I did come up with a gift idea for Aggie’s family. They brought a game when they stayed here—Clue. They said they’d seen one at a friend’s house—one out of print with more rooms. So, they wanted to make one for themselves. I’m going to do it. I’ll use Masonite, draw the rooms on it, use clay to make the playing pieces and some of the weapons. I think it’ll be perfect. I can’t wait to try it. Perhaps tomorrow.
I felt the cramps again tonight. I don’t know, maybe I should call the doctor, but Chad read on the Google that the uterus contracts all the time. Some people are more sensitive to it and feel it more than others. I suspect that’s the problem, but I did promise that I’d do the ultrasound thing if it happens too much. He seems to think I’d feel it more consistently if it was what he read about.
The Google—she said it that way every time. Despite many attempts to correct her, she’d never understood that it was just “Google” like you’d say just “Fairbury” rather than “the Fairbury.” His eyes closed and he whispered, “Again tonight, Lord. Please let the baby be fine.” His throat constricted. “Please.”
There is so much to say—to write down so that I don’t forget, but Kari cries if I shift. She cries if I don’t hold her. She cries if she hears anything. She cries just because she exists it seems.
Plate and bowl in hand, he shut the journal and tossed it on the coffee table—the one that should display Willow’s tree blocks and tea lights. It would be another five to ten years before they could do that again. Still, he carried the bowl to the sink and filled it with water. Leaning against the sink and gripping the edge of the counter, he steadied himself. “I need sleep, Lord. Willow needs sleep. Kari needs sleep. Help?”
Chapter 208
As David waited in a line of cars leaving Brunswick, Carol’s words echoed in his mind. “If you have time as you go through New Cheltenham, can you stop and grab some of that great tea at the tea room? I’m almost out.” He hadn’t even thought about it—just nodded, kissed her goodbye, and left for his meeting. Now the dilemma hit him. Get his wife’s tea or check in on his granddaughter. He’d already taken the road closest to Fairbury.
He dialed his wife. “Carol?”
“Yeah… you done?”
“Yes. Went well. Anyway, I forgot this morning that I’d planned to go see how Willow is doing. If I do that, I can’t get your tea until next week. What do you think? Should I go? Think they’d call if anything went wrong with the baby?”
“I’m sure they would, but the tea can wait. I’ve still got some and I have others. It’s not like it’s the only tea in the world. Go see Willow. I know how much it means to her when you stop in.”
David inched to second car from the highway. “Are you sure? I’m almost to the road.”
“Just beg for a jar of her peach preserves and we’ll call it even.”
Halfway to Willow’s farm, a snowplow slowed him down to a crawl. As he rolled past the farm “next” to hers, David began to wish he’d opted for New Cheltenham after all. But his troubles compounded as he hit her drive. Three yards in, his phone rang. He glanced down to see the screen and managed to drive into the fence. His car refused to budge.
Praying Chad was home, he took off down the snow covered lane. The cold bit his nose, stinging it and making him sneeze. By the time he’d gone four feet, David became certain Chad couldn’t have gone to work with that much snow covering the road. He eventually discovered that walking in the center meant less snow—as if the road were higher in the middle. Several yards further and the idea made sense to him. Rain would run off the sides instead of pooling in the middle if the sides sloped away from the middle. Had Kari thought of that or was it like that when she came?
David remembered Chad’s description of the drive—almost covered in grass the first time he came. Kari had let the road go. His throat constricted at the idea. Isolated—so alone. They would have gone with her had she told them. They could have started over somewhere—somehow. They could have— “Stop it. You can’t change the past with regrets.” His voice sounded both muffled and overly loud in the quiet of the lane.
Snow fell again. First tiny flakes scattered here and there, but soon they fell faster, the wind picked up, and the snow blew against him. He shivered, his teeth chattering intermittently. Business slacks, dress shoes, and a dress coat didn’t do much to keep out the cold as he made his way toward the house. What should have taken less than ten minutes, seemed to take forever. The snow grew heavy enough that though he neared the house, he struggled to see it.
