Past Forward Volume 1 (23 page)

Mozart surrounded them in a quiet cocoon of
classical music as Bill’s Camry zipped along the highway between
Fairbury and the Rockland Loop. The air between them practically
wailed with discomfort and uncertainty. Willow tried several times
to tell Bill about her hopes of visiting the clothing store, but
with the awkwardness between them, telling him she’d made
arrangements to spend more time with him felt uncomfortable. Her
eyes slid sideways as Bill sighed, gripping the wheel tightly, his
knuckles white.

Minutes later, Willow glanced sideways
again, miserable. She wasn’t accustomed to not saying whatever was
on her mind. The uncertainty felt duplicitous and affected.
Nonetheless, it was real—at least the feeling was—and Willow knew
she had to get past it. She searched her mind for anything happy or
interesting to share with Bill and remembered the sale of her
produce.

“Oh, did I tell you what Chad did
yesterday?”

The question, as innocent as it was phrased,
couldn’t have been more unwelcome if she’d tried. She watched from
the corner of her eye as Bill’s features hardened into a resolute
expression of disappointment and patience. Before she could
consider it, his reply sent a discordant note rippling through the
car as though Mozart himself disapproved of her question.

“No.”

Inwardly shrugging her shoulders, Willow
continued her story. “Well, he brought Jill McIntyre out to the
house last night. She runs the farmer’s market in Fairbury every
Saturday.”

Bill glanced at her. His features relaxed
just a little as he said, “Oh? What did she want?”

“Well, she bought all my extra ripe
tomatoes, peas, some lettuce, cucumbers, and a little squash. All
that produce Mother and I planted for us isn’t going to go to waste
after all!”

Willow withdrew her check from her purse,
excitement exuding from her. “I brought the check she gave me. I
thought you could deposit it for us.” She held it where he could
see the numbers.

Her enthusiasm was contagious. Bill nodded
his approval. “Wow. Just for one week’s vegetables?”

“Yep! She says she’ll take anything I can
spare. I forgot to tell her about the fruit. I hope she wants that.
Mother always ate an obscene number of cherries, and they’re almost
ready to pick.”

“You have fruit?”

Willow’s laugh mixed with Mozart in perfect
harmony. “That’s what Chad said when I mentioned it last night
after Jill left.”

“I thought you said he brought her.” Bill’s
carefully enunciated words did little to hide some kind of
disappointment or disapproval.

“He did. She followed his truck in hers. She
has a big, old truck. It was almost full when she left.” Willow
decided now was probably the best time to tell him about her change
of plans. “Since he was there, I asked Chad if he could stop by
tonight—”

Bill interrupted sharply, “I’ll be sure to
have you back in time. Never fear.”

“—
and milk Willie so I
don’t have to rush back.”

Amazed, Willow watched as the mask and armor
that surrounded Bill melted away. “Really? I thought—”

“I know, but you were trying to do something
nice for me and—” she paused, hoping she wasn’t about to send him
back into his shell. “Well, I kind of hoped you’d be willing to
take me somewhere.”

From the look on his face, nothing Willow
could have said would have pleased Bill more. He flashed a bright
smile and promised, “Anywhere you want to go, we’ll go. Name
it.”

“You might regret that,” she warned. “I
heard about this store—”

“So you
are
a normal woman! I knew
it!”

Willow tried to manufacture an irritated
expression, but the twitch of her lips and the twinkle in her eyes
ensured utter failure. “What do you think I am, a normal man? A
normal monkey? A normal weasel?”

“I was going more for an
ab
normal
woman.”

The outskirts of Rockland loomed. Bill must
have sensed Willow’s growing unease, because he gave her a quick,
reassuring smile and said, “It’s ok. It’ll be fine.”

Willow tried to recompose her features into
some semblance of calm and reason but failed. “I’m sorry. It is
just so immense. I’m not used to being afraid of things.”

“Don’t look at the city, look at me. Talk to
me. What do you want to do today?”

Taking his advice, Willow trained her gaze
on Bill’s face and talked freely, ignoring the rapidly advancing
city. “I thought we were going to the Pennsylvania Avenue
Museum.”

“We are. What do you want to do—see the
whole thing in one trip or focus on a few rooms and then come back
another time?”

