Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 6

by Chautona Havig

  Lee listened as Willow spoke, playing with the sketches, rearranging them, and nodding from time to time. “You’ve got a point. I should talk with the owners. They’re great about listening to new ideas.” She fidgeted. “So…”

  “Right, you wanted to talk. Let’s go sit down and put our feet up while the kids are napping. You never know when Kari will decide she’s starving and needs more food.” She led Lee to the living room and sank into the corner of the couch. “Oh, that feels good. I don’t think Kari slept more than an hour and a half last night. Wailed all night long for reasons I can’t possibly fathom.”

  “I could come back after dinner so you could take a nap,” Lee offered.

  “No, that’ll just mess up tonight. I’ll do it tomorrow if it happens again, but for now, I’m choosing to think she just slept too much yesterday or something.” Willow sat upright and leaned forward. “You’re hesitating now. What happened?”

  “Nothing.” Lee stared at her fingers. “That’s kind of the problem. I’ve been dating Bill—off and on but mostly on in the past year—since your wedding.”

  “I’ve wondered about you guys. Sometimes one of you says something, but we never hear anything very promising.”

  “Exactly my point. What’s wrong with me? I know he cares about me.” Lee’s lips thinned as she pressed them together in an obvious attempt to rein in her emotions. “I think he loves me, but he won’t say anything.”

  “Have you asked him what the problem is?”

  Lee shook her head. “Would you—never mind. Of course you would.” Lee sighed. “I don’t think I can do it.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “If I didn’t, do you think I’d be here asking for help? Of course I do.”

  “Then maybe,” Willow suggested, “you need to love him enough to let him know it. I think it must be pretty hard to be a man sometimes.”

  “What if he says he—”

  Willow interrupted with something she knew she couldn’t have understood before marrying Chad. “Don’t you think men think that? I remember when Chad said he thought we should get married. It was a very matter-of-fact statement, but by the time I got done overreacting to it, he said something like, ‘I’ve gone from wishing I didn’t have to ask to praying you won’t say no.’”

  “Such a romantic.”

  “It was to me. I just didn’t realize it.” Before Lee could respond Willow sighed. “You know, God knew what I needed. We both needed a gentler approach to a relationship. Chad because it meant giving up dreams he’d had most of his life and me because I had fears that weren’t mine but I still clung to.”

  “Maybe someday I’ll love to tell people how I had to wait forever and finally force Bill to admit he loved me.” Lee wrinkled her nose. “But I doubt it.”

  “I—” As much as she wanted to help, Willow couldn’t bring herself to offer. “I think you should call. Stop by. Ask him if he likes having a casual relationship or if he plans to take it anywhere more serious in the future.”

  “And when he tells me that he keeps trying but he can’t get a certain woman out of his mind, then what do I do?”

  Willow’s mouth went dry. “If you mean me,” she choked, “I know that any lingering interest he might have had is gone—long gone.” Her eyebrows narrowed. “Wait—that’s the real reason you’re not ready to ask, isn’t it? You think he still has some kind of affection for me?”

  “Well…”

  “He does.” When Lee’s head snapped up, and the woman stared at Willow, surprised, she continued, “but it’s completely sisterly now, Lee. Completely.”

  “My dad says a man can’t do that—be sisterly with someone he cared about.”

  “Maybe some men can’t. I don’t know. I know that Bill can, though. Talk to him.”

  An unfamiliar car crept up the drive Monday afternoon. With Kari in arms, Willow stepped out onto the porch, trying to see who had arrived, but the sun’s reflection on the windshield prevented her. Bill stepped out and waved. “Hey…”

  She met him halfway, smiling. “What brings you out here? Why didn’t you call? I would have made—” Something in Bill’s eyes stopped her. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to interfere. She just ask—”

  Bill’s jaw clenched and his eyes closed. “Why? What was wrong with me? I don’t—”

  “What?” Willow shifted Kari and tugged on Bill’s sleeve. “Come inside. Do you want some coffee or tea?”

  It took several minutes before Willow sat across from him, her daughter cradled in Bill’s lap. “Okay, what happened?”

  Several seconds passed before Bill met her gaze. “I—well, Lee came over last night.”

  “I thought she might. She was here most of the afternoon.”

  “Well, we ordered Chinese delivered and before it could even get there, she broke up with me and left.”

  “Broke up. What does that really mean?”

  “C’mon, Willow. You’re not—”

  “No, I know what it entails, but what does it mean. Why did she do that?”

  His jaw clenched again, and his hands stroked Kari’s head as if some sort of talisman against the words he obviously did not want to speak. “I don’t know. One minute we’re debating whether we’ll go to a Warriors game or a concert next weekend and the next she’s in tears, mumbling something about talking with you, and then she just said, ‘I can’t do this. It’s over—whatever this thing we had. It’s over. I’m out,’ and she just left.”

  “I—”

  “Why did you tell her to break up with me?”

  “I didn’t. I told her to tell you how she feels about you.”

  Bill closed his eyes. “I was afraid of that. I think I would prefer to be delusional and think she cared. It was nicer even if it was fake. This—this is horrible.”

  “That’s not how she feels, Bill. She loves you.”

  The man shook his head. “I never took you for an incurable romantic.”

  “No, from what she told me yesterday, she loves you. She asked what to do when she couldn’t read you and I told her to tell you—that if men have to do it, then sometimes maybe women should be willing to make that first confession.”

  His head snapped up again. “She said that—you said that?”

  “Yep.”

  Bill stared down at Kari, his finger tracing her eyebrows. “I couldn’t read her. I tried. I kept wanting to tell her how I felt, but she acted like I was just a guy she liked a lot. I—”

  “I think she imagined that you were nursing a broken heart and didn’t want to pressure you.” Willow laughed. “You two are pretty funny. Chad’s going to love this.”

  A slow smile crept over Bill’s face. “Mari had me convinced that it had to do with me not being Korean. Sometimes traditional Asian families are sticklers for that stuff.”

  “Well, if Lee’s family is, she doesn’t care. Go tell her you’re gluing things back together.”

  “Gluing—oh. Break up.” Bill shook his head. “Only you.”

  Chapter 182

  The chair creaked as Willow rocked Kari and watched the boys pouring dirt over each other. Becca waved on her way to gather eggs from the laying boxes. Annoyance welled up inside her. She missed gathering eggs. The boys should get to do that—should have moments of squishing one because they weren’t gentle enough. It’s how they’d discover the wonder of a delicate egg. They’d never learn if someone else gathered all the eggs.

  “I could send your brothers with Becca, but that would make her job harder and I want to do it. I want to experience that with my children. Is that bad little Kari? What would your grandmother think?”

  Her eyes slid across the yard to the old abandoned coop—too small now for their larger chicken and egg enterprises. “I miss that coop. I miss pushing the yard back, gathering the chickens in when the weather turned bad. I even miss hearing the clucking when I step out the back door. Noisy things.” Her heart grew heavy. “Kari, I miss my old life sometimes. M
ornings with Mother, each of us doing our own work. I miss that. I miss Mother calling out that we needed more of this or that while she rushed to do whatever she needed to get done.”

  Baby Kari stirred in Willow’s arms. She gazed down at her daughter, wondering if there was anything in a name. Would their Kari be anything like her Kari? “I want to sneak off to fish when Mother’s not looking again.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Just once more.”

  A squeal from the boys told her she’d better put a stop to the dirt baths before it morphed into an all-out war. She laid the baby in the basket, dropped a light blanket over the cover to keep flies off the child, and hurried down the steps. “Whoa, lads. That’s enough. Let’s get you guys cleaned up and then we’ll do—something.”