He stumbled up the steps and knocked. After waiting a minute or two, David shook his head and opened the door. Warm air blasted him, removing the outer layer of chill from his face. He shrugged out of his coat and started to call out for Willow but stopped himself. Would the children be sleeping? Carol would have happily throttled him for waking up napping children back when they had such creatures in the house.
The woodstove called to him. Willow jogged down the stairs as he warmed himself and nearly screamed. “Wha—”
“Sorry. I knocked, but…”
“I didn’t see a car, so I thought it was the wind. Sorry.” She stared at his pants. “Are you wet?”
“Ran into your fence out there. Sorry. Car’s stuck.” David flushed. “Talk about embarrassing.”
“It happens.”
“Yeah, but when I have to tell your cop husband that it’s because I glanced down at my phone instead of keeping my eye on his road, I’m gonna hear it.”
Willow giggled. “Um, yeah. You’re gonna hear it. Oh, well. It’s humbling, and we all need a bit of humility, from time to time.” She turned to go back upstairs. “I’ll get you some dry clothes.” At the newel, she hesitated and a mischievous grin spread across her face. “In fact, I have the perfect thing.”
Minutes later, David shivered out of his wet clothes and reached for the shirt. Pink sweatpants tumbled to the floor. He picked them up and the word, “Hottie” nearly slapped him upside the head. “What the—”
Giggles outside the bathroom door made him roll his eyes. He’d missed out on her girlhood, but at times like these, David saw the kind of child Willow had been—just tiny glimpses of a past he’d been denied. A knock sounded. “I’ve got a pair of Chad’s out here if you’re not secure enough in your masculinity to wear those.”
“What man is?”
“Chad. He wore them one night long before we got married.”
“He slept here before you married?” The moment David questioned, he groaned inwardly. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”
“When things were bad with Mr. Solari.”
David opened the door and stepped out. Willow’s giggles turned into laughter as she thrust another pair of sweatpants into his hands. “Oh, change. I can’t stand it.”
“Are you sure? I mean, I wouldn’t want to impugn my masculine security over something as frivolous as ‘hottie pants.’”
“Change,” she gasped between guffaws. “Please!”
Once dressed in less mirth-causing attire, David sat at the kitchen table and watched as she taped off sections of the game board she’d intended to paint. “Been feeling better? No more cramps?”
“Some last night and they’ve been worse today, but I’ve been up and down those stairs so often, that it’s no wonder.”
“Did you call about the ultrasound?”
Willow glanced over her shoulder and shook her head. “No, I—”
“Why not?”
“Well, if something was wrong, wouldn’t I be bleeding or have serious pain? And it’s not like they can do anything at this point, can they?”
“I don’t know, but—”
She turned back to the cookies. “But you’d want to know so there was no doubt.”
“I would.”
“I think I’m afraid—but that’s silly.”
David stood and moved to her side. “I sometimes know what you’re thinking just because you’re Kari’s daughter.”
&nbs
p; “And what’s that?”
“You’re afraid to find out something is wrong, because then you’ll feel guilty for not being completely thrilled at the idea of another pregnancy so soon after the baby’s birth.”
She didn’t meet his eyes, didn’t take hers from the mangled gingerbread men that she peeled from the counter and flopped onto the cookie sheet. David picked three off and shoved them back into the bowl of dough. “You’re upset.”
“I don’t want anything to be wrong. Does that make me half-crazy?”
“It makes you a mother, girlie. You were designed to protect the baby inside.” David brushed a tendril from her forehead.
When Kari cried, he went to get her. The pile of disposable diapers surprised him, however. Why were they not using the “washable” ones she’d made? He’d have to ask.
The boys still slept, their little fists curled in balls beside their heads. Once back downstairs, Willow had a bottle waiting for him. “If you could feed her, I could keep working…”
“Happy to do it.”
He settled himself in the rocker—rocking baby Kari in Kari’s rocker—and choked back emotion as he fought the feelings of loss and betrayal. He could have done this with Willow. He could have—no! Don’t go there. It’s done. You’ve purposed to forgive her, now act like it.
Willow’s movements slowed over time. Wrinkles grew on her forehead and twice she gripped her stomach. David tried not to ask—not to interfere—but when he heard a sharp intake of breath, he couldn’t resist any longer. “What’s wrong?”
“The cramps—they’re getting worse. They’re as bad as they were at the halfway mark with the boys.”
“Let me call. Let me ask the doctor’s office what they think.”
To his astonishment, she nodded. “Would you?”
He shuffled through his contacts and dialed the office. As he waited on hold, Willow excused herself to the bathroom, coming back later with a relieved look on his face—a look that he hoped meant she’d found no blood. As she passed, he grasped her wrist, “Blood?” he mouthed.
Willow shook her head. “I do feel a little better after ‘going’ though…”
The nurse appeared on the “line” again. David listened, agreed, and disconnected the call. “Dr. Kline would prefer you to go to the Fairbury clinic immediately for an ultrasound. He’d have you come into his office, but their ultrasound machine is being repaired today.”
“Really? Just for cramps?” She stepped back and searched his face. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Not at all,” he assured her. “The nurse’s words were, ‘just a precaution to reassure everyone that everything is okay.’”
“Let’s go. I’ll call Chad to come home and watch the children.”
David shook his head. “I’ll watch the children; you take your husband, Willow.”
“Right. Sorry. Oh, I’m glad he didn’t hear that.”
“You’ll tell him before the week’s out,” David protested. It’s what you do.”
They sat in the reception area of the clinic, hands intertwined. Chad trying to look relaxed and confident, Willow confused. On four separate occasions the nurse called Willow’s name, only to send her back to her seat after waiting at the counter for a minute or two. The last time, she sank into her seat and hissed, “What is wrong with these people? Maybe we should just go home and wait until Dr. Kline’s machine is fixed.”
“Be patient. We didn’t have an appointment. They’re trying to fit us in between schedules.”
Chad sounded more confident than he felt, but Willow seemed to draw strength from his words. “That makes sense. It just feels like they’re trying to find a way to tell me it’s not worth the bother or something.”
Dr. Weisenberg stepped into the room and beckoned for Chad and Willow to follow. “I’ve got a spot for you now.”
“That’s what I like about him,” Willow whispered loudly enough for most of the room to hear. “He doesn’t leave everything to the nurses.”
“That’s their job, Willow. They do the little things so he has the maximum time to spend with each patient. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I didn’t say there was,” she protested, “but that doesn’t mean that I can’t like that he’s different.”
“Thank you,” Dr. Weisenberg said as he led her into the tiny ultrasound room. “I try.”
Willow flushed. “Sorry—”
“Don’t be. Just get undressed here and I’ll be back in a minute. Dr. Kline called and said you were coming. He said to tell you he’s praying that all is well.”
Willow’s eyes flew to Chad as she unzipped her skirt. “He’s praying?”
“It’s what people do when they don’t know what’s going on—not just when they know something is wrong. Don’t freak out yet.”
Despite the doctor’s words, Chad could see the tension grow around her eyes and lips and in the way she gripped his hand. She glared at the wand as if it would know her utter distaste for the thing, prompting him to chuckle. “Lass, you can’t make that go away by staring at it hard enough.”
“I hate those things.”
“I know you do. I would too.”
A knock sounded and Dr. Weisenberg stepped in. “Usually Tara would be doing this for me, but she’s out with the flu today. We’re really shorthanded, so you’re stuck with me.”
“I’d rather have you anyway,” Willow whispered. “Let’s get this over with.”
Dr. Weisenberg glanced nervously at Chad. “Over with?”
“She hates the wand—calls it medical—”
“Chad!”
“Well, you do!” He grinned, glad he’d made her smile and relax a bit.
