Her throat constricted, palms growing clammy as Willow fought the urge to run screaming from the store. Clothes threatened to swallow her. People milled in and out of the rows and racks of clothing. Feeling smothered by the sheer volume of things and the people who seemed delighted by those things, she gasped for air, clutching her knees and closing her eyes to the coffin of unfamiliarity that buried her.
“Willow?”
“So much—how do people decide—how—” She dropped to the floor.
“What is it?”
“It’s too much. I don’t know how—”
He pulled her to her feet. “I—why don’t you try to look at one thing? Maybe if you just focus on what is right in front of you?” When she refused to open her eyes, he tried again. “We can go… would you like to go?”
“No. I need this. I’ll do that. One thing. Like the movie. Focus right in front of me.” She squared her shoulders and reached for the nearest rack of blouses.
While Willow adjusted to yet another facet of culture shock, Bill sought help. A saleswoman replacing clothes taken to the dressing room listened patiently and fascinated as Bill explained the situation and begged for discreet help. “I’ve got it. I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you go look for some socks or towels or something. She’s probably feeling self-conscious.”
Bill wandered away nervously and watched from afar, as “Jill” hurried with a stack full of clothes to the rack where Willow listlessly shoved aside skirt after skirt, the hangers scraping along the metal racks and her almost enjoying the horrible sound. “May I help you?”
Willow glanced around her, but when she saw Bill had gone somewhere else, she forced herself to smile at the young woman. “Oh no, let me help you.”
Before Jill knew what happened, Willow took half the pile of clothes from her arms and looked around for some place to put them. “Oh I—” Jill’s forehead furrowed. “I was just putting these things away. It’s my job. Here, let me—”
“Just show me where they go, and when we’re done putting everything away, maybe you can help me find an outfit for tomorrow.”
As they put away the clothing, Willow explained to the woman why she was in town and needed to be presentable at the courthouse, but without making her look like she was a fraud. A dowdy outfit might look as though she was making a play for sympathy, while arriving overdressed could leave the impression that she was just another girl from Rockland trying to hide from her creditors. “That’s what Bill said. I don’t really understand what it all means.”
“I think I have it. You need a khaki skirt. Cotton—maybe twill. You want fabrics that you could have ordered. Then you want a basic white cotton shirt. Wear your hair in a low bun and slip on shoes—no nylons.”
Willow listened skeptically to the outfit Jill described, but once she tried them on in the dressing room, she had to admit that the look was perfect. It looked like something she’d like, make and wear, but it was also contemporary enough not to make her look like a charity case.
They found Bill fingering ties and glancing at his watch. “I was giving you five more minutes and then—”
“I’ve got everything I need right here. I left my tote bag in the car, though. Would you hold these things while I go get Mother’s wallet?”
Bill shook his head and led her to the nearest cash register. “No. You never wander outside alone after dark in this city. Got that?”
“But you can’t pay for my clothes…”
Bill thanked Jill and paid for the purchases before turning to Willow and leading her to the food court. “You can either pay me back, or I can deduct it from the disbursement account.”
The buildings around the Towers appeared less frightening at night. Willow turned in a slow arc at the same place she had stood earlier that afternoon, and awe, rather than the expected terror, swept over her as she saw the midnight blue sky dappled liberally with lights from the nearby buildings. “It’s friendlier at night, isn’t it?”
Oppressive humidity and temperatures still above eighty degrees urged Bill inside, taking Willow along with him. “It’s pretty, but man it’s stifling out here.”
“I think it’s hotter in the city.”
Bill agreed. “Miles of asphalt, thousands upon thousands of cars, and of course, being in this valley doesn’t help. You’re up by the lake and have your own stream; it has to be cooler at your farm.”
At the elevator, Bill sent her up alone. “It’s getting late, and I need to get my car. I’ll pick you up out front at eight. I’ll order breakfast to arrive at seven if you tell me what you want.”
“Whatever you recommend is fine. Thank you for taking me to dinner.”
Without another word, she stepped into the elevator and punched the button for the eleventh floor. As she did, she noticed that there was no button numbered thirteen. “Wow, they really do avoid a thirteenth floor!” she murmured, awed.
Her door, on the other hand, was a different matter. No matter how often she slid her card into the door slot, it didn’t work. She reached into her tote bag for her cell phone and started to punch Bill’s number. Willow paused and then punched Chad’s instead. If she called Bill, he’d come back upstairs, and he obviously wanted to go home.
“Hi Chad, I have a problem. Can you help me?”
Chad’s voice held a trace of alarm. “Sure, what’s up?”
“Well this place doesn’t have keys. It has a little plastic card-like thing—it looks like the kind you used to buy my ticket—”
“A card key, right.”
“Well I’ve tried everything and it won’t open the door.”
Willow listened as Chad explained how to find the arrow pointing down, find the front of the card, and let it sit in the slot long enough for the light to change. Seconds later, she stood inside her door relieved. “Oh thank you. I didn’t want to call Bill back, but—”
“No problem.”
