Past Forward Volume 1

by Chautona Havig

  Bill chuckled as Willow opened the door instinctively and stepped inside the musty-smelling shop. She wandered from row to row, her fingertips running along spines as she went. Occasionally, she paused and opened a favorite book. “This is the most wonderful store. I love it!”

  Several books tempted her. She held them in her hands, flipping pages gently, before replacing them with reluctance. Bill tried to convince her that there was nothing wrong with buying a book she wanted, but Willow insisted that their shelves were full. “I’ll go through our books at home. I’m sure there are some that I’ve read enough or didn’t like that I can replace with—oh, look! Nicholas Nickleby by Charles Dickens.” She held it up to Bill. “Have you read it? Is it any good?”

  “I’ve never read it, no,” Bill admitted. He slid the book back in its spot on the shelf and tugged her gently out the door. “Let’s not torture you anymore. We’ll bring you back later when you feel like you can purchase something.”

  At the second corner, Willow spied the store. “Look Bill! See there with the rounded windows? That’s it!”

  She started to run, but Bill caught her arm. “This is the city, Willow. You don’t run in the streets or people think you stole a purse.”

  With a cursory glance at his hand on her arm, Willow took a deep breath and smiled. “I’m sorry—”

  “No. Don’t be. Your enthusiasm is refreshing. Just don’t run.”

  From the moment Willow stepped inside the boutique, she was entranced. She exclaimed over styles, fabrics, and fabric combinations. She viewed the various designs displayed on mannequins near the walls and flipped through seemingly endless fabric swatches. While the sales clerk helped two other women with their choices, Willow perused the albums displayed for them. After several minutes, she turned to Bill and pointed at the book. “I’ve decided what I want to order.”

  “Order?”

  “Yes. You choose the styles you want, the fabrics you want, and they make them in your size and ship them out—sometimes within seventy-two hours, Lee said!”

  The saleswoman hurried to help Willow as the other customers exited the shop. Once introduced to Suki, Willow pointed out the skirt, two blouses, and dress she’d chosen. Suki wrote down design numbers and fabric choices, pausing to compare them to ensure she had an accurate order.

  “Those are gorgeous combinations. I wouldn’t have put those two together but they look great. You have an eye for fabrics.”

  “Thank you. I wouldn’t have put aqua and chocolate together like that, but look at those stripes. They’re delicious!” Willow’s enthusiasm bubbled over, making even confused Bill smile at her.

  Things came to a grinding halt when Suki asked for Willow’s size. “I don’t know. We never use sizes really. My jeans are fives—or sixes—or something like that. Does that help?”

  Suki excused herself and vanished behind swinging doors, emerging minutes later with several garments slung over an arm. “There’s a fitting room just inside those doors. Why don’t you try a couple on so we’re sure to get a good fit? If you don’t like the length, make note of it so I can make sure your skirts are perfect.”

  Willow pushed through the swinging doors and found herself surrounded by racks and doors. Two small swinging half-doors hung to her right, clothes to her left, and a third door with a knob straight ahead. Unsure where to go, she turned the knob and opened the door. A bright room full of machines, tables, and walls covered with rolls of fabric greeted her. Women looked up from their work, smiled, and returned to sewing again.

  The woman nearest her laid her cutter aside and hurried to assist her. “I’m Mattie. Can I help you?”

  “I’m supposed to be trying these on, but I think I got the wrong room.” Her eyes scanned the room, rising to the ceiling. “Is this where you sew everything? It’s so bright and well organized! Those sky-lights are marvelous.”

  Mattie chatted with her for a moment, and then showed the way to the swinging half-doors and assured her that her privacy was secure. “Just hook the latch in case someone doesn’t hear you in there. Have a nice day.”

  Bill stood as Willow entered wearing a dress she’d chosen. The fabric was similar to the fabric she wanted, and the style was perfect for her. Everything about the garment suited her, but unlike the clothes he’d seen on her over the years he’d known her, this dress wouldn’t stand out in a crowd—or if it did, the reaction would be decidedly positive.

