Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 5

by Chautona Havig

  Chad stood at the base of the stairs, leaning against the bannister, his quarter inch hair plastered against his head. He didn’t dry it in warmer weather. She glanced up at him, as she pinned the sleeve to the arm scythe. “Warm tonight?”

  “Not much. Just thought I’d sleep well with my head cool. Long day.”

  “Did they get the new meters installed?”

  A yawn preceded Chad’s nod. “Yep. They remove the covers on Monday. We’re pointing them out to everyone, but I bet our first month is a doozy.”

  “Well, if it pays for more officers, it’s worth it.” She held up the pinned sleeve and inspected it. “Almost there!”

  “You’re that close to done?”

  “With the machine, yep.” Willow grinned. “Then I just have to bind the armholes and hem all the edges.”

  “Will you be in bed before I wake up?”

  “Probably not.” She smiled. “I’ll get the goats before I go to bed.”

  Chad pushed away from the bannister and came to stand behind her. Kneading her shoulders gently, he murmured, “Don’t overdo it. You can always finish tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I have a restaurant to assemble. No time to do anything tomorrow. Oh,” Willow tilted her head back and gazed into Chad’s eyes. “Josh said thanks for the tent frame. He thinks you should sell them. I told him if he wanted to market them he was welcome to do it himself.”

  His chuckle rumbled as he kissed her forehead. “Got that right. We’re not going to kill ourselves by trying to market every interesting idea we have.”

  As Chad climbed the stairs, Willow lost herself in the project before her. One sleeve, then another—the machine work complete. Needle, thread, two lamps to illuminate the corner, she sat to work.

  Chapter 167

  Chad rolled over at the sound of the boys’ wails. His arm reached to pull Willow back, knowing she’d try to get them, but he grabbed air and a tiny amount of blanket. Lucas protested louder, calling, “Mamamamamamaaaaaa…” as if that would solve all that ailed him.

  “Be glad you’re at the point in your life where it does, little man,” he groaned as he dragged himself out of bed. Where was she anyway? Why hadn’t she gone to bed? Surely it didn’t take—he glanced at the clock—over six hours to hem a dress and sleeves. Even at a leisurely pace that seemed excessive.

  The boys grinned at him, the little white squares on their lower jaws expanding their cuteness factor by a factor of ten—maybe twenty. “Buenos días, chicos… or is that los chicos? I can’t remember. Anyway, that’s Spanish for ‘good morning.’ You might need to know that someday.”

  All through the morning routine of diaper changes, dressing, and washing hands and faces before breakfast—something that still seemed a waste of time to Chad—he talked. He told them about their mother’s late night, how they needed to be quiet so she could sleep, and how much Becca would appreciate all that she had done. “It’s going to be a beautiful dress. Girls like that stuff. You’re going to have a sister, so you’ll need to remember that. Girls like pretty things.”

  Liam cocked his head and stared at Chad as if absorbing every word. Just as Chad started to commend his son’s wisdom, the boy belched as if he’d already inhaled his breakfast. “Well, son. That might be your opinion, but girls have the right to theirs too.”

  Halfway down the stairs, he saw Willow asleep—half reclining on the couch. Becca’s dress hung from the library doorjamb, swaying in the breeze that crept in through the screen door. Her journal lay abandoned in her lap, and if his eyes didn’t deceive him, she’d managed to scrawl across the page when she fell asleep—apparently mid-sentence. “Oh, boys. I’m tempted to take you into the diner for breakfast. Tempted, but not stupid,” he sighed as he imagined trying to feed them without creating a mess that spread halfway across the restaurant.

  In the kitchen, he felt the stove before setting the tykes down and rushing to wedge the stair gate into place. They seemed happy enough to play with the cloth blocks Willow had created, so he went to work. The breaker flipped on with a flick of the wrist. A morning like this called for his electric kettle. Willow wouldn’t know and the boys would be safe while he made their oatmeal.

  He dumped the oats in the bowl, sprinkled a bit of salt over them, and drummed his fingers on the counter, waiting for the water to boil. A glance over his shoulder showed Liam heading for the doorway and no sign of Lucas. Chad ran. He nearly vaulted over Liam in his desperation to reach Willow before their son woke her, but he arrived exactly one and a half seconds after Lucas jabbed his finger in Willow’s sleeping eye. In the five minutes they’d been down stairs, she had readjusted herself to a horizontal position on the couch—a perfect height for their son’s finger to explore.

  “Aaaak!”

  Lucas screeched. Behind Chad, Liam squawked. Whether Liam’s objection had to do with the abuse of his mother or his inability to enjoy investigating cause and effect of fingers to eyes, Chad couldn’t determine. Willow sat upright and rubbed her eye. “What—”

  Now Lucas laughed. His little belly shook with mirth, prompting a similar giggle from Liam. Chad shrugged. “Apparently injured mothers are the next thing in stand-up comedy.”

  “Oh. I think I’ll go to bed.”

  Liam reached for the journal that now lay on the floor. Chad rescued it. “I think that’s good. Did you stay up to get Ditto?”

  “Yes. I—” Willow frowned. “Um, I don’t remember if I turned off the water on the stove.”

  “I’ll go see.”

  Before Chad could grab either of his boys, Willow scooped them both up and started toward the stairs. “Okay, little fellows, it’s nap time.”

  “Um, Willow?”

  At the first step, Willow tried to wrestle with the gate as she murmured, “Hmm?”

  “They just woke up. Their oatmeal is cooking as we speak. Go to bed. I’ve got this.”

  “Just woke up. What time is it?”

  Chad chuckled. “Seven-thirty.”

  “Ugh,” she groaned as she carried the lads back to their father and deposited them in his arms. “I haven’t been asleep for more than half an hour. Good night—morning. Whatever.”

  She nearly tripped over the gate and paused, glaring at it. Her fingers fumbled before she sighed, grabbed the bannister and flattened one hand against the opposite wall. Hoisting herself over the gate, she took the rest, muttering as she went, “Two, four, six, eight…”

  Chad listened for the door to shut—bathroom first. That made sense. Even with the new one downstairs, she rarely remembered it was there. “She’ll remember when it comes time to teaching you guys to use it. That’ll probably be a while. Let’s see how that oatmeal looks…”

  While Willow managed to feed them with an efficiency that would have impressed time and motion expert, Frank Gilbreth, himself, Chad took much longer and created a greater mess. That morning, his boys smeared oatmeal on every surface they could reach as he ineffectually spooned too-large portions into their eager mouths. As he did, he read the latest entry, trying to imagine what had prompted her to write on such a late night.

  June—

  I have managed another first today/tonight. I have “pulled an all-nighter.” Cheri will be so proud. In the interest of full disclosure, since the written word is powerless to show expression without the author’s inclusion, that line was written with a most definite roll to my eyes.

  However, the effort is more than worth it. Becca’s dress turned out lovely. I need to tell Josh that my experiment with the lining worked. Having a lining just a hint heavier than the actual fabric ensured that the neckline rolled lovely—not a hint of lining showing anywhere. I wasn’t certain it would work. In fact, I’m certain that anything heavier would have been just as bad as anything lighter. Why any of this matters, I don’t know. However, the day may come when my Kari needs to know how to do these things, and we’ll have the reference. I should put it down in Mother’s sewing journals as well. Note: What does Chad
think about adding to Mother’s journals? Is it a bad idea to combine them like that—not the originals, of course. Just the reference ones. Hmmm. We’ll see.

  Chad doesn’t understand why this proposal thing is so important to me. I’ve seen him watching me as I work on things for it, and tonight, while I was sewing, I realized that he might think I am dissatisfied with his own proposal. Well, it wasn’t much of a “proposal” by modern terms, I suppose, but it’s ours. It suits us. I can’t imagine anything more horrifying to me than imagining how I would have reacted if he had tried to be romantic with me back then. I don’t know if we’d still be friends. That idea terrifies me.

  So, before I fell asleep and didn’t tell him, I wanted to write it down for posterity. I’m glad we did things the way we did. It fits us.

