“I’m getting silly,” he muttered as he closed the door behind him and stepped across the hall. The hint of a snore—that occasional whisper of a buzz on her exhale—welcomed him. Why did something so insignificant spell “home” to him in a way that nothing else could?
He crawled beneath the covers, his gut twisting again at the memory of her words. After several minutes of tossing and turning, he poked her. “Lass?”
“Hmm? The boys wake up?” She flung back the covers, but Chad reached for her, pulling her close and readjusting the sheet and summer coverlet.
“No.” He took a deep breath. “I read your journal.”
She rolled over and rose, leaning on her elbow. “What’s wrong? You always read my journal. That’s why I leave it out for you.”
I wouldn’t do it. That’s what’s wrong. If it would disappoint you, I wouldn’t fight for what I believe. I would want to, but I couldn’t. Even as the thoughts flooded his mind, Chad knew he couldn’t speak them. That would disappoint you too.
“I just love you.”
Willow kissed him and curled against him. “Love you too.”
Becca stepped into the kitchen as Willow fed the boys their lunch of scrambled eggs and apple sauce. “I was wondering…”
“Yeah?”
“Well, what if I delivered the milk to the customers today. I have to go get the order from the feed and seed. I could empty the fridge if I just toodled around town and dropped off milk first. That would give us room for more…”
“That works.” Willow pointed to a journal on the windowsill. “The phone numbers are in there.”
Without hesitation, Becca grabbed the book, flipped to section for milk customers, and frowned. “What are these strips?”
“Previous customers.”
“Why didn’t you just cross them out?”
Chad entered the kitchen, laughing. “Because my wife doesn’t like how untidy that looks and says,” his voice rose in a ridiculous falsetto. “‘And this way if they come back, we have all their information.’”
“But it’s blocked out!”
Willow shook her head. “Chad found me this wonderful glue stuff. You just wipe it across the strip of paper and press it to the page, but if you want it to come up again…”
“Repositionable glue.”
“Yes. That!” Willow beamed and shoveled a bite of eggs into Lucas’ mouth. “It makes me happy.”
Becca stared at Chad. “She’s brilliant—usually off the charts brilliant about a ton of stuff I have hardly heard about.”
Chad’s arms crossed over his chest and he leaned against the wall. “But…”
“But then she says stuff like this and goes all blonde on us!”
“Um, Becca?” Willow flicked a braid at her friend. “I am blonde.”
Much to Willow’s chagrin, Chad and Becca erupted in a fit of snickers. “Do we start a round of blonde jokes?”
Becca grinned. “Yes!” She winked and said, “A blonde brags about her knowledge of state capitals until a friend says, ‘Okay, fine. What’s the capital of Wisconsin?’ The blonde says, ‘That’s easy. W.’”
Chad snorted, Becca snickered, but Willow stared blankly at them. “It’s a fun play on words, but it’s true.”
“Maybe that wasn’t overt enough,” Chad admitted. To Becca he added, “But it’s one of my favorites.” He thought for a moment. “Okay, why did the blonde keep a hanger in her back seat?”
Willow shrugged. “Because someone told her she had a lot of hang ups?”
The other two snickered and even Liam grinned. Chad shook his head. “No, but that’s a good one. She put it there in case she locked her keys in the car.”
This time, Willow blinked. “You’re kidding me, right? People think these are funny?”
After he exchanged a few blank expressions with Becca, Chad slowly nodded his head. “I get it. You don’t get the ‘blonde’ aspect of the joke.”
“I don’t. What does her hair color have to do with it?”
“It’s just a cultural joke. My favorite blonde jokes were told by blondes. There are redneck jokes, moron jokes, Jewish princess jokes, soccer mom jokes—”
“So, you could say ‘Why did the police officer keep a hanger in his back seat?’”
Becca howled. “Yeah. That would be good. That would be really good.”
With the blonde aspect removed, Willow seemed to appreciate the humor. Chad just shook his head and rolled his eyes at his sons. “Your mother overanalyzes everything. Remember that when you do something and she doesn’t understand why. She wants to know why you shoved that piece of egg up your nose. She cannot comprehend that you just do it without a reason.”
“Did he really—”
Lucas sneezed egg on her arm.
“Well, I guess he did.” Willow rolled her eyes. “Why did the blonde boy shove eggs up his nose?”
Chad and Becca exchanged curious glances before Becca shrugged. “I don’t know. Why did he?”
Willow wiped off the residue as she answered, “He’s cracked.”
Groaning, Chad tweaked her braid. “Not bad for spur of the moment, but…”
To keep his wife happy, Chad spent a little time every day “searching” for her project. He looked in the pantry, in the craft room, in the attic, and in the barn. He found nothing in the greenhouse, the van, or under the seat of his truck. Under the couch cushions, behind books in the library, and even at Becca’s trailer—nothing. Still, he pretended to give it a thorough search.
However, he knew she worked on something. As much as she mentioned Lacey of late, he suspected it was for the horse—a new blanket perhaps. That might explain what Josh had to do with anything. It didn’t make sense.
Through it all, he still struggled with feeling like a fraud for not being the man she thought he was. He arrived home at three o’clock—almost an hour late—on Founder’s Day, determined to confess and take the consequences. The thought made him chuckle. “Lord, sometimes I think Cheri is wearing off on me—all the drama. Ugh.”
The house echoed with the silence that comes from empty rooms. No baby boys overslept their naps in their cribs. No squeals came from the sheets flapping on the line. That seemed odd. Willow rarely lost the chance to chase her boys through the sheets.
Empty gardens, greenhouse, and no sign of them leaving or entering the pastures. Chad turned to the barn and tried the summer kitchen. There he found Willow and the boys. Liam and Lucas were tied into chairs, munching on their biscuits, while Willow fried—something.
“Whatcha makin’?”
Willow leaned her head back, accepted his kiss, and returned to the pot before her. “Tortilla chips. Becca bought me a bunch of tortillas and I’m making chips.”
“Any particular reason?”
Without answering him, she grabbed a chip, dipped it into a bowl, and passed it to him. “That’s why. Isn’t that amazing!”
Chad bit into the proffered chip. “Pico de gallo?”
“Yes! How did you know? That’s just so good. Becca asked if she could take home a few tomatoes, onions, cilantro—and said she made that to eat with tortilla chips. So I tried it. She said equal portions of everything. Oh, and she brought me this lime juice.” Willow shook a little bottle. “It really adds something to it. Delicious.”
The bowl of pico de gallo could have fed an army. She had filled one of her baking bowls with the stuff. “Um, Willow?”
“Yeah?”
“Isn’t that a lot of pico de gallo?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t know how much it would make, so I just filled the bowl. I thought we could share with her if—” Chad’s laughter cut her off. She waited until he took another bite and asked, “What’s so funny?”
“This is enough to take to a church potluck and come home with leftovers.”
Her eyes widened. “Is it?” She shrugged. “Then I’ll send some to the station after I make more tortilla chips. They can munch on it on their breaks.”
“You’re already the favorite wife of the station.”
“I’m the only—well, other than Mrs. Varney—wife of the station.”
Chad nodded. “Yes, but where she keeps a distinct separation between home and her husband’s work, you just take them into your family and feed them. They love it.” He bit into a new chip and moaned. “And with this—perfecto.”
“I’m almost done with the chips. Are we still going to town? When you called, I forgot to ask.”
After yet another chip, Chad nodded. “I thought I’d take a shower. Chief asked if I could wear my uniform—just in case.”
“Sounds smart to me.”
“And you could have called back.”
“I’m not calling you at work unless it’s an emergency. I’m just not.”
Halfway across the yard, he turned around and returned for a bowl and a handful of chips. “This stuff is addictive,” he muttered.
“And you thought I made too much.”
The song of the cicadas filled the night air as Chad and Willow rocked in the swing. The boys slept upstairs, their little bellies full of fruit smoothies and shortbread cookies. Did they have memories of jugglers and daisies? Did they still hear the tight harmony of the local barbershop quartet singing “It’s a Grand Old Flag?” Chad suspected they did.
Willow murmured something—something he didn’t hear. “What?”
“I saw a quote on a card tonight. I liked it. It said something like, ‘Life is beautiful. Take note.’”
“It sounds like something you would say.”
Her head nestled into his shoulder and she curled up closer. “I feel as if I am living it again.” She sighed. “Becca was complaining today.”
“Is the work too much?”
“No, she says there’s not enough of it. She wants me to ‘stop coddling her and give her the real work.’”
It didn’t sound like anything Willow would do, but Chad had to ask, “Are you?”
“Nope. Right now, we just collect eggs—lots of eggs—weed gardens, pick the vegetables for Jill, and relax a bit. The hard work comes a few weeks after the baby.”
“Did you tell her that?”
Willow nodded. “I’ve been letting her ride Lacey. I hope that’s okay. She’s been all over the property. Oh, and she says there are fence problems at the north. She thinks the goats have been climbing on them to get to some of the leaves on the other side.”
“Probably. I’ll get to it next week.” Something in Willow’s silence made him hesitate. “What?”
“I told her she could try. Should I not—”
“Of course not. I can fix it if she can’t do it. That’s what we’re paying her for.” He nudged her. “What have you been doing?”
“Playing with the boys, cleaning house, working on your surprise—”
“I know what it is, you know.”
She jerked upright. “You do not!”
“Sure do. Figured it out days ago.”
Willow crossed her arms and leaned back again. “Then what is it?”
“And ruin your surprise? Not hardly.” He squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll have to have a date so I can show it off.”
Her jaw hung for several seconds. “I can’t believe—where did you find—how do you—what—”
“I’m good. You know it.”
Despite his encouragement, Willow refused to answer. She changed the subject, closed her mouth, and even stood and tugged him inside. “It’s time for bed. You’re not going to tempt me to give anything away. I’ll know when you see it if you were right or not.”
“I am.”
“You always think you are,” Willow insisted, “But it’s not always true. So, I’d be less confident if I were you.”