  “Bravo! Do they sell off the rack? You need that dress.”

  “I do not,” Willow protested laughing. “I’ve just ordered one similar, and I have no intention of buying two almost the same.” To Suki, she turned, holding her arms out at the sides and said, “What do you think of the fit? It’s comfortable but it feels a little roomy.”

  Suki shook her head emphatically. “That’s supposed to be a fitted dress. Try the other one.”

  Over the next half hour, Willow tried on a half a dozen dresses and twice as many skirts. They quickly discovered that due to her muscular and decidedly curvy upper body, skirts and tops were a better option for her. At last, she appeared in the showroom in the one dress Willow had not intended to try on at all.

  Bill’s low whistle tinged her cheeks pink. He crossed his arms over his chest and said, “Buy it. If you don’t, I will, and I’ll pick the colors I think you’ll like the least just to irritate you.”

  As Willow returned to the dressing room to put on her own clothes once again, Suki turned to Bill and smiled. “That dress was incredible. I’ve never seen such a transformation!”

  Bill agreed, nodding but saying nothing. Something about Willow had attracted him since Kari’s death, but today he’d seen something else. While she didn’t have Kari’s beauty, Willow Finley was definitely one of the most attractive women he’d ever met.

  He had the order paid for and ready to go when Willow emerged from the changing room. “She just needs you to sign that the order is correct, and we’re ready to go.”

  Willow signed, each letter placed carefully and precisely on the line, before thanking Suki and following Bill outside. “That was surprisingly fun!”

  Bill glanced at his hands in exaggerated amazement. “I just went clothes shopping, with a woman no less; I left the store in less than an hour and without any bags.”

  “Not to mention a lighter bank balance. I had the money to pay for them, you know.”

  He draped an arm casually over her shoulder and propelled her along the street. “Ah, but you should keep your cash for needs. I’ll cut myself a check on Monday. So,” he added changing the subject quickly. “What do you want to do now? We could do some more window-shopping, or would you like to visit Rockland’s first library? It’s up here just a few more blocks.” He hesitated before adding, “Or, if we turn around and go back the way we came; my apartment building is just a few blocks over. I could show you where I live.”

  “Your apartment? You don’t have a house? Odd. Somehow, I always pictured you with a house. Yellow with a green door and a white picket fence. Oh, and a cat. One of those sleek black ones.”

  They did an about-face and returned to the car. He drove to the Roark Building and turning into the garage, plunged them into the labyrinth of cars and storage units beneath the building. Watching her in his peripheral vision, Bill noted how each curve of the garage sent a new burst of panic through her. By the time he parked and turned off the vehicle, Willow’s hands shook and her breathing was shallow. Unsure what else to do, he decided to try acting as though nothing was amiss. It had occurred to him that he may have fed her fear on her last trip and hoped to push her past it quicker this time. He walked around the front of the car where she could see him at all times, and opened her door. He offered his hand, pulling her from the vehicle, and if he noticed her resistance, he gave no sign of it.

  “It’s so big.”

  “Yeah, it’s one of the nicest buildings in town. I love it.”

  Through doors, an anteroom, and more doors, Bill l
ed her out to the street. Each step seemed slower and less confident. Her comfort in the older section of town with its one and two story buildings transformed into silent terror. Determined not to make it any more of an issue than it was, he pointed out the windows, the awning, and the local amenities.

  At the door, he introduced her to the man who buzzed them in. “This is Franco. He’s our security guard.” Bill nodded at the man, introducing her. “Morning, Franco. This is my friend Willow. I thought I’d give her the grand tour.”

  Franco glanced her way saying, “Nice to meetcha.” To Bill he added, “I don’t think Ms. Chen has been up yet.”

  Bill led her to the elevator, calling out his thanks to Franco as he did. “Have a good one.”

  In the elevator, Bill gave an exaggerated groan. “Well, you’ll see me at my worst if Lin hasn’t been there yet. I’m a bit of a slob.”

  Willow hardly acknowledged Bill’s confession. Her breathing grew shallow once more and she looked sickly—green. The last thing he expected to hear her say was “I can clean up for you.”

  “Thanks, but she gets paid regardless so, why don’t you enjoy your day off.” Hopefully that wouldn’t offend her. Clean his apartment—only a Finley…

  Once inside his home, Bill tossed his keys on the counter and flipped through his mail. Lin hadn’t been there, but at least clothes weren’t strewn from one end of the apartment to the other. Willow set her purse on the edge of the kitchen counter and wandered through the loft. Bill watched as she crossed the room to the largest window and leaned against the edge. Her posture relaxed. No trace of her previous fear remained. Trying to help her see it from his perspective, he said, “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  “I think I could learn to like it, but it’s still a little intimidating to me. It’s impressive though; that’s for sure.”

  He pulled two bottles of water from the fridge and passed her one as she continued her tour. At his bedroom doorway, she turned. “May I?”

  “Of course. You didn’t need to ask.”

  “Well, the other room doesn’t have walls and doors, but this one did, so I didn’t know…”

  As he’d done the week before, Bill tried to see the room through Willow’s eyes. Enormous bed facing a wall of glass—no other furniture. That glass would unnerve her. The cherry wood headboard blended in with the glossy floor and the black comforter lay piled to one side of the unmade bed. Crisp white sheets lay twisted and wadded near the foot. Would she—yes, there she went.

  Unconsciously, Willow grabbed the corner of the sheet and pulled it to the top of the bed. She walked around the foot smoothing the sheets carefully as she did, but Bill stepped forward, blocking her way to the other side. “It’s ok. Leave the bed. Ms. Chen will take care of it. I think she changes sheets today anyway.”

  Willow blushed. “Oh! I didn’t—” She glanced back at the bed. “That is just the biggest bed I’ve ever seen!”

  Bill laughed as he followed her from the room. “How many beds have you seen, Willow?”

  “Three. Well, four now.”

  She went back to the living room and stared at the treadmill half concealed by a black lacquer screen. Bill started to ask what the third bed was and then remembered the hotel. He couldn’t count the number of beds he’d slept in, much less all those he’d seen.”

  “What is that for?” She pointed to the treadmill and eyed it curiously.

  “It’s a treadmill.”

  “Well, that tells me what it is, but it still doesn’t tell me what it is for.”

  Suddenly, Bill felt foolish. How could he explain to a woman such as Willow that he owned a machine that’s sole purpose is to simulate a walk that she made just to go to church? “Well, it’s for exercise.” The look she gave him told him he wasn’t going to get off that easily.

  “That is so helpful.”

  Bill reached for the control panel and turned it on. Willow stared at him, at the treadmill, and then back at him. Bill sighed and got on it.

  He walked. To demonstrate the range of the machine he bumped the incline and the speed controls. Feeling ultra-foolish, he rolled back off the end and took a bow before reaching to flip the switch.

  “No, wait; let me try.” Willow spent a couple of minutes on it, apparently fascinated with a “walking machine,” before Bill hit the switch.

  “Come on, you’ll get all hot and sweaty and then you’ll be miserable all day.”

  She took her bottle to the sink and glanced around the kitchen. “Where do you eat?”

  “If I’m here, I eat on the couch. I’m rarely here for meals.”

  “How sad.” There was no condemnation in her voice—just pity.

  She leaned against the countertops and surveyed the loft. “It’s very large, isn’t it?”

  “As apartments go, yes. Some of the others are a lot bigger, of course. All the south side apartments are larger, but the north side has great lighting.”

  They talked until her stomach growled and Bill insisted that they go find something for lunch. Willow offered to make something, but a fridge full of yogurt, wine, cheese, and water didn’t inspire a grand feast. He smiled to himself as she glanced toward the treadmill on her way out the door. Willow Finley would never cease to amaze him. “Let’s go down by the RAC and find a pasty vendor.”