  Chad’s eyes closed in gratitude, and missed Lucas’ next bite, dropping it onto the lad’s shoulders.

  Lily Allen’s sedan sat parked before a meter about to expire. Chad glanced around him, hoping to see her, but saw no sign of her anywhere. He peeked into The Grind, tried to gaze through the window of The Market, and finally fished out a quarter from his pocket and plugged it into the meter. Aiden Cox, arms wrapped around a skateboard and a helmet hanging from his wrist, watched the proceeding curiously.

  “What’s that for?”

  “It’s a parking meter.”

  The boy stepped forward, examining the machine with even more interest. “I thought it was called an extortionist?”

  “I suppose people might feel that way, but these little babies are going to pay for another officer.”

  “Great. More cops to keep me choking.” Though the boy sounded utterly dejected, his grin told Chad he had resigned himself to his fate as a cranial protected citizen. “So why did you put a quarter in it?”

  “Because people aren’t used to it, and if I didn’t, I’d have to write Mrs. Allen a ticket. I don’t want to do that, so I paid it this time.”

  “How long does a quarter give her?”

  “Fifteen minutes.” Chad smiled as Lily rushed around the corner, fishing in her purse for change. “Got it, Lily.”

  “Denise took longer today. She kept getting call after call. I thought I was going to end up with blond streaks by the time she got to rinsing my highlights.” Lily passed Chad a quarter.

  “Not necess—”

  “It will be if you keep paying people’s meters for them. You saved me thirty dollars. The least I can do is pay it back so you can save some other woman from irritating her husband. This will take some getting used to.”

  Chad pocketed the quarter, complimented Lily on her new hairstyle, and waved. Aiden stared at him. “Thirty dollars for what?”

  “The ticket. If I hadn’t put the quarter in there, it would have cost her thirty dollars in fines.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot.”

  “That’s why people should take notice of time.” He inched toward the corner where an old burgundy Taurus had been sitting for far too long. “Drat. I missed Abe’s car.”

  “Maybe you should check out the ones down there first. I’ve just got to go into the Diner for a minute…” Aiden attempted a wink that involved two eyes and a lot of nose scrunching.

  Chad nodded. “You’re probably right. Need to check that side. Haven’t checked it at all.” With a wave, Chad took off in the opposite direction, but when he reached the corner, he ducked behind the building and peeked around the corner.

  Old Abe Fuhrmann shuffled out of the Diner, digging his fists into the saggy, baggy trousers he’d worn for the past three decades and plugged a few quarters into the machine. He grinned at Aiden as he shuffled back to the door of the diner, and handed the boy a coin or two.

  Probably a quarter. Guys like that always think a quarter is the ultimate gift to a kid. That was nice. All along Center and Market Streets, and over to Elm, Chad strolled, checking meters, signaling citizens, and writing tickets when he couldn’t place a vehicle. By the time his lunch break came, he’d written over four hundred dollars in tickets—most of which he assumed would be written off if the people complained. The city council had been most insistent that there be a long grace period for residents. Because of that, anyone willing to show up to contest their ticket would likely have it dismissed.

  Judith strolled up to him and waved her book. “How many?”

  “Fifteen…” He glanced at the book. “No, sixteen.”

  “Not bad… that’s four per hour. We’ll see if I can beat that.”

  “You can. I could have written a couple dozen more...” Chad realized where the conversation would go and tried to dissolve it.

  “But you paid them yourself?”

  He shrugged. “Mostly just found the owner and warned them—if I knew them.”

  “Softie.”

  “They’ll get dismissed anyway,” Chad protested. “I’m saving Judge Waller time.”

  An hour later, Chad resumed his beat, ticket book in hand and feeling a lot like a meter maid rather than one of “Fairbury’s finest.” Unbeknownst to him, as he wrote yet another ticket for an out of state plate sitting for well over an hour past the meter time, Aiden Cox observed from across the street. When Joe pulled up beside Chad and called him to the car for backup, Aiden stood, hooked his skateboard under his arm, and strolled toward the corner.

