twice the misery makes sense.”
He laughed. “That’s encouraging. Hey, she also suggested we check your mother’s journals from during that time. She thought maybe if your mom got sick quickly, maybe it’s genetic or something.”
“You do it. I tried to read them once, and I haven’t tried again. It was horrible. If they don’t say anything, maybe Grandmother Finley would know if it’s a family thing.”
As though she’d finished her job of talking, Willow grabbed the blanket, pulled it over her shoulder, curled into a ball around the bucket, and promptly fell asleep. Chad stood in the doorway, hands stuffed in his jeans and shook his head as she slept. She was so fragile-looking and the words fragile and Willow didn’t belong in the same thought.
He went into Kari’s old room, looked at the shelf between the closet and bedroom doors, and then glanced around the rest of the room. They weren’t in there. He checked the spare and craft rooms, the shelf in the living room, and finally found them on the top shelf of the closet in the library. He pulled the three volumes from the shelf and stared curiously at them. Three volumes for less than nine months of life. She’d been—prolific in recording her thoughts, dreams, and fears.
He set his cellphone to ring at one-thirty and sank into the couch already dreading the words to come. As an officer, even the thought of what Kari had endured made him livid. Why should the wealthy get away with crimes like that? How could Steven Solari even think his money could salve the pain his son inflicted on a young woman?
Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Episode 16 Page 3