I’m going to die at thirteen. That’s just pathetic. His melodramatic thoughts snapped him out of his stupor. His mind warred with his body. Half of him ached to quit fighting—to let go and let the pain turn to the numbness of cold. The other, stronger side of self, fought to reach the bank of the stream, to grab for a root and hold on as he fought to drag his legs from the water. The struggle sent him sliding back into the water. Twice. Then, with strength he didn’t know he possessed, Tavish dragged his knee over the edge of the pool and hoisted himself out. He rolled onto his back, spent. Shivers slowly overtook him. His teeth chattered so hard they pounded in his brain and his mind illogically insisted they’d break. His hands shook, and his shoes felt as if they were freezing to his feet. When it occurred to him that they probably were, he panicked.
Tavish jumped to his feet—or tried. His clumsy movements, hampered by soggy clothes and burgeoning hypothermia, couldn’t truly be considered anything as swift as jumping, but he did try to pull himself upright. He stumbled. Fell. At that moment he realized—as much as a young teen really can—just how serious the situation was.
He struggled to walk out into the open where the sun might give him a degree or two more of warmth—or less of cold. Either way, Tavish would take it and be grateful. His mind taunted him with visions of Willow’s stoves—all three of them. The wood box upstairs, the wood box in the living room, the wood box in the kitchen, and most impressively, the stacks and stacks of logs on the back porch—he could see them all ablaze, providing warmth to every person in the house. And he wasn’t there to enjoy it.
“S—s—serves m-m-me right for w-w-w—wanting to be a-l-l—lone.”
Something about talking made his head ache but feel clearer at the same time. He tried to remember what he’d read about people suffering from exposure, but his brain refused to cooperate. “I’ll talk then.” Each word took several extra syllables, something that drove him crazy. “It’s like I’m from the south or something. Every vowel with two or three syllables. Those southerners know how to get their money’s worth out of a vowel.”
The words made no sense. Who cared about people and their crazy accents? Still, talking about it helped him feel a little less like curling in a ball on the dead grass of the pasture. He glanced around him. Only a couple of yards from the edge of the pond. It would take him an hour to get back to the house at this rate. Instinctively, he knew he wouldn’t have that long before things became even more serious.
His eyes slid to the southeast. Becca’s trailer should be that way—somewhere. It wasn’t too far from the pool, was it? Maybe he could go there. She’d have blankets. Warm water. It had to be warm, right? Not hot? Tavish couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember anything.
“Becca’s. If I can see it by the time I recite the beatitudes. Otherwise, I go where I know what I’m doing.”
He stumbled. Fell. Forgot his place and started over, but by the time he finished with the last verse, Tavish could see the trailer. “Help!” It came out as a weak croak—hardly louder than an actual frog. He tripped over a rock. His head hit another rock, producing a gash along his hairline. Blood trickled down his face.
“Okay, God. I’ve only got that far to go. I kinda need help, though. I feel dizzy.”
Step by agonizing, faltering step, Tavish walked, stumbled, crawled across the field to the trailer. Becca’s old car sat outside, but he heard nothing but the roar of pain in his head. He tried calling out to her again, but the squeaky croak disappeared into the air.
He crawled, literally crawled up the wooden steps his uncle had made for the trailer. “It’ll be easier than the little things it comes with.”
With all the strength he thought he could muster, Tavish beat against the door with two fists. He called out, again without enough volume to be heard. Just as he started to try to pound once more, the door flung open, slamming into his head. He screamed—a silent but anguished wail of pain, indignity, and relief.
“Tavish? What on earth—what—you’re bleeding. Did I—”
He waved his hand, trying for speed but barely managed the slightest movement. On the verge of collapse, he murmured, “Got a blanket? I’m shhhooo cooold.”
Tavish lay on Willow’s couch as Luke and Aggie packed the van. The others crowded around him, asking morbid questions about how long he’d been under water and embarrassing ones such as if he remembered Becca cutting off his clothes. Willow watched his face flush and hoped it was good for keeping his temperature up.
The thermometer lay on the table next to him. Willow glanced at it and at the clock. “Better take your temperature again. Aggie’s worried.”
“In the hospital, they had to stick it in his butt. I heard Aunt Aggie say so.” Cari snickered. “Just like a baby.”
“Rectal thermometers can read lower temperatures than normal ones.” Willow watched as the rest of the children giggled. “What?”
“It’s funny,” Vannie murmured.
The children’s senses of humor never ceased to astound her. “Maybe to you, but he could have died out there.”
“Uncle Chad says he’s too stubborn for that. Uncle Chad said he was brilliant to walk to Becca’s first.” Ellie beamed at her brother. “I don’t think I would have thought of that.”
“Well…” Tavish seemed to enjoy his “celebrity” status amongst his siblings.
“I’m just glad it wasn’t later in the season. That pool gets a bit more ice on it by mid-winter. It would have hurt to crash through that,” Willow mused.
“Been harder to get out of too,” Tavish murmured. “I didn’t have to worry about that at least.”
Kenzie crept closer and whispered, “Was it like that movie where the ice started freezing over again when the guy fell in the water and he couldn’t get out?”
“Nah, the ice wasn’t even an inch thick—probably less than half an inch.”
Tavish’s eyes met Willow’s and she nodded her understanding. What would have sounded exciting before the accident now sent a shiver over the boy. He’d never forget this escapade.
The thermometer beeped. Tavish glanced at it and nodded at Willow. “Just fine.”
“Aunt Aggie is paranoid.” Laird winked at Cari and added, “But maybe we should dig out the rectal thermometer just to be on the safe side.”
“Funny.” Tavish didn’t look as if he thought anything was funny.
Luke stepped in the door. “Okay, guys, load on up.”
Children swarmed around Willow, offering hugs and thanks before grabbing coats and rushing out to the van. Willow saw Aggie clutch the porch post in an exaggerated attempt to “save” herself from the stampede of children. A smile formed as Willow said, “You’d think we’ve been torturing them here.”
Still moving slowly, Tavish stood. “We’ve been gone from home for a month between Grandma’s and here. We’re just ready to sleep in our own beds. We had fun.”
“I’d say you’re just ready to sleep in a bed.” Willow winked at him. “And who knew hypothermia and concussions were fun.”
“Reading in the tree was fun until that woodpecker flew at me.” Tavish glared out the window as if he could see the offending bird. “Stupid thing made me lose my book.”
“And that,” Aggie said from the door as she closed it behind her, “is the real source of his irritation. He could care less that he could have died, that he scared his aunt out of her wits—the few she has left—or anything so mundane as those. He’s just ticked that he lost a book.”
“People heal,” Tavish insisted. “Books—”
“Are replaceable.” Aggie rolled her eyes and hugged Willow. “I can’t thank you enough for letting us stay. It was good for the kids, good for me—and if nothing else, you won’t ever think solitude lonely again.”
As they drove down the drive, Willow pondered Aggie’s last words. “Who thinks solitude is lonely? Solitude is beautiful.”
Chapter 200
Silence echoed through the house. Only two da
ys without Aggie’s clan and the house felt vacant—hollow in their wake. As she had once before, she wandered through the rooms, listening, looking. She sank into the couch and closed her eyes. Blissful, wonderful silence. This time, as much as she had enjoyed Luke and Aggie’s family, Willow could only appreciate the chance to be alone with her own little family again. She reached for her journal, but it wasn’t on the end table. She checked the kitchen windowsill by the dining room table. Nothing. A call to Chad failed to produce any help. Exasperated, she found Aggie in her contacts and called.
Aggie’s laughter filled her ear before she said, “Missing us already?”
“Of course. No, I just wondered if any of you had seen my journal lying around. I can’t find it.”
Muffled comments, laughter, and murmurs faded in and out as Aggie questioned her crew. “Okay, I think we’ve found it. Try the bottom shelf of the table by your bed—your side. Vannie saw it open and on the kitchen table and thought you might not want everyone reading it. She apologizes for not telling you.”
“Not a problem. And tell her she could have read it if she liked. I don’t write anything I can’t share.”
The moment she disconnected the call, Willow groaned. What a self-righteous sounding thing to say. It came out all wrong. Her fingers hovered over Aggie’s name again, ready to redial and then slid the phone shut. Aggie knew what she meant. Aggie knew. Chad was right. She’d taken to second-guessing herself.
Kari blinked up at her from the basket that she’d outgrown the previous week. Little feet kicked. Hands waved. A toothless grin warmed her heart. “Looks like you’re happy to have life back to normal too.” Guilt prompted her to add, “Bet tomorrow we’ll be looking for Ellie to play with you so we can get something done, and she won’t be here. Then we’ll be wishing them back, won’t we?”
Nature called. At her bedroom door, Willow glanced at her dresser. The double pack of pregnancy tests beckoned from her underwear drawer. Just do it, get it over with, and move on. You’re infertile. Deal with it. Frustrated, she grabbed the knob and jerked open the drawer. Her fingers fumbled and she mumbled to herself as she pulled the test from the box. “This is stupid, Kari. What a waste. I don’t get why it matters. I’m not, but even if I were pregnant, it’s not like the baby is going to disappear if I don’t pee on that infernal stick.” A slow smile crept over her heart and lips as she jogged downstairs for a container. Those days of arguing with Chad about pregnancy tests seemed decades past rather than three and a half short years.
Halfway back up the stairs, she paused and turned. In a fit of uncustomary sentimentality, Willow couldn’t bring herself to use the same bathroom. Lord, it’s stupid, but I got a positive up there—one for two beautiful boys. I just don’t want to kill that memory. She tried to convince herself, step by slow step as she crept back down the stairs, that she would have had to use that bathroom if Luke and Chad hadn’t gotten remodeling fever. The lie mocked her. I would have gone outside somewhere, wouldn’t I? Even in this cold. My, I’m ridiculous, Lord.
Rather than the curious excitement she’d once enjoyed as she read instructions and followed them to a “T” (or to the “pee” as Chad had joked), this test felt clinical—detached. She filled the container, tore open the package, dunked the stick, counted to ten, and slid the cap on. Willow’s methodical tendencies kicked up several notches as she dumped the rest of the container down the toilet, took it into the kitchen, dumped bleach in it, swirled, washed, dried, and set under the sink. No matter how clean, some things she simply couldn’t imagine using again.
Though too soon, she strolled back to the bathroom and glanced at the window. Ignoring Kari’s wails upstairs, she strode back to the kitchen, filled a glass of water, and chugged it in half a dozen gulps. Her hand hovered on the faucet before conscience overrode disbelief and sent her flying up the stairs.
Diaper, new sacque, fresh bonnet to match—Kari grinned as if pleased with the result. Willow peeked her head in the boy’s door and started to pull it shut again. No one to wake them. She nudged it open and started downstairs once more. Becca stood in the bathroom, her eyes riveted on the counter. She swallowed the urge to pretend she hadn’t noticed and smiled. “Maybe Aggie was right.”
“That doesn’t look like a maybe to me.”
“I won’t believe it until the second one says the same thing.”
Becca shook her head. “Nuh, uh. You can believe what you want or not, but I have friends who have been on the ‘am I or not’ roller coaster and they all say the same thing.”
Seconds ticked past until Willow demanded, “What?”
“You can get a false negative but you can’t put hormones in your urine that don’t exist in your body. If it says you’re pregnant. You are.”
Without a word, Willow hurried to the kitchen for her glass. She gulped down the remainder of the water and debated a third. Becca shook her head. “Don’t. You can dilute it enough that it can’t detect if you’re too early.”
“So wait. How long?”
Her friend grinned and shrugged. “Until it’s pee or die?”
“And that’s not a revolting thing to hear in the kitchen.”
“You asked.” Becca traced the back of her finger across Kari’s cheek. “Your mama’s gonna be one busy woman.”
“And you’ll be busier than ever too. I can’t do as much with twin boys, a baby who doesn’t walk, and a belly.”