  With Kari’s basket in one hand and her other hand alternating between boys’ heads, she led Lucas and Liam into the house, allowing the screen to swing shut behind them with the soft, familiar “whap.” Outside, leaning against the side of the house, Chad stood. With his heart in his throat, he shoved his hands in his pockets and gazed up at the clouds. Lord, what do I do now?

  September 27—

  I hate this. Things aren’t right between us—haven’t been since that day in Fairbury. I’ve seen Jason Ross a couple of times, but I’ve kept my distance. I think I’ve offended him. The looks he’s given me sure seem to imply it.

  Mom said something last week when I asked her if I’d ever get the hang of what is and isn’t socially acceptable. I wonder if she’s right. She said, “Willow, you spent over twenty years with one way of thinking. Some of that was warped by your mother’s experience but not all of it. Some of it is better—real. You don’t play all the manipulative games that the rest of us do sometimes.” When I asked again if I’d ever learn the difference, she said, “Even if you need to, you’ve only been ‘out of your private world’ for a couple of years.”

  It helps—a little. Remembering that socially speaking, I’m still a toddler. But it doesn’t help for long, because all I can think of is that if being “grown up” means inconsistent “rules” for this or that, then I don’t want to grow up at all. If I’m going to interact with people, I want to interact with everyone the same until they give me a reason not to. If that’s not acceptable, I think I’d rather just stay put here on the farm and be Willow Finley again. Well, that sounds wrong, because I want to be Chad’s wife too. I want to be the children’s mother too.

  I think the point is that I just want to be me. I don’t know how to be anyone else, and I don’t want to be. Meanwhile, we sit at the same table, we talk about the same topics, we work alongside one another, we sleep alongside one another, but that intuitive understanding is gone. I want it back. Is it selfish to say that I need it back?

  A part of me wants to rip this page out of the journal—to hide it from him, but how will that help anything? How will we ever get past it if we keep on our polite little ways? How will we ever grow if we just ignore that there is a problem?

  I don’t know. Kari is calling. She is like Mother in that she knows what she wants and will fight to get it. Chad says she’s like me in that, but I know who came first—the mother or the child. Ha!

  The depth of her confusion astounded Chad. He had assumed that her objections were just evidence of her stubbornness—possibly convictions. This proved it was a deeper issue, one she’d managed to talk to his mother about without earning him a call. That meant something.

  A new thought entered his heart and with it, he set the journal aside, grabbed the other half of the sandwich, and stepped outside. The moon gave little illumination but many shadows. Still, his eyes roamed over the area where the chicken coop sat—unused. The barns, one in front of the other, stood tall on the other side of the yard. The greenhouses there too made that side of the property look vastly different than it had the first time he drove Willow up the road.

  Regardless of what he thought of the situation with Jason Ross, this he could change. They’d made great strides—possibly too great—but this would fix it. It wouldn’t fix everything, but a start was a start, and she would see that he was trying. Meanwhile, maybe he should talk to Luke or even Tom Allen. Someone.

  He pulled out his phone and punched Brad’s number. “Can you work for me tomorrow? I’ll take either of your weekend days.”

  “Sure.” Brad mumbled something, but before Chad could thank him and disconnect the call, he asked, “Did that Ross guy find your place?”

  “Ross guy? Our place? Why?”

  “He described it to me—told me Willow invited him to check it out whenever he liked, but he wasn’t sure which direction he should go at the highway.”

  A chill shivered up Chad’s spine. “Don’t know. I’ll have to ask Willow. Thanks for telling me.”

  “Sure. You want Saturday or Sunday?”

  Chad thought and chose Saturday. “I’ll take Saturday unless you want Sunday off.”

  “Nah, that’s good for me. I can go into the city and stay with some friends that way. Thanks.”

  His heart grew heavier with each step back inside and up the stairs. Something about Jason Ross bothered him. In fact, he probably overreacted—the thought galled him—because of it. He just couldn’t identify the source of his suspicion, but he would. Soon. Meanwhile, he’d settle things with Willow and restore a bit of her life. That would show her. Lord, please let me be right about this one. A new thought hit him. Well, let me be right about it fixing things for her and with us. I’d rather be wrong about Ross.

  Willow awoke to find Kari snoozing beside her, half-latched on, nursing at random intervals. Chad, who should have been sleeping beside them, was gone. She slipped from the bed, piled pillows around the baby, and crept from the room. A glance in the boys’ room showed it empty. Noise—something that sounded faintly like annoyed chickens—reached her just as she reached the bathroom.

  Once dressed and with her face washed and hair brushed, she returned to her room and moved the baby to the Moses basket. That gift had become her go-to option for keeping Kari close while still moving around the house. As she left the room, she saw it in a fresh light and decided that little guys or not, the house needed a good cleaning. It had been too long.

  Downstairs, she set the basket beneath the kitchen table and grabbed her sweater. A second glance at Kari ensured that the baby still snoozed with apparent abandon. She stepped outside in time to see Chad carrying a crate of chickens across the yard from the direction of the new coops. Lucas and Liam followed, their little legs almost running to keep up. About halfway, she realized where he’d take them and why. A lump filled her throat. How had he known?

  Once the three chickens escaped into the yard, Chad stood, grabbed the crate, and led the boys to the gate. Their eyes met across the yard. Chad hunkered down on his heels and pointed her out to the little guys. “Mama!”

  Four little legs raced across the yard, under the empty clotheslines, and to her side. Willow picked up Liam, hugged and kissed him, and set him down before grabbing the slightly slower Lucas. “He beat you this time, eh? Mornin’.”

  “Chickens,” Liam said surprisingly clearly. “Got chickens.”

  Chad arrived just as she said,

  “You did! Your daddy is a pretty smart guy.”

  “Not really.” He kissed her cheek murmuring, “I just happened to overhear my wife wish she had a way to gather chickens with her children.”

  “Didn’t mean to complain…”

  “I think I understand other things better too.” He picked up Liam and nudged her indoors. “I’ll get the rest of the chickens if you’ll take them inside.”

  “You read my journal.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not what did it. I was talking to Brad last night—nah. Long story. I’ll tell you later. Right now, if you’d take care of getting something for breakfast, I’ll finish this.”

  “Deal.” She hugged him, squishing Lucas in the process, “Thanks.”

  The boys made a mess
of themselves while washing their hands in the sink. Willow tried not to care. For some reason, water messes bothered her more than dirt ones. “Someday, little man,” she murmured as she dried off Lucas and sent him to his chair, “I’ll figure out why.”

  With the boys in their chairs, she pulled a jar of applesauce from the pantry and poured some in a bowl for each and handed them spoons. As she moved Kari to the other side of the kitchen, away from stray globs of applesauce, she said, “Eat up. I’ll start oats and eggs. Daddy’s going to be very hungry.”

  All through the boys’ very messy breakfast, she talked to them about the coming day, suggested what they’d do next, and kept a close eye on Kari. By the time she finished breakfast, the kitchen was very warm and she had the windows open to keep Chad from being uncomfortable when he came inside.

  She called out the door, waiting to see that he heard her, before stepping back in and spooning oatmeal into the boys’ bowls. They had grown tired of feeding themselves—had made quite a disgusting mess actually—but she waited for Chad before she sat down and began feeding them. “I guess the days of coming to find you for a meal are gone for a while.”

  “At least until they’re old enough to come find me. Then they’ll fight over whose turn it is.”

  Those words, innocent as they were, churned her stomach. She hated the constant competition, the confrontation, the battles for preeminence—and the little guys were barely eighteen months old! “They’ll take turns with a good attitude or lose their turn,” she muttered.

  “You tell ‘em, lass.”

  She swallowed her bite of oatmeal before she asked, “So how many chickens do we have here?”

  “I brought a dozen. I figured you used to have about twice that, but we still can get eggs or meat from the others if we need more, so why not keep it simple?”