  Chapter 168

  Sunlight glowed around the edges of the curtains of Willow’s room. She rolled over, pushing back one corner to see the time on the clock. Two o’clock. Exhausted, she pulled the light cover over her shoulder, rolled onto her other side, and closed her eyes. Seconds after she slipped into semi-consciousness, Liam’s cry from outside sent a flood of milk through her ducts, demanding release.

  “Ugh. If I had any doubt about being able to nurse Kari, these boys seem to ensure it won’t be a problem.” She stood, swaying from exhaustion and insufficient hydration. It took time, but she managed to stumble downstairs and plop herself in the porch swing with a mason jar of water on the window ledge.

  Becca played with the boys in the yard, rolling balls in opposite directions. This drove Portia crazy as the dog tried to corral both boys at the same time. “Are either of them hungry? I’d rather avoid that machine if I can avoid it.”

  Lucas heard her voice and raced for the steps. He crawled up them faster than he ever had and practically flung himself across the porch and at her knees. “Mamama!”

  “Hungry?”

  Willow’s son’s eyes slid to her chest and back to her face as he grabbed her shirt. She shook her head at Becca and said, “He’s all boy in one way or another.”

  “How’s that?” Becca led Liam to the porch, much to Portia’s apparent satisfaction. Once both boys sat near Willow, the dog laid beside the swing, head on her paws, resting.

  “He’s either obsessed with food or with the source.”

  Becca’s laughter filled the afternoon air. “Or both.”

  A glance across the yard brought a frown to Willow’s face. “Where’s Chad?”

  “Oh! He got called into work. Brad got spit on by some guy with blood in his mouth, so they sent him—Brad that is—to the clinic to get tested or whatever they do.”

  Dread slowly washed over Willow. “Oh… so he probably won’t be back by four…”

  “Nope. He said he’d have to work the whole shift. Brad had just started and got called to a fight at the Aphrodite.” Becca kicked her toe in a crack between porch floorboards. “Joe took over that case, so Chad got Joe’s beat too.”

  “Poor Chad. They start ticketing today.”

  “Chad voted against that measure, didn’t he?”

  Willow nodded. “Yes. I’d like to say it was a philosophical objection to further taxation, but I’m pretty sure he said, ‘I’m not voting for me to become a stupid parking inspector.’ Pride, pure and simple.”

  “But if it gets them the officers they need…”

  “I suppose.” Willow grinned down at her milk-drunk son as he sat up and bl
inked. “Full?”

  “Mmmm.”

  “Loquacious little tykes, aren’t they?” she muttered as she reached for Liam. “When did they last eat?”

  “Chad said he fed them a lighter lunch—just enough to tide them over. If you didn’t get up by three, I was supposed to give them more.” Becca pulled out her phone and glanced at it and smiled to herself before shoving it back in her pocket.

  “Looks like I made it just in time. Can you go find me my phone?”

  While Becca retrieved the requested phone, Willow’s mind went into overdrive. She had an hour and a half to get reinforcements and kick Becca out of her yard. The moment Becca returned, Willow sent her inside. “First, you need to try on that dress.”

  Becca blushed. “I did. For the record, I think your husband would like to see a very similar dress to that one on you.”

  “Oh?”

  She shrugged and grinned. “I believe he said something to the effect of, ‘She needs to make one for herself—in red.’”

  “Red. Hmmm…” Willow shook her head. “I don’t need any new dresses. If anything, I have too many. Did you know I have three different sizes of clothing in there? Half of them I doubt I’ll ever wear again—maybe more.”

  “You like to sew, right?” Becca didn’t wait for an answer. “So why don’t you take those clothes, bundle them up, pass them onto someone who would love to have them, and make you things that fit. You win with something fun to do, and they win because they get a new wardrobe that they otherwise couldn’t hope to have.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Becca pointed to the strawberry beds. “I’m going to go do some more weeding. I tried with the boys, but they wanted to help. Let’s just say that they consider pinkish berries to be weeds and leave it at that.” She nodded at the boys. “Call me if you need me—to take a shower or whatever. I just really wanted that off my list today.”