Upstairs, she brushed her teeth, washed her face and hands, and changed into her sleeping shorts and top. As always, she wrapped her robe around it, refusing to walk around, even in front of him, without something covering her. “The boys are asleep, Willow. You can leave off the robe—especially in this heat.”
“It’s my summer robe. It’s not hot.” Even in the darkness he knew she blushed as she added, “It’s just wrong to walk around half-dressed in mixed company. Even I know that.”
“We’re not mixed company, lass. I’m your husband, remember?”
“Yes, and—”
“I’m just pointing out that it’s okay to walk from the bathroom to the bedroom in shorts and a skimpy top. There’s nothing risqué about your pajamas. I saw less on half the people on the streets of Fairbury tonight.”
“Should be arrested for indecent exposure,” she muttered as she crawled between the covers.
“You don’t like women walking around on display?”
“Nope. I don’t want to look at ‘em and I certainly don’t want you to ‘enjoy the sights.’”
Chad pulled her close and murmured, “That’s obvious.”
Uncharacteristically, she giggled. “Well, if you put it like that…”
The same guilt and dread that Chad had endured for four long days hit him hard. He hated it—all of it. Why wouldn’t it leave him alone? She wanted to assume the best of him. Why not let her? Why couldn’t he flirt with his wife without guilt hanging over him?
“Lass?”
“Hmm?”
The satisfied sleepiness to her voice told him he’d better unburden his heart before she drifted into slumber. “I’ve been avoiding something.”
“Avoid it some more, will you? I don’t want to hear how horrible I am about something until tomorrow, okay?”
He felt her sigh tickle his cheek and chuckled. “You’re not horrible about anything, silly.”
Sleepiness grew heavier in her tones. “So why are you avoiding something?”
“Because you’re going to be disappointed in me. I hate that, but you are.”
“Nonsense.”
The quiet confidence with which she spoke told him it would be harder than he’d expected. “No, Willow. Really.”
“Okay, tell me what horrible thing you’ve done so that we can sleep. The boys’ll be awake before we’re ready for them.”
“Remember your journal entry—the one about how I’d fight for what I thought was right and against what I thought was wrong?”
She sighed again, nodding. “Mmm hmm…”
“I wouldn’t.”
Her answer came swiftly and with conviction. “Hogwash. You’re the over analyzer this time. You would. Go to sleep.”
“No. I wouldn’t. I want to be able to say I would. For you, I want that to be true, but it isn’t.”
Again, she contradicted him. Again, he assured her of her overconfidence. He ached to admit the truth—explain himself—but hearing the disappointment in her voice… Chad dreaded it. However, now that he’d begun, he had to finish. Only one thing would be worse than hearing that disappointment—seeing it. He had to do something and fast.
“Chad, I don’t know what happened to make you think—”
“Willow,” he interrupted before he lost the nerve to do it, “I wouldn’t—not if it went against what you hold dear. I believe in a lot of things that you find distasteful—things like airport security and laws that sometimes intrude on property ownership. You believe that I would fight for these things or against people who tried to take them away. I wouldn’t.”
“But Chad, you—”
“No, I wouldn’t. If I didn’t know you, maybe—probably. But the idea of me fighting for or against something that opposed your convictions makes me sick. It probably means I’m a weak person or something, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t disappoint you that way.”
The cicadas continued their late night lullaby, soothing Willow and unnerving Chad as he waited for her to say the words that proved she’d lost her respect for him. That they would come, he did not doubt. He just prayed that she would share some area that she still held some sliver of respect in. To lose it all—the thought nauseated him.
Long
after he thought she’d drifted off to sleep, her quiet voice pierced his thoughts. “I know you believe that, Chad. I understand why you say it, and for some things, it might even be true. You don’t hold many rigid convictions in the same way I do. I know that. But there are things you would fight for—things you believe with all your heart. You’d fight for Scripture—whatever the cost. You’d lose your job, you’d defend your family’s right to own a Bible, and you would join with others in resisting a government that tried to take away our right to worship. This I know.”
“But you would support that. It’s not the same.”
“No. Even if I didn’t, you would do it. You would because that is what is most important to you. Other things you care about—prefer. But you don’t have the same kind of conviction about them that you do about the Bible.” She brushed his cheek with her fingers. “When it matters—even in our own little family—you fight for what you truly think is important.”
Perhaps he had overanalyzed things. “Such as?” He held his breath, begging God to have her say something he could believe.
“Me driving a car. You didn’t give me an option. I had to learn. Period. It was important to you. You fought me over it. I could see from the moment you mentioned it that you wouldn’t back down on it.” He started to speak, but she continued. “The parolee idea. You killed it the second you decided it was dangerous. Even if I had fought you, you would have done anything to ensure it didn’t happen—even if it meant I threw a first-class tantrum.”
“So minor things…”
“Kari. Chad, you wanted Kari as much as I did, but you stood up for your right to have a say in our decision. It’s not fighting physically to the death for a principle, but you stood up to me and put me in my place.”
Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 5 Page 26