They debated the merits of a grand sweep of
the museum or seeing a few rooms and spending more time in each but
didn’t come to a decision. As the Loop neared, Bill asked about her
shopping detour, “Where is that store you wanted to visit?”

“I don’t know. It’s called Boho Chic and is
on Boutique Row. That’s all Lee said.”

Bill whipped onto the Loop and joined the
mass of vehicles encircling the city. She watched in
semi-fascinated horror as he wove in and out of traffic and then
zipped off the freeway onto Waterbrook Avenue. Within minutes, they
parked in a garage at the corner of what the Rockland citizens
affectionately called “Boutique Row” and took to the street on
foot.

Glancing around him, Bill admitted, “I don’t
know what end of the street it’s on—”

“Maybe we should ask someone in one of the
stores.”

Unbeknownst to her, Willow was about to be
inducted into the fraternal order of women with directionally
challenged, stubborn men in their lives. “Well, if it’s on the Row,
then it’s not like it won’t be right here.”

Broad sidewalks, remnants of the city’s
historic past, led them down tree-lined streets full of shoppers.
Old storefronts with curved glass windows and classic signs boasted
jewelry stores, cosmetic stores—even a purse store. “There’s a
purse store? A store where they just sell purses? Where do people
put all this stuff? How many pictures and vases and figurines can
people have? Oh look, an antique bookstore!”

Bill chuckled as Willow opened the door
instinctively and stepped inside the musty-smelling shop. She
wandered from row to row, her fingertips running along spines as
she went. Occasionally, she paused and opened a favorite book.
“This is the most wonderful store. I love it!”

Several books tempted her. She held them in
her hands, flipping pages gently, before replacing them with
reluctance. Bill tried to convince her that there was nothing wrong
with buying a book she wanted, but Willow insisted that their
shelves were full. “I’ll go through our books at home. I’m sure
there are some that I’ve read enough or didn’t like that I can
replace with—oh, look! Nicholas Nickleby by Charles Dickens.” She
held it up to Bill. “Have you read it? Is it any good?”

“
I’ve never read it, no,”
Bill admitted. He slid the book back in its spot on the shelf and
tugged her gently out the door. “Let’s not torture you anymore.
We’ll bring you back later when you feel like you can purchase
something.”

At the second corner, Willow spied the
store. “Look Bill! See there with the rounded windows? That’s
it!”

She started to run, but Bill caught her arm.
“This is the city, Willow. You don’t run in the streets or people
think you stole a purse.”

With a cursory glance at his hand on her
arm, Willow took a deep breath and smiled. “I’m sorry—”

“No. Don’t be. Your enthusiasm is
refreshing. Just don’t run.”

From the moment Willow stepped inside the
boutique, she was entranced. She exclaimed over styles, fabrics,
and fabric combinations. She viewed the various designs displayed
on mannequins near the walls and flipped through seemingly endless
fabric swatches. While the sales clerk helped two other women with
their choices, Willow perused the albums displayed for them. After
several minutes, she turned to Bill and pointed at the book. “I’ve
decided what I want to order.”

“Order?”

“Yes. You choose the styles you want, the
fabrics you want, and they make them in your size and ship them
out—sometimes within seventy-two hours, Lee said!”

The saleswoman hurried to help Willow as the
other customers exited the shop. Once introduced to Suki, Willow
pointed out the skirt, two blouses, and dress she’d chosen. Suki
wrote down design numbers and fabric choices, pausing to compare
them to ensure she had an accurate order.

“Those are gorgeous combinations. I wouldn’t
have put those two together but they look great. You have an eye
for fabrics.”

“Thank you. I wouldn’t have put aqua and
chocolate together like that, but look at those stripes. They’re
delicious!” Willow’s enthusiasm bubbled over, making even confused
Bill smile at her.

Things came to a grinding halt when Suki
asked for Willow’s size. “I don’t know. We never use sizes really.
My jeans are fives—or sixes—or something like that. Does that
help?”

Suki excused herself and vanished behind
swinging doors, emerging minutes later with several garments slung
over an arm. “There’s a fitting room just inside those doors. Why
don’t you try a couple on so we’re sure to get a good fit? If you
don’t like the length, make note of it so I can make sure your
skirts are perfect.”

Willow pushed through the swinging doors and
found herself surrounded by racks and doors. Two small swