Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Episode 11 (7 page)

Steven Solari
’
s pocket buzzed.
He glanced at the name
on the phone
and
answered
.
“
Yes
.”

“
I thought you would want to know
;
there
’
s a party going on in a bridal boutique on Oakland
.”

“
Bridal?
”

“
I got a picture.
I
’
m sending it
.”

The picture on the screen alarmed him.
“
Who
’
s the one holding the sides?
”

“
Kari
.”

“
What!
”
Blood rushed to Solari
’
s temples as he drew rapid breaths.

“
The owner of that store.
Don
’
t know her last name but she
’
s Kari something
.”

“
Why is she trying on wedding dresses?
”
Solari swore.
“
That cop!
It
’
s gotta be that cop
.”

Tyler didn
’
t like the sound of Solari
’
s voice.
“
What do I do?
”

“
Nothing.
Make sure she gets home ok
,
and see if she buys it or if she
’
s just looking for something else for that ball.
This has color on it so maybe
—”

“
Yes sir
.”

Steve stared at the phone in his hands.
Tyler
had disconnected the call
before he could hear any more.
Steve grinned. Tyler
knew
that
to stay in Steve
’
s good graces he had to follow orders and hear nothing he wasn
’
t intended to hear.

Friday Willow awoke to a house all to herself again and enough work to keep her busy for weeks.
She hadn
’
t felt so wonderful in ages.
Seedlings sprouted in the greenhouse, chicks grew in the barn, and invitations blossomed under her fingertips.

Several hours into her day
’
s work, she pulled out her mother
’
s journals to make sure she hadn
’
t missed anything during her week of company.
Her mother
’
s February lists were now incomplete with the work in the greenhouse
,
and she
’
d missed the hallway scrubbing but otherwise, she was
almost caught up
and it felt good.
By Monday, she
’
d be on track again.

Chad found her upstairs hanging clothes in the hallway just before lunch.
She stood in the middle,
pulling the lines through the pulleys as she hung her sheets, towels, skirts, jeans, and personal items.
“
Hey, grab some pins and go to work!
”

Without thinking, he reached into her apron pocket, pulled out a handful of clothespins, and then stared at them for a minute.
Had it really only been a few months since he
’
d helped her bring in her clothes and felt too awkward to put her clothespins in her apron?
“
So, what
’
s on today
’
s agenda?
”

“
I thought I
’
d finish hanging these
,
and while they dr
y
,
I’ll
take a walk upstream.
It
’
s always so pretty this time of year
,
and I haven
’
t had a chance with that man
…
”

“
Is that something you prefer to do alone or
—”

“
Usually.
However, I might be persuaded to invite a cer
tain someone
if he
’
d finish the laundry so I could check the bread
.”

“
Gimme the apron,
”
Chad demanded.
“
Don
’
t want any overcooked bread
.”

She dumped the apron in his hands and jogged down the stairs.
The scent alone told her the bread would be perfect—and it was.
Willow dumped the pans on cooling racks and rubbed butter over the top crusts.
The scent—oh how she loved the scent of fresh baked bread.
Combined with venison stew
,
there wasn’t anything better on a winter’s afternoon.

She ladled stew into bowls, buttered hot rolls, and set the table.

“
Chad!
Lunch is ready
…
”

Upstairs, Chad leaned against the wall, allowing the sound of her voice to wash over him.
Something in the way she called
—
perhaps the familiarity with it
—
warmed his heart.
Such a natural thing
—
a call to a meal
—
and yet
,
it was a picture of a life to come.
Twenty or thirty years in the future, Lord willing, she
’
d be calling him to a similar lunch on a similar winter
’
s day.
Maybe there
’
d be children in the house.
Would she call all of them at once or would she call his name first?

His heart constricted and his throat swelled at the thought.
Would she?
Like his mother, would she call him before children?
Memories of tearing through the house, racing through the kitchen to the dining room, and bumping into his parents as they snuggled by the stove.
That first call for
his
dad always felt comforting somehow
—
a subtle r
eminder that in her affections D
ad came first, even before her children.

Ten, twenty years down the road, would he be first in Willow
’
s affections?
Would their children know that
?
H
e glanced at t
he doors at the end of the hall. W
ould they have children?
They had to have children
—
somehow.
This world of Willow
’
s was too wonderful not to continue through the lives of children who would love and appreciate it.

“
Hey
.”
Willow
’
s voice startled him.
“
Did you hear me call?
This can wait.
Let
’
s eat while it
’
s hot
.”

Chad s
e
t the
down the basket
and followed her downstairs
, still dreaming
of pigtailed little girls and boys with hair in their eyes and frogs in their pockets.
“
Willow?
”

“
Hmm?
”

“
Have you thought about children?
”

A sharp intake of brea
th sent her bread down her wind
pipe.
Coughing and sputtering, she shook her head.
“
What?
”

“
I guess that
’
s a no
.”
Chad took a bite of his stew and suppressed the sigh that tried to escape.
He wanted that little girl.

“
Well, you
’
re right.
I haven
’
t thought about children
—
not for a while anyway
.”

Chad
’
s eyes brightened as he glanced back at her.
“
So you have considered children?
”

“
Well, I always thought I
’
d have a couple of boys
,
but sometime after mother died, I realized I
’
d have to have a husband for that
,
so I put the idea of children out of my mind
.”

After a short struggle to find the right words, Chad scooped up a spoonful of stew and commented as casually as he could manage,
“
I was just thinking how your childhood should be repeated.
Children should live this life
.”