Willow’s anxiety began to creep up an internal scale, a small buzzing starting at the base of her skull.
“Did you want something?”
Reg dropped by without prior arrangements all the time but usually within the confines of daylight. Willow often tuned out Reg’s long-winded explanations for how he spent his evenings. Most of the talk about UFOs was well above her head, and Willow didn’t mind it staying that way. However, she knew he liked to be out in the open, looking for suspicious activity in the night sky.
From the way Reg’s shoulders tensed, Willow knew he wanted to ask for something. She bustled past him, ignoring her own increasingly rapid pulse, to put on the kettle and wait for him to spill what was on his mind.
“Have a seat,” Willow said, more on the lines of an order than a question, pulling out one of the old, wooden chairs around the kitchen table.
As Reg sat, she plucked the penguin out of his tenuous grip to replace it in the living room. She’d lost many an expensive figurine to Reg’s arthritic fingers over the years and had no wish to add to the pile.
“I saw Harmony on the walk over,” Reg said, staring out the kitchen window until Willow pulled the blinds to shut out the darkness. “She didn’t even wave to me as she went past.”
Willow gave a snort. “Probably listening to one of those public radio shows on something technical. She never sees me when she’s out driving either.”
The kettle gave a whine and pinged off. Without asking, Willow began to prepare an herbal tea of deep, dark licorice for Reg, just pouring a mug of water for herself. She didn’t want to spoil her ‘tea appetite’ for later.
“Here you go.” Willow placed a large mug in front of Reg and took a seat opposite him. Despite her midsection being wound so tight that her breathing was shallow, she tried to look relaxed.
“Was over at the school today,” Reg said after a few sips. “They’ve lost half the roof on the art department building.”
“Really?” Willow shook her head. They didn’t often have storms in Aniseed Valley, but when they did, the winds tended to be a doozy.
Reg dropped by the school at least once or twice a week. He’d been the groundskeeper there for a decade before retirement and still liked to keep an eye on the place.
“I wonder if we should organize a fundraiser,” Willow said, rubbing under her eye where it had started to twitch. “That really helped them back on their feet when the truck plowed through the front gate and into the principal’s office.”
That memorable event had taken place a few years ago. The gossip around it had kept many a town council meeting going well past its appointed hour.
“Maybe.” Reg took another sip of his tea, smacking his lips together with satisfaction. “I did wonder…”
He trailed off, but Willow sat upright in her chair. Thank goodness. The man was finally getting to the reason why he’d come here.
She didn’t glance at the clock on the wall. It was better for her nerves that she didn’t check the time.
“Do you still have Molly’s old binoculars lying about the place?”
The request came out of left-field, leaving Willow blinking in confusion for a moment. Then she nodded.
“Sure. They’re in his wardrobe.”
She stood up, ignoring Reg’s offer to get them. “You wouldn’t know where to look. Just sit tight, and I’ll be right back.”
Her husband had been fond of birdwatching when he was a younger man. Molly would walk off for a few hours at a time, glasses affixed to his face as though they formed part of his anatomy. When a neighbor called by to complain one day, Willow had found out the ‘birds’ her husband liked to spy on weren’t necessarily of the avian variety.
After a stern talk, the binoculars had gone into the top shelf in the wardrobe and were only taken down again for picnics or such, when the both of them were in attendance.
Even at five-foot-eleven—the giantess of the high school many decades before—Willow had to get on tiptoes to reach far enough back to snag them. She held them out at arm’s length while grabbing a duster to get them clean. It was too late to change again if she got covered in dirt, and besides, she would have nothing suitable to switch into. She was already wearing her best dress. To don a house frock because of some unexpected dust would be a tragedy.
“Here they are, good as new.” Willow handed the binoculars over to Reg and patted him on his shoulder before taking his mug to the sink and walking to the front door.
Reg sometimes missed social cues, so Willow went out of her way to toss them about liberally when she needed him to do something.
What she needed from him most right now was to leave.
Don’t look at the clock!
Too late. Willow tore her eyes away, her heart skipping a beat in her chest before racing to catch up. Twelve minutes past six! Her guest was sure to arrive at any moment.
When she opened the front door, Willow so expected her guest to be standing there that for a split second she hallucinated him. A few blinks of her eyes cured that, but she knew that in another minute or two, the vision would solidify into reality.
“Thanks very much,” Reg said, loitering in her hallway as though neither of them had any other place to be. “You know, it was the darnedest thing, but I dropped—”
“You’ll have to tell me another time, Reg,” Willow said, giving him a helpful shove toward the front door. “Come by tomorrow and tell me everything, including your UFO watching results from tonight.”
“Oh, yes.” Reg turned in the doorway, blocking Willow’s view of the street. “I’m planning on keeping tabs in the center of town. Mrs. Matthewson said she saw something very odd there a few nights ago. Seemed most relieved when I said I’d keep an eye out on her behalf. She was quite upset.”
“You’re a good man, Reg.” Willow had no trouble infusing the words with sincerity; in a hurry or not, she truly believed he was. Otherwise, he’d hardly be so high on her list of friends.
The one thing he didn’t have was good timing.
As Willow finally got the front door shut and smoothed down her best dress, ready for company, a thought flitted across her mind. It was strange for Harmony to linger so long, then even odder for Reg to turn up at this hour.
If Willow didn’t know any better, she’d think her friends were trying to spy on the guest she wanted to entertain.
A fleeting thought but like a wild seed from a dandelion, it planted itself firmly in the soil of her mind and started to grow.
Not wanting to risk being interrupted midway through the dishes, Willow shoved the empty mugs into the fridge and hoped her guest didn’t look in there. No reason he should, of course, but today had been full of things happening without due cause.
Willow took her best china out from the cupboard—stored at the very back behind prying fingers and eyes. It was the most beautiful thing she had inherited from her mother, apart from her svelte figure and height. The delicate blue swirls nestled inside each other in a play of movement and color that delighted Willow every time she looked at it. Only for the best occasions had been her mother’s rule for the crockery, and Willow followed it religiously to this day.
It was well after six now. Willow tried her best to keep her eyes off the clock and focused on the dried herbs in front of her. She packaged them up in tiny silk purses that could be rinsed and reused, except for a single chamomile flower she left out to float to the top of her guest’s tea. Daisy tea, he called it, and Willow let it go without correction. In the long years of her widowhood, she’d finally learned the wisdom of letting things go.
At five minutes to eight, Willow sighed and put the china back in the cabinet. Even if she desperately tried to convince herself otherwise, it was clear there’d be no guest tonight.
As she moved around the kitchen, Willow caught sight of her reflection in the window. She stretched out a hand, almost touching the ghostly apparition, then pulled it back, pressing it flat against her chest instead
.
As a teenager, Willow had been the prettiest girl in school. Then she’d gone off on a wild adventure, becoming a model. Suddenly, she was lost in a sea of beautiful women, each one held up to intense scrutiny and found wanting.
It was hard to find that feeling again, the confidence that came from knowing you looked good. Willow’s husband Molly had never given her that impression.
On fleeting moments, when entertaining her guest, Willow had felt that sensation again. The knowledge that she was the prettiest girl in the room. Well aware that she could be inwardly focused to the point of selfishness, Willow wasn’t sure if she wanted to see him for the value he brought or just to experience that feeling.
She shook her head. Not that it mattered tonight! Her guest would never arrive this late; it was almost time for her favorite show. Even if Willow wanted to call him and find out where he’d gotten to, it would have to wait.
As Willow changed into her dressing gown and slippers and sat on the couch, sipping a mug of sleepy-time tea, she tried to push away her disappointment. Even so, it took a good fifteen minutes of Miss Walsham Investigates for her to let go of her troubles and become fully immersed in the show.
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About the Author
Katherine Hayton is a middle-aged woman who works in insurance, doesn't have children or pets, can't drive, has lived in Christchurch her entire life, and resides a two-minute walk from where she was born.
For some reason, she's developed a rich fantasy life.
www.katherinehayton.com
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Cinnamon and Sinfulness Page 13