“Doesn’t seem an appropriate discussion in front of the—” She snickered. “I can’t believe we’re talking about this.”
Dr. Weisenberg scooted his rolling stool closer. “Shall we take a look?”
Unlike her ultrasounds with the twins or Chelsea’s with Kari, the room was eerily quiet. The occasional click of the keyboard and a beep here or there were the only sounds that broke the silence of the room until Dr. Weisenberg said, “How far along did you say you are?”
“We figured eight weeks.”
The doctor nudged Chad. “Is that right? Willow looked to you for confirmation there…”
But Chad didn’t answer. Instead, he stared at the screen, his heart in his throat. Willow squeezed his hand. “What is it? Chad!”
He turned to her. “Yeah? Wha—”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. It just doesn’t look like it did with the boys.”
Her laughter echoed in the room. “Of course it doesn’t. There were two—” She turned to Dr. Weisenberg. “What does he see?”
The doctor turned the screen toward her, pulling it closer. “There’s no heartbeat, Willow. I’m trying here, but I can’t get it.”
“Oh, Chad!” Her eyes filled with tears. “It’s the fire, isn’t it? I—”
“Whoa, don’t start blaming yourself for anything. The baby looks more like six weeks to me—measures about there too. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen this very thing and two weeks later, we get a healthy heartbeat. We’ll do some blood work and try not to worry until we have some answers, okay?”
Chad latched onto the hopeful words instantly. “So it could be fine then.”
“I’m not promising anything. Even at six weeks, it doesn’t look right, but we’ve been surprised too often to assume the worst without tests and a little time.” Dr. Weisenberg turned off the screen and stood. “I’ll send in the nurse to draw some blood—unless you’d prefer I do it?”
“That’s fine.” Willow spoke in a daze, dressed in a daze, offered her arm to a nurse—still dazed.
Chad led her from the clinic, his heart full of prayer and insincere confidence on his lips. “I remember when Vince’s wife had a similar thing. We prayed for a week only to find out that there were
twins in there and one hadn’t continued to develop. The other was fine.”
“How could I have been so full of dread at the idea of another baby, and now all I can do is beg God not to take it from me? It’s madness.”
“It’s humanity. You’re human. You didn’t wish a baby gone; you just wished it not here yet.”
His words sounded ridiculous even to himself. Still, Chad held her hand all the way back to the farm. Granddad’s car blocked the lane, but she’d driven as far as she could to meet him. This time, they climbed from the truck and Chad backed the van up the drive, around the curves, and into the yard again.
David met them at the door, a boy attached to each leg as he walked. Willow threw her arms around his neck and sobbed. “I killed the baby.”
Chapter 209
Three days later, Chad and Willow sat at the kitchen table, waiting for the call that would tell them if Willow’s hormones had risen to appropriate levels or dropped further. After the second draw, they had little confidence of good news, but Willow had insisted on one more—clung to the hope that a third draw could give. They’d been told the call would come after ten o’clock, and the screen on Chad’s phone said it was half past the hour.
Their eyes met and held. Willow’s lip quivered. Chad covered her hand with his as she murmured, “Maybe the numbers went up so they retested to be sure.”
“Or they didn’t and they retested to make sure they didn’t disappoint us unnecessarily—or worse.”
“Worse?” Willow dropped her eyes, unwilling to read the pain in his eyes.
“Do a D&C prematurely.”
“D&C…” Her mind spun trying to put the letters in context and then widened. “Why would they do that?”
“If the baby dies, they sometimes want to—”
Willow jumped from the table, wrenching her hand from his. “No!” She jerked open the stove door and stirred the fire. She stared into the flames before grabbing another log and shoving it in. “I’ve done that once. I don’t want to do it again.”
“If you have trouble again, lass…”
“Well, then I just won’t, will I? I can’t. I—” Willow’s phone rang, interrupting her outburst. She stared at it. “Answer it, Chad. Please,” she gasped.
Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 6 Page 25