“Thanks, Dad. Now if I’d only had this last week—”
“Why do you think I bought it instead of that video game Cheri suggested?”
Willow’s gift brought exclamations of delight at the sight of handmade wrapping paper. “Do you always make your own paper?” Cheri asked. “Or did you just run out?”
“We always had fun making it, but I think Mother started because she didn’t want to waste a trip home from town carrying wrapping paper.”
“Yeah. So instead, she carries home twenty pounds of butcher paper because that’s so much lighter,” Chad teased as he folded the wrapping paper and set it aside.
From within the box, Chad pulled the sweater Willow had spent the past three weeks knitting. Before Chad could respond, Cheri sighed, “Ooh, that looks so Eddie Bauer—You’ll have to go to New Cheltenham and walk around like a British gentleman. That’s cool.”
“It’s amazing Willow! When did you possibly—”
“I had to do something all night when you were working!”
Chad, not knowing what else to do to show his appreciation for her hard work, unbuttoned his shirt, hung it over the back of the chair, and pulled on the sweater over his t-shirt. “It fits perfectly.”
His mother looked ready to choke. He could see the ideas spinning in her mind as her eyes roamed from Willow’s pleased expression to him. He hated sweaters—something his family knew quite well. If they saw him wearing it, they’d tease him. Somehow, he’d have to make sure he wore it whenever he was sure none of them would see him.
The final gift slid across the table. Chuck tried to brush it off as nothing, and sent Willow an embarrassed grin. When Chad commented he hadn’t expected a gift, Chuck said, “Well, you can’t go to a party without a gift, even I’m not that pathetic.”
“Well…” Cheri hedged.
Chad rolled his eyes as Chuck tried to tickle Cheri as retaliation. Maybe Willow was right. Maybe he would come around. He had serious problems, but if anyone could fix him, Cheri—and a liberal dose of Willow now and then—could. Maybe he could join Cheri in foreign countries where most people wouldn’t understand his social faux pas. Yeah. That might work.
Wrapped in comics with a “bow” of aluminum foil, Chad didn’t know what to think as he removed the wrappings. However, at the sight of a six-pack of Dr. Pepper, he and Willow erupted in laughter. “That’s a good one, Chuck. I’ll keep it in my fridge so you’ll come visit me and give me all the juicy gossip about my sister.”
Willow laughed. “That’s what I did. I didn’t get any juicy gossip, but he did come and drink it for me.”
Chad and Marianne walked the others to their cars, leaving Christopher and Willow inside. Groaning with exhaustion, Christopher dragged himself out of his chair and paused by Willow seated on the floor. Her eyes were riveted on the instruction book that went to Chad’s battery charger. “I’m glad you came, Willow,” he began. “You’re good for our boy.”
Willow stood and hugged him. “He’s good for and to me.”
Christopher hesitated and then shared what had filled his heart of late. “My son cares about you—more than he knows. He won’t want to lose your friendship.”
“I was foolish once and took my grief out on him. I won’t risk hurting him again,” she reassured him.
“Another man won’t understand your relationship.”
With her head cocked as she considered his words, Willow looked even younger than ever. “I think I understand.” Her eyes dropped to the booklet in her hands. She took a deep breath and said, “Mr. Tesdall, I think I am too like my mother. There probably won’t be that kind of man, and if there were, I’d know he was wrong the second he didn’t understand. Chad’s like the brother I’ve never had. I’m not willing to lose that.”
He pulled her into another hug, kissing the top of her head as he often did with Cheri. “You’re a treasure.” His throat swelled with emotion. “You are a treasure, Willow. You’re a treasure.”
Without another word, Christopher climbed the stairs and disappeared into his bedroom. Willow stood watching him, feeling the void left behind. Something concerned him, and she’d tried to be reassuring, but the truth was she didn’t understand what he said or why he said it.
Marianne bustled into the living room shivering and shaking a few recent flakes from her jacket as she hung it on the hook by the door. She seemed to know what her husband said, because she hugged Willow saying, “Chad has always been a little emotionally vulnerable. He’s a servant, and people take advantage of that. My husband has a hard time remembering that not everyone is insensitive to Chad’s needs.”
“I think I understand now. Thanks.” She tucked the instruction booklet back in the charger packaging and said, “ I love your family.”
Marianne led her to the den and pulled a movie off the shelf. “Make Chaddie watch it. He’ll never admit it, but he loves this movie, and you need an introduction into modern Christmas classics.”
“Marianne,” Willow said wryly. “I need an introduction into any Christmas classics!”
Chad called to them from the living room. “Willow? Mom?”
“In the den.” Winking, she added “Willow picked out a movie,” as Chad filled the doorway. “I’m going to bed. Dad’s whipped, and I need my beauty sleep.”
Chad kissed his mother’s cheek. “Hogwash. You could never sleep and still be the most beautiful mother in the world.”
“Won’t work, boy. Watch the movie.”
“Aww, Mom! I bet it’s White Christmas, isn’t it!” Doing a little dance with his hand fanning over the top of his head, Chad cocked a hand on one hip and with an affected effeminate lisp sang, “Sthisters, Sthisters, there were never thuch…”
“Wrong. Now put the movie on. Night, Chaddie.”
Willow, somewhat stunned by the vision of Chad prancing like a woman on heels, passed Chad the movie. “I think this is probably a better idea anyway. That was terrifying.”
“While You Were Sleeping. I should have known. Are you sure you don’t want to watch one of the Bourne movies? Lord of the Rings?”
Her eyes widened. “They made Tolkein into a movie?”
Chad pulled the box from her hand. “Yeah, and we’ll be up until tomorrow afternoon trying to watch them all. We’d better stick to this tonight. First, popcorn. Regular or caramel?”
“We like ours with butter.”
“That’s regular. Be right back.”
Willow followed him to get a glass of water and watched transfixed as he pulled a package from a box, removed a cellophane wrapper, and tossed the entire thing in a small oven. “Popcorn in the oven?”
“Microwave.” Chad punched a button with a picture of a popped kernel.
“Ahh—can I have some water?”
Chad filled a glass and handed it to her just as the microwave beeped. “Yes! Let’s go,” he cheered grabbing the popcorn bowl from a shelf next to the microwave, tearing the bag open, and leading the way into the den.
“That was fast. That was—” She stood examining the microwave. “There’s no flame, no heat in here—what is this thing?” Her eyes widened. “Wait. Mother said something about an appliance for heating things up. That was this, wasn’t it?”
“You’ve never—oh my word. Of course. I brought out a package of it that night but you didn’t—it didn’t occur to me that you didn’t know what a microwave is!” Her last words must have registered at that moment because he added, “Sort of didn’t know anyway…”
“Well, let’s watch the movie, and you can explain microwaves tomorrow.”
They sat at opposite ends of the couch—Willow looking absolutely comfortable with her feet tucked under her and Chad, stiff and unnatural. The first line about Lucy’s life being orange sent Willow in a small fit of giggles. “I’m going to like this.”
The broken window prompted a gasp and then a giggle. “If he was thinner and better looking, Joe Jr. would be Chuck!”
Seconds later, sh
e asked, “What’s she tossing on the tree?”
Once Peter fell onto the tracks, Willow sat upright—tense. She waited anxiously for someone to help and then cheered as Lucy jumped on the tracks. “She noticed how he smelled?”
Chad shrugged. “Just call her Cheri.”
As Lucy introduced herself to a comatose Peter, Willow scooted next to Chad and pointed out the machines, asking questions under her breath. “I think that one was in my room…”
Chad pulled her closer and draped an arm around her. She curled comfortably against his side and watched as Lucy talked to a sleeping Peter. At the line, “Have you ever been so alone you spent your night confusing a man in a coma?” Willow sighed. “No, but I could,” she whispered.
“I don’t plan on being in any comas any time soon,” Chad reassured her.