“You’ll love it and you know it.” Becca’s eyes scanned her face. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s a bit overwhelming. I’m infertile, remember?”
“Apparently not.”
Willow sighed. “Yeah.”
“You are—” The words cut off as Becca chewed her lip. “You are happy aren’t you?”
“Well, yeah. I think. It’s a baby. What’s not happy about that?”
“What does Chad say?”
Eyes wide, Willow stumbled to the couch and dropped onto it, holding Kari close. “I didn’t call. I don’t want to call. Isn’t that terrible?”
“Why don’t you want to call?” Becca sat on the coffee table, her eyes meeting Willow’s. “You don’t want another baby?”
“I don’t think I’m ready for one. We didn’t think it was possible.” She buried her face in her hands and ignored the protesting wriggles of Kari. “We’re not supposed to be able to conceive without help and even then…” Her eyes closed once more. “I just lived that life for two weeks. I don’t think I can take eighteen years of it.”
Becca didn’t speak—didn’t respond at all—but Willow could read her thoughts as plainly as if she’d articulated them. “It’s not the same.”
“Mama!”
“The terror begins.” Willow saw the shocked expression on Becca’s face and passed the baby before throwing up her hands. “I was just joking. It seemed to be appropriate.” She took a step toward the stairs. “Chad would think it’s funny,” she muttered.”
Becca’s, “Hmph,” indicated she was not impressed.
Chad examined one test strip while Willow tilted the other at odd angles. Their eyes met. Excitement flickered in his while confusion clouded hers. Chad shook his head. “Okay, so I hoped. I did, but I didn’t really think…”
“I feel like an idiot,” she whispered.
“Why?”
Another glance at the test did nothing to wipe the expression—unreadable as it had become—from her face. “I was just so sure it wasn’t something to consider. I’m panicking at the work, the emotions, finding time for each of them, learning how to juggle—”
Fear struck his heart. “You’re not sorry…”
Willow sighed. “That’s why I feel like an idiot. I’m excited.” Her eyes met his. “I’m actually going to have another baby. Me! I dreamed of two boys that I thought I’d never have. I might have three—three sons—or two daughters.”
Chad wrapped his arms around her. “I can’t believe this. Mom’s gonna be so—”
“Upse
t.”
“What!” He stared at her. “She’s gonna be thrilled.”
“The woman who did not want us to adopt Kari because this might happen? She’s going to be livid.”
“She’s in love with the baby. She’s not going to be upset.” Chad tried not to sound defensive. “She just—”
“Thought it would be too much. And it will.” Willow buried her head in Chad’s chest. “And I don’t really care.” She took a deep breath and added, “But we’ll have to think about how to slow things down. I’m not cut out to be Aggie.”
He spun the test on the counter with forefinger and thumb. “I still can’t believe it.” Chad tipped her chin and murmured, “Did you call Aggie?”
Willow ducked her head once more. “I just wasn’t ready to share it. It was bad enough that I left it on the counter for Becca to find.”
“So don’t call Dad?”
Her arms wrapped tighter around him. Muffled words that he almost couldn’t understand twisted and flooded his heart with emotions he hadn’t expected. “I love that your Dad is the first one you want to call. When I remember what you and Mom said about your relationship in the past…”
“I love it too, lass. I’ve got an amazing father.”
Now her eyes rose to meet his. “Yes. So do I. Thanks to you.”
Chad found her journal waiting for him the next morning. Upstairs, Kari protested something—probably the cool air as Willow changed her diaper. He started to close it—to put it away—but a few words blurred and then sharpened again.
…terrified that I can’t do this. I have to. I do. I just keep telling myself that it’ll work. Everything will get better.
I guess this is why I’m so sleepy these days. I haven’t gotten sick since Aggie left. Probably because my body knows what to do with my food. Her food, while good, isn’t what I’m used to eating. I appreciate her buying food and preparing to relieve the workload of cooking for—sometimes anyway—sixteen people. I really am. I just need more vegetables, more protein, more fresh food. Restaurant pizza gets very old twice in a week. Very old. Can I say it again? Old.
Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 6 Page 18