Past Forward Volume 1

by Chautona Havig

  “Mrs. Allen? Hello, this is Willow Finley. I have a few things I could really use some advice on. I wondered if you…”

  Chad barely kept a straight face as Lily demurred before she finally capitulated, agreeing to meet at the church at four-thirty. The relief on Willow’s face and in her voice almost sent him over the edge. “Good job,” he said as he slid his phone closed.

  She grabbed another zucchini and attacked it with the grater. “I still don’t see how getting her to go to the church is going to help. She’ll see all the cars and know something is afoot.”

  Amused at the choice of the word, “afoot,” Chad sat next to her on the swing. “Well it’ll be hot when you guys get in there. If I know Lily, she’ll suggest a walk to the park. She loves the park. If she doesn’t, all you have to do is suggest it yourself. You’ll cross the street, come around that corner hedge of juniper, and we all jump out and yell, ‘Surprise!’”

  “But if she doesn’t like surprises, is this really a nice thing to do?”

  Chad hadn’t counted on scruples. He had carefully ensured that everything he said was absolute truth. He’d just left out the part of whose party it really was and that Lily knew all about it. Willow’s job was to get Lily to a surprise party. He’d never said the party was for Lily, but he had asked Lily to tell him not to do anything special for her birthday.

  “Oh, Lily loves surprise parties. She just asks us not to make a fuss over her. The family always does though, and she always has a great time.”

  Three o’clock dragged past, and Willow continued to grate her zucchini. Three-thirty came… and went. At four, she picked up another zucchini, and it took every ounce of Chad’s self-control not to bean her with it.

  “If you’re going to go into town, and we’re going to be there by four-thirty, don’t you think maybe you should get changed?”

  “I have to change?”

  “Well, it is a party after all. You’re soaked with sweat, your clothes are splattered with zucchini— Don’t you—”

  “Party! You said my job was to get her there! You didn’t say anything about me going to a party!”

  His mind whizzed through the conversations about her role in the plan and realized that someone so unassuming wouldn’t realize that she was also invited. He ducked his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you wouldn’t know that it included an invitation.”

  “I picked enough zucchini to shred tonight when I got back. I don’t have a gift. I look awful!”

  “Not quite,” he muttered under his breath.

  “What?”

  He grinned mischievously. “I wouldn’t say awful. You look like you’ve been working hard, but I’ve never seen you look better. Go take a quick shower, and I’ll go pick a bunch of your flowers for her.”

  It worked. Willow raced inside with orders for him to put the zucchini in the summer kitchen. He heard her up in her room, growling at him while he cut enough flowers for a huge bouquet. He couldn’t help chuckling over the incongruity of her bringing herself flowers to her own birthday party.

  She entered the kitchen just as he wrapped the stems in a dampened tea towel. “No don’t. I have a vase in the other room. I’ll give it to her, and she’ll have a gift that doesn’t die in a week.”

  When she returned with the mosaic vase that he knew her mother had made, Chad protested, forgetting for a moment that the gift would never be given. “No you can’t. I know you love that vase. You can’t replace it! Your mother—”

  “It isn’t a gift if it costs me nothing.”

  Curious, Chad glanced at her. “George Washington?”

  A snicker escaped, although she tried to stifle it. “David. The shepherd.”

  “I got the right gender anyway.”

  They climbed into Chad’s truck and sped toward the highway and into town. She left her vase of flowers with Chad and exited the pickup truck nervously. “I’m going to blow this, Chad. I don’t think I’m any good at subterfuge.”

  Subterfuge. First afoot, now subterfuge. “You’ll do fine.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ve got to get out of here before she sees these flowers. See you soon!”

  Chad drove away as Willow climbed the steps to the church. She entered the foyer and found Lily Allen waiting for her. “Hi, Mrs. Allen. I’m so thankful you had time for me.”

  Lily fanned herself with a leftover bulletin from Sunday’s service. “I was just about to go outside and wait. It’s stifling in here. Now I know what it’s like to live in Death Valley.”