Willow glanced up at him, smiling into his eyes. “They remind me of your family,” and seconds later, “Jack reminds me of you.”
“He drives a truck. Smart guy.”
Willow hated Peter’s apartment. “It’s almost as bare as Bill’s.
“Bill’s apartment looks like that?”
“Nah,” she corrected. It’s just empty like that—more empty really. He has wood and black and some red on the walls. It’s boring.”
As the story unfolded, Willow’s agitation grew. “Why doesn’t Saul tell them? This is cruel. And Jack! They obviously care about each other—”
“Mary mashed the potatoes. Everyone, compliment Mary so mom can stop feeling guilty,” Chad quipped.
“What’s the deal about the mistletoe? Why do people do that anyway?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s tradition. Started in England or Europe—one of those ‘E’ places. Mom puts up a new sprig every day from Black Friday through New Year’s Eve. By New Year’s Day, there isn’t a safe spot in the house!”
“Safe spot?”
Blushing, Chad nodded. “House rules. If two people pass under mistletoe, you have to kiss. Period.”
“So this is a problem why?”
“The last thing a teenaged boy wants to do is kiss his big brother or little sister. It was mortifying.”
A mischievous glint entered Willow’s eye as she looked up into his face. “Then you should have brought home more girlfriends. Someone told me that people like kissing in the right scenario…”
“You’re bad, Willow. You are very bad,” he murmured. “Watch the movie.”
Chad choked back laugher, failing miserably, through the scene where Peter and Ashley discuss her returning his “gifts.” Willow, jaw connecting with her knees, sat up straight and gawked at the screen. “Did she just really grab her chest and claim Peter bought it! Do they do transplants for those too now?”
“No, implants.” Between chuckles, Chad gave her a brief explanation of implants, prompting Willow to grabbed the remote.
“Ok, make it go back. You did that before, go back.”
Barely containing his laughter, Chad whizzed the screen back and Ashley’s voice pierced the room again. “You gave me these too!”
“Stop it!”
Chad backed up to the scene and froze the screen. Willow stared. Finally, disgusted, she reached and punched the play button. “That man is either a cheapskate, she was concave, or that doctor gypped them.”
Willow stared as Chad doubled over in laughter, wiping tears from his eyes. Several awkward seconds passed until Chad said, “What?”
“I can see the movie in your eyes. That is so weird.”
His hand reached for her chin and gently turned it to the TV. “It’s more enjoyable on the screen.”
Without another word, Willow grabbed a couch pillow, laid it next to him, schooched down, and tried to lie down, but she didn’t fit. She sat up to try the other side, but Chad took the pillow, laid it on his lap, and moved as far to the left as he could.
Hours later, Christopher found them asleep—Chad sitting awkwardly with one arm over her shoulder and Willow asleep, her head on a pillow in his lap. The opening music played repeatedly as the DVD player waited for someone to choose between “play” and “special features.”
Christopher tapped his son’s shoulder. “You’ll sleep better if you go to bed.”
Groggy, Chad blinked several times, trying to clear the mixed messages in his brain. “Did you really just say—”
This time, Christopher shook his son’s shoulder gently. “Wake, up son. Go to bed. She’ll be fine here. I’ll leave a note on the fridge so your mom doesn’t wake her up.”
Chad slipped from under Willow’s head and followed his father from the den. “Hey, Dad, know that part in While You Were Sleeping, when Ashley offers her breasts back?”
“Yeah…” Christopher hedged.
“Willow said that they got gypped.”
Laughing, Christopher clapped an arm over his son’s shoulder. “That girl is going to fit right in with this family.”
“We’re not getting married, Dad.”
“Sure you are; you just haven’t accepted the inevitable.”
Chapter Sixty
It was a calculated risk but a risk nonetheless. Steve Solari observed, with apparent indifference, as his wife redecorated their Christmas tree for the third time this year. Every day a new catalog arrived with a better idea than the last, leaving her frantic to recreate it in her own home. This particular option was hideous.