“How is everything? Did you find the pail ok? Did you get the chickens inside? We have an owl that’ll—”
“They’re all sleeping soundly, the goat is empty and full at the same time, and Othello is holding his nightly vigil out by the oak tree.”
Willow suddenly felt very homesick. “I can’t hear the cicadas here. I can only hear cars and horns and sirens, but only if I open a window and breathe nasty air. I want to come home.”
“You’ll be here tomorrow night. Just get through the court hearing and then get on the bus.”
“I need a purse. My tote bag isn’t appropriate to carry around here. I look funny. The other women all have purses. Where can I buy one?”
“You surprise me sometimes, Willow.”
She kicked off her shoes and sank into a chair. “How is that?”
“Just when I am convinced that there couldn’t be a more unique girl in the world, you go and do or say something utterly ordinary.”
“What’s unusual about needing a purse?”
She heard him stifle a chuckle before he said, “It’s hard to explain. After court tomorrow, get a cab and have it take you to the mall closest to your hotel. You should find a Sears or JC Penney’s or Macy’s or something.”
“Oh, I was at J. Something Penney’s tonight. I bought clothes for tomorrow—or, rather, Bill bought them for me.” Thirst drove her to the small refrigerator where Bill had put bottled water just before they left for dinner. The coolness of it soothed her throat. “I have to make sure he gives me a copy of the accounts before I leave. I have no idea how much is in there, and I spent almost a hundred dollars tonight!”
“I thought you said he bought them?”
“Well, he paid for them because he wouldn’t let me go out to the car to get Mother’s wallet.”
A few more minutes passed as Willow described her drive into Rockland, the smothering feeling of the press of huge buildings around her, and the elegance of the restaurant. She described her room and the view from her window until another wave of homesickness struck. “Are you near
a window?”
“Mmm hmm.”
She hesitated before she asked, “Will you put your cell phone out the window so I can hear the cicadas?”
Chapter Ten
Despite her jitters and Bill’s certainty that it would be a long, drawn out process, court was surprisingly mundane. The judge asked a few questions blatantly designed to ensure that she was honest about her situation. Renee Freeman produced medical records dating as far back as Willow’s second birthday, the journals, the letter explaining the facts of her birth, and a few statements from people who had seen her with Kari Finley from time to time over the years. Ms. Freeman had been thorough.
“Well, everything seems in order. The finger prints match… the letter from your grandparents states that your mother disappeared at the proper time for the situation.” He frowned, shaking his head. “I wish I knew who this man was. Do you know?”
“Mother never said. One of the journals mentioned a first name—Steve—but that’s it. Steve is a common name, isn’t it?”
“It is.” He signed the document they needed in order to file the birth certificate and passed it to Ms. Freeman. Turning to her, he offered his hand. “It was nice to meet you, Miss Finley. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“That’s it? I can go home now? I can get out of the city?”
“You want to leave?”
She blushed. “The buildings are so tall…” Smiling, she gathered her things and shoved them back in the tote bag. With a little wave and another assurance of her gratitude, Willow left the room, Bill and Ms. Freeman following. In the hallway, she seemed incapable of stifling her joy. “I can’t believe it! No test even! No courtroom either. Is that normal?”
“For this kind of thing, a courtroom is unnecessary. Some places probably use them, but Rockland is a busy city. They save courtrooms for actual trials and hearings.” Renee excused herself to file the paperwork with the registrar. She assured Willow that a copy would be on the way to the Finley farm in a matter of weeks.
As they strolled out into the street, Bill glanced at his phone. “I have to get back to the office. We have several important meetings today, but I’ve cleared my schedule after three so that we can go to the Natural History Museum, the zoo, or wherever you—”
“Well the bus leaves at three-forty…”
“But I was going to take you home tomorrow afternoon. Chad said he could handle things until then.”
Willow chewed her lip, leaving a deceptive impression that she was capitulating. Truthfully, she was furious. It took every ounce of self-control that she could muster to keep her temper in check. “No. I didn’t sleep well last night. I missed my bed, my room, the bullfrogs, the cicadas, and knowing that Othello is nearby if I get lonely. I am going home.”
Stiff awkwardness hung between them as Bill digested her words. He nodded. “If that’s what you want. I can’t imagine being lonely in the city when there’s nothing at home, but—” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got an appointment in fifteen minutes and a ten minute drive. I’ll call and arrange a late checkout, and I’ll be at the hotel by ten after three to take you to the bus.” He fumbled for his keys and started backing away from her. “Will you be ok until then? I— I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“I’ll be fine. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset. You didn’t know.”
Without another word, she walked confidently down the street toward the subway station, causing Bill a twinge of nervousness. At the corner, she turned and waved before consulting a map from her tote bag and then disappeared around the corner. Her confident walk, carefree air, and thoughtful wave amazed him. Again.
“Wow.”
Willow arrived at the mall nearest Macy’s entrance. Chad had mentioned it, and though Willow had intended to go back to J.C. Penney’s, it seemed silly when there was another store right there. A helpful girl at a perfume counter pointed her in the direction of the leather goods.
That same feeling of panic threatened to overtake her. Boxes of perfume mocked her from glass counters as she passed. Mirrors made five people look like ten. Smiling women offered to help her try out things she’d never seen, but she refused to acknowledge them. Focus on the purses. Just focus on the purses.
A sea of leather greeted her in the accessories section—leather, vinyl, and materials she couldn’t identify. Brilliant blue, pink, red, purple mingled with sensible black, brown, and white. Even those three simple colors came in a dozen varieties each. Frustrated, she chose browns. She’d just stick to browns. After debating over several options, Willow finally chose a tan purse with both handles and a strap. She realized immediately that she didn’t know which she preferred and the matching wallet attached to it was an added bonus. She carried it with her as she looked over the shelves and racks once more, and then moved toward a register near the hosiery department.
Underneath a sunglasses display, her identical purse in a darker brown lay discarded. She glanced inside to ensure it was merchandise rather than someone’s lost property. The wads of paper she’d found in all the other purses and the price tag dangling from the handle reassured her, and she nearly skipped her way across the store to return the first purse to its place on the shelf. The scent of honeysuckle and oranges distracted her from the cash register and before she knew it, she’d spent an hour sniffing perfumes, sampling lotions, and trying on sunglasses to add to her lotion and purse purchase.
The sales clerk seemed annoyed with her. Willow asked questions about ingredients and the woman answered them with short, impatient answers. Once she realized that she was not dealing with someone like the woman from J.C. Penney, Willow passed the sunglasses and purse across the counter. “May I pay for these as well as the lotion?”
“Certainly. Will this be on your Macy’s card today?”
“Macy’s card?”
“Would you like to apply—”
Willow shook her head frantically. “They wouldn’t give me one anyway. I have no—”
“Well, then will this be cash?” the woman interrupted impatiently.
Willow pulled her mother’s twenty-four-year-old wallet from her simple tote bag, and held it open, ready to hand over the money once she received her total. The clerk, in routine motions, pulled wadded paper from the purse and a pair of earrings slipped from the wrappings. She gave Willow a disgusted look and carefully poked through each wrapping to expose several pieces of costume jewelry, a tester bottle of perfume, and beyond that, Willow saw no more.
“The other one didn’t have all that stuff with it. It just had the wallet.”
“Nice try. Security is on the way.”
Willow stared at her confused. “Security?”
“Oh, we’ve seen it all. That is so not going to work.”
Before Willow could respond, a voice at her elbow asked her to follow him. She protested. “I don’t know who you are! I’m not going anywhere with a strange man.”
“Miss, I’m store security, and if you don’t follow me we’ll be forced to call the police, and we do have the right to detain you.”
Suddenly, Willow went cold. “What? I don’t understand. Why the police? What did I do? Because I didn’t want the card? I can’t get a card! I have no identification to prove—”
“Macy’s takes shoplifting very seriously, miss. Let’s go.”
The word shoplifting was enough to stop her protest. Dread filled her heart and tears sprung to her eyes. Willow now understood. “I didn’t—”
“Just come with me. We have surveillance tapes.”
A clear calm swept away her rising panic. Surveillance tapes. Detectives used them in crime novels to prove guilt. “Of course. Of course you do! Would you mind if I requested that the clerk come with us? I am still uncomfortable going somewhere with a strange man. Or maybe I could call my lawyer? I have a cell—”
“Heather, come with us.”
In a screening room, three people hovered around four monitors and scrolled through footage until one pointed at
Willow entering the store. She watched, fascinated, as they traced her steps to the initial counter, around the accessories department, looking into several bags as she tried to make a choice, walking away with the first bag, finding the second, and then her rush to return the first to the shelf where she’d found it.
“I don’t see—”
The woman leaning over two men punched a button and the screens whirled back until the store opened that morning at nine o’clock. They panned to the sunglass display and saw nothing. Then, ten minutes into the morning, two teen-aged girls hovered over the purse and then dropped it, half kicked under the display.
Before anyone could say anything, the sales clerk, Heather, tapped the security guard and pointed at a currently recording screen. “Ms. Patel?”
One glance at the screen and she pointed at the door. “Go.” She turned to Willow and smiled apologetically. “I am truly sorry. I hope you can understand—”
“Oh, I do. This was exciting for me once I knew that I’d be cleared.”
As she disappeared behind the door, one of the two men looked at Ms. Patel. “I almost wish all of our customers could be so confident.”
She eyed him quizzically. “Almost?”
“Sure! If everyone knew they hadn’t done anything wrong, I’d be out of a job.”
Bill lingered until Willow’s bus rounded the corner and disappeared behind the large building. She was gone—home to Fairbury and her precious goat. His afternoon meetings had been sweeping and unequivocal failures. While he tried to discuss investment portfolios, stock options, and retirement plans, his mind whirled around the question of what he could have done to make Willow want to stay a bit longer.
Bill returned to the escalators and rode down to the subway. Willow had insisted on riding the new line to the bus station, leaving Bill feeling forced to return the way he’d come. What he considered filthy and somewhat degrading, Willow found exciting and fresh. “Fresh,” he mused to himself inwardly. “What an odd word to use to describe a train ride.”
Past Forward Volume 1 Page 10