  “Pasty?”

  Bill took the elevator all the way to the parking garage and led her to his car explaining the history of Rockland and their famous pasties. “You know how Chicago is known for its pizza and New York for their hot dog street vendors? Well, here we have pasty vendors. We’re world famous for them. We can’t have a day in Rockland without pasties!”

  They walked along the boulevard to City Park, munching on their pasties and talking. At the park, Bill showed her the area the city planned to convert into a lake. “It’s ridiculous, of course. They’ll spend millions in taxpayer dollars for a lake, and for what? We’ll look like a poor man’s Chicago.”

  “What would you do with the land?” Willow wiped her mouth and tossed the napkin and pasty wrapper in a trashcan, picking up half a dozen cups and wrappers lying on the ground nearby.

  Bill watched with a smile as she rinsed her hands in the water fountain and shook them dry. “I’d sell it. Developers could buy it, farmers, philanthropists—anyone. I just don’t think it’s an appropriate use of taxpayer dollars.”

  “What if a philanthropist bought it and paid for the lake. What would you say about it then?”

  His mouth opened and closed. Twice. With a sheepish smile, he nudged her arm with his. “You’re right. My pride still doesn’t like it, but at least it’d be private money spent rather than my hard earned and your hard earned money.”

  “But I don’t earn any money. Well,” she continued happily, “not before yesterday.”

  “Willow, you have money that makes money for you while you sleep.”

  “Oh, won’t Chad like that. People spend money to save time… I use time to make money! It lets me live, so I won’t complain.” Amazed, Bill gaped at her until she noticed and protested. “What?”

  “Lets you live? We went over your accounts. You never have to work—ever. If you keep living the way you do, and your accounts still earn what they have up until now, by the time you are your mother’s age, you’ll have over ten million dollars.” The moment he said it, Bill winced. “Ok, that didn’t come out right.”

  “Death never does.”

  A quick glance told him Willow wasn’t joking, wasn’t offended, and had no idea how her statement sounded. Her forthrightness was generally refreshing, but occasionally it unsettled him, and when it did, he didn’t know how to respond. In a gesture designed to be comforting, Bill took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “She made sure you were well taken care of. She was a remarkable woman, Willow.”

  “Not everyone’s parents leave them a home and the skills to keep themselves fed. I’m blessed.”

  At the nearest bench, Bill sat down and faced her. �
�We discussed your financial situation the day we arranged the funeral, do you remember?”

  “Yes. You said the bills were paid and that I’d still have the money to keep up with taxes and the things we have to buy. I know I’ve been a little extravagant since Mother died, but I mostly used the money in the house so I thought it would be ok.”

  Bill tried again, this time with a different tactic. “How much money do you think the average American earns and spends per year on living expenses?”

  “Oh it must be thousands! I know our cow alone is several hundred dollars every year.”

  Stunned into a rabbit trail, Bill’s jaw dropped visibly. “You eat a whole cow every year?”

  “Half. Well, between Mother, Othello, and I we do. The other half goes to the butcher.”

  This stunned Bill more than anything else. He’d always assumed they butchered their own animals. “He takes half?”

  “Well we give him half. We can’t eat it all so instead of paying him, Mother just gave him the meat we couldn’t eat in exchange for the work. He wraps, labels, and stores it in our freezer for us while we’re out fishing.”

  Mentally shaking his head at a life he couldn’t comprehend, Bill brought the rabbit trail back to the main road. “So give me a ballpark figure. What do you think most Americans spend to live every year?”

  “I don’t know— maybe five or ten thousand? People have cars and things that cost money so maybe a little more. Mother and I never discussed it.” Her head cocked to one side, and she paused, thinking. “I wonder why that never came up.” She shrugged. “Oh, well. What others spend really isn’t any of our business. That’s probably why.”

  He shook his head. “Multiply that by ten. You and your mother live on around ten thousand most years. A little more lately, but the price of everything is going up...”