“What do you think, Steve?”
The tone in her voice indicated that she wasn’t sure. If he didn’t give an Oscar winning performance, she’d start all over in the morning. “Wow!” He craned his neck as if unable not to stare. “Best one you’ve done yet. Not tacky with the stupid red and green everywhere.. I think your decorating talent gets better every year.
Lynne preened a bit as she stood back to better admire the tree. “I wasn’t sure about the black and silver, but I think it works.”
“What it needs is one of those crystal encrusted huge stars as a focal point.” He knew she’d love the idea, and it’d take her a good week to find something like that. He’d buy up everything in town if it meant she’d keep looking. He’d never be frustrated at her lack of computer literacy again.
“Oh! I have one of those upstairs! I’ll go get it right now!”
“Lynne, first I need to talk to you about something. Come here.”
“I just—”
Steven reserved a tone for the rare occasions when he didn’t have the patience to cajole. “No. Now.”
She sat across from him in her favorite chair. “What’s wrong?”
“Come here. I’m not ticked, but I have… difficult news.” His affection for his wife, while less than effusive, was genuine, and he didn’t care to hurt her. Even his occasional infidelities over the years had never reached her ears. He ensured it.
“Steve?” The trepidation in her tone almost stopped him. Almost.
Wrapping his arm around her, he pulled a copy of the article on Willow from his pocket. “Remember this?”
“Yeah…”
“This girl, Willow Finley. Steve knew her mother. Well—he didn’t know her well, but he went out with her once.”
“How do you know?”
He hesitated. All of the doubts that he’d stamped down flooded his mind again. If he chose the wrong approach, it’d fail. However, if Willow was going to be a part of their lives, he had to be honest or it’d backfire. “Steve came to me about twenty-four years ago and confessed he’d been out with a girl and got drunk.”
“Well, Steve didn’t hold his liquor very well—” she began.
“This time it held him. He was rough with her, and she could have pressed charges.”
His wife’s wide horrified eyes cut him to the heart. Had Steve been alive, beating him for hurting Lynne would have been immensely satisfying. Everything hinged on where Lynne’s sympathies fell.
“She didn’t press charges, but I felt obligated to try to make it up to her in some way—however inadequate.”
“That’s not the kind of thing you can—” She paused and then gasped. “Are you trying to tell me that this Willow Finley is Steve’s daughter?”
“Willow Finley is Steve’s daughter. I checked it out; I met with the girl, and yes. She is his daughter.”
“You met with her?” Her eyes clouded with confusion and then anger. “Why didn’t you tell me? Didn’t it occur to you that I might want to meet my only grandchild?”
“I didn’t make the appointment with her. She came to me.”
Lynne’s eyes narrowed. “To demand more money. That’s what you’re trying to say, isn’t it? Our granddaughter is a gold digger.”
“Quite the reverse. When I discovered that my suspicions were correct, I immediately sent a check to cover her expenses to date. I’d given her mother money years ago.” He saw distrust in Lynne’s eyes and scrambled for anything to drag her loyalty to the Finley side. “Honestly, I think the only reason she cashed the check was because she found out she was pregnant. At the time, I thought she would keep the check to share with the police. I was ready to have it recovered if necessary.”
“Willow returned the second check?”
“Yes. She said she’d lived off of our support her entire life and she didn’t want any more. I respected her for it. She’s a lovely girl—not beautiful, but she is attractive.”
“They lived for years off of the money you gave them? How much did you give them?” Lynne demanded.
Steve took a deep breath, exhaled, and answered in the calmest voice he could muster. “A million dollars.”
His wife jumped to her feet ranting and pacing wildly. “Steve got drunk one night, got a ‘little’ rough with some tramp, and you paid out a million dollars to keep her quiet! I don’t think so. He raped her didn’t he?”
“Lynne, he was drunk—”
“He was a pig! My own son—” She paused mid-sentence. “You saw her?”
“Yes.”
“When? How soon after—when?”
Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 2 Page 22