  “Maybe we could find a place at the park? Willow suggested tentatively.

  To her astonishment, Lily agreed. “Let’s go!” That couldn’t have been any easier.

  As they rounded the hedge that blocked the corner view of the town square park, Willow shouted with everyone, “Surprise!”

  The crowd rushed to welcome them, and Willow stepped aside to make room for well-wishers, but everyone gathered around her hugging her. She glanced around her, confused. “I thought— How did you know?”

  Lily made her way through the group and hugged her, beaming. “It worked! Chad said it would, but I didn’t believe him.”

  “You were in on this?” Willow’s eyes filled with tears. Overwhelmed by both the thought and the sheer number of people, most of them virtual strangers, Willow tried to choke back her emotions—and failed.

  Through the tears, Willow saw something large and white floating toward her. She rubbed her eyes, and the white blob transformed into the most immense bouquet of daisies and baby’s breath she could have imagined. A face behind it—she blinked, but couldn’t tell whose. Smiling, Willow pushed the daisies aside and squealed when she saw Bill.

  “You’re here! I was just wishing you could be here!” To everyone’s—well almost everyone’s—delight, Willow threw her arms around him.

  Engulfing her in a bear hug and daisies, Bill wished her a happy birthday. “You look amazing.”

  “Did you stay over?”

  “Chad let me sleep at his place,” Bill admitted.

  Before they could talk any more, she found herself flung into a whirlwind of celebration. To keep her daisies hydrated, Chad cut off the top of an empty two-liter bottle of soda and used it as an impromptu vase. At first, every new thing overwhelmed her. As the center of attention in a group larger than any group she’d interacted with in her life, she felt constricted and smothered. Yet, at the same time, there was something comforting in knowing that people who hardly knew her name cared enough to celebrate her birthday with her.

  A cake procession made its way across the street to the square and took its place of honor in the center of the gift table. Willow had deliberately avoided that table. The idea of wrapped gifts from a group of relative strangers was more than she could fathom. A triple tiered carrot cake with cream cheese frosting and fresh daisies tucked in at the bottom—Bill couldn’t have ordered a more perfect cake if he’d tried.

  She blew out twenty-three candles as the crowd sang Happy Birthday, and then beamed as he presented the top tier to her. “Eat a piece now and take the rest home for Monday,” Bill whispered to her as she wondered aloud how to eat so much cake.

  Chuck stood on the fringes of the group, watching and looking a little out of place. A grin split his face and proved he was much more handsome than anyone had ever noticed when Willow caught his eye and beckoned him to join her. “Come on! Have some cake!”

  A photographer—a professional, if the equipment he carried was any indication—hovered around the periphery of the group. He’d been so unobtrusive that she hardly noticed him until he pushed his way through the crowd saying, “I want a picture of you with your men.”

  She felt Chuck’s hands on her shoulders before she could ask whom he meant. She smiled up at him, before her eyes roamed the crowd, looking for Bill and Chad. Who else would be “her men?” Bill and Chad, however, backed into the crowd, protesting. Willow’s face registered disappointment, and with a flick of his finger, the
photographer had both men standing on each side of her, grimacing.

  “Look guys, you don’t have to look like it’s torture to be with a pretty woman!” The man winked at Willow. “I’m Wes Hartfield, by the way. I’m Alexa’s brother. Hope you’re having the best birthday you could have hoped for.”

  “How could I not?” Willow teased, glancing up at the faces above her. “I always dreamed of being surrounded by handsome men.”

  Wes snapped a picture before she continued. “Of course I always imagined them at around three feet tall in overalls and with homemade slingshots in their pockets. Oh and freckles. I wanted lots of freckles.”

  A handsome man interrupted them abruptly as a band started playing a popular country song. “I’m Joe Freidan. I wondered if you might like to dance.”

  “I’d love to, but I don’t know how. Maybe if I watch for a while. Thank you, though.”

  He gazed thoughtfully at her for a moment and then held out his hand. “Then let me teach you. You’ll learn faster actually doing it, and I’m a reasonably good instructor.”

  Though she wasn’t a natural dancer, by the end of the song, Willow became comfortable with the Texas Two-Step. Chad stepped in at the next song, sending Joe in search of another partner. With someone she knew, and a familiarity with the steps, Willow followed with a little more confidence.

  “I never knew real dancing could be fun. Mother and I used to make up steps, goofing off around the house sometimes.” Her voice grew wistful. “And sometimes, when I’m out in the meadow, just me and the Lord—” Her previous word slammed into her heart, crushing it against her ribcage. She’d never dance around the house with Mother again.

  Chad seemed to sense the shift in her emotions and murmured, “Think about that later. Tell me about what kind of music you like.”

  The diversion worked. Most of the music they owned was from the late twenties through the mid-forties—the heyday of the 78 record. “I like jazz and swing—some blues. We have one Beatles record that Mother found in a thrift store in little India on one of her trips to Rockland.”

  “You have one Beatles record. Why only one?”

  “They didn’t make many on 78—the Victrola only plays 78s.”

  “But you mentioned a CD player—” Chad cut himself off mid-sentence. “Wait, what? A Beatles record on 78? They didn’t print them on 78s. They had 45s and 33s by then.”

  “Mother said that they were printed in India. Something about how fewer people in India had electricity, so the company that made the records sent the equipment there.” She shook her head at the look of disbelief in his eyes. “You’ll have to listen to it sometime.”

  “That has to be worth a fortune.”

  This time, Willow shrugged. “I suppose. I like it. I’ve always meant to find a CD catalog and order a few more, but Mother said I might not like their later stuff. Then again,” she laughed at the memory. “—then again, Mother said I wouldn’t like country, and I always have.”

  Chuck waited for the next dance, gyrating in the strangest manner. It reminded her of Mother’s description of Elvis. Lord, is everything going to remind me of her tonight? I’m going to lose it pretty soon if something doesn’t take my mind off her.

  As if an instant answer to prayer, the lead singer called for a limbo contest—something Willow had only read about. She didn’t last long, but she cheered the other contestants, jumping up and down when the pole became impossibly low. Officer Martinez eventually was the last man standing—until he attempted to make one last winning pass… and landed on his backside.

  As the evening wore on, the group became thinner and thinner until only a dozen or so of the singles group remained. Willow danced with almost all of the single men in the church as well as one Officer Martinez. To her astonishment, he turned out to be a surprisingly great dancer. Straight from their dance, he strolled to the corner and began walking the beat that Chad so despised.

  The band announced their last song, “Can I Have This Dance,” and Chuck stepped forward, but Willow caught something in Bill’s expression. “You haven’t danced with me, Bill.”

  “There hasn’t been a song I know, but I know this one.”

  Willow floated beside him through turns and whirls without ever learning the waltz. “You didn’t tell me you were a great dancer.”

  “I’m not. I just know how to waltz. My grandmother insisted.”

  “Well,” commented Willow calmly, “You definitely perfected it. I could dance all night.”

  Chuckling, Bill pulled her a little closer and murmured softly, “No Willow, that’s another song, and it isn’t a waltz.”

  She allowed herself to follow the steps for another quarter minute before she said, “Thank you, Bill.”

  “What for?”

  “For everything. I asked Chad who planned it.”

  Bill led her in a spin before he replied, “I noticed your birthday; Chad did the work. Well, he and his sister did.”

  “I’ll thank her too when I can, but you thought of it, and you bought me those beautiful daisies. It’s been wonderful.”

  The last strains of the song ended, but Bill stood as though ready for the music to begin again. “I hate that song.”

  “I think it’s beautiful,” she countered.

  “It’s unkind. She asks if she can dance for the rest of her life but the dance always ends. If it’s for life, it shouldn’t end.”

  Willow smiled as she stepped away. “Perhaps she isn’t talking about a single dance to a single song but a dance like at a school or city dance where there are lots of songs and just as many different steps. Life is the dance.”

  “And he’s the partner she wants?”

  Taking a glass of lemonade from Chuck, she grinned at both of them. “It seems that way.”

  “What?” Chuck was lost.

  “I know how she feels,” Bill murmured to himself.

  One by one, Willow said goodnight to the remaining guests, until only Chad, Bill, and Chuck remained. Chuck immediately offered to drive Willow home, and since he was already going her way, expected an easy agreement. Bill offered as well saying, “I had hoped we could talk.”

  Chad was the lone dissenter—anxious to go home, kick off his shoes, and lose himself in a video game. There was a gaping hole in his plan—her presents. Among the small packages that littered the gift table, leaning up against the back of it was one thing that wouldn’t fit in either of the other men’s cars. A gift from the church, the bicycle was simply too large for a Camry or Chuck’s little sports car.

  The men had argued over style. Some wanted a ten-speed with a light frame to give her extra speed. Others, perhaps those who better understood what someone like Willow would prefer, suggested a beach cruiser with baskets on front and back. Chad had sided with the beach cruiser—and won.

  The moment he mentioned the bike, she’d ask him to take her home and if the weariness he saw in her eyes was really there, she’d tell the others to go home as well. Another perfect opportunity to pass the relational baton to Bill or Chuck was about to slip through his fingers. “Do either of you have room for her bicycle?”

  As he spoke, he realized that there was another solution. He could just take the bike home and bring it out the next time he drove that way. However, before Chad could voice his idea, Willow glanced at their cars, grabbed an armful of gifts, and started toward his truck.

  “Sorry, Chad, but you’ll have to…” The rest of her words disappeared into the night air.

  Chuck disappeared—his car’s engine revving within the minute. Bill glanced at the almost empty table and back at Chad. “Thanks for all your help. Oh, and I’d like to thank Cheri. How should I contact her?”

  “I’ll text you her phone number or address—either one.” The disappointment on Bill’s face prompted Chad to add, “I was going to suggest taking that bike home and dropping it off later. She just—”

  Arms folded over his chest, Bill shrugged. “It’s Willow. What can you
do?”

  As Chad loaded the rest of the gifts in the bike’s baskets and grabbed the handlebars, Bill called to him from across the square. “Hey, Chad!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Get a new toothbrush. I forgot to do that for you. Sorry.”

  “Why? I’ve got a good one—used it just this morning.”

  To his astonishment, Bill gagged, bending over as if to retch. After a few seconds of dry heaves, the man stood, turned back to him, and said, “Just get a new one. Trust me.”

  He transferred the gifts from baskets to truck, trying to understand what Bill could have meant. Once empty of packages, Chad hoisted the bike into the back of the truck and climbed into the cab. “Ready?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  After a few more attempts to draw her out about the party, Chad gave up and drove her home. They didn’t bounce over the rutted drive that curved toward the house—his grading had worked well. He’d have to do it again soon, but for now, it was nice. In time, she might hire it out when she saw how helpful it was to her guests. In time, he might just be that—an occasional guest. Bill should be here. Bill would take her home, flirt a bit, show her that there’s more to life than chickens and work, and take her off to the city. Why did I agree that a bike was a good idea again?

  They carried gifts inside, piling them on the table. Still, Willow said little. They rolled the bike into the summer kitchen and did the evening chores. “I wonder why Willie isn’t screaming at me. It’s so late!”

  “Luke came and milked her for us.”

  “I should thank him.”

  Chad pulled the netting over the chicken yard. “I did. He said, ‘You’re welcome and happy birthday.’”

  She carried her double-yolked egg into the house and put it in a bowl on the counter. It appeared that the pup wouldn’t get this one. As she sank into her usual chair, eyes staring at the pile of gifts, he saw how overwhelming it was. Her sigh hurt him. “What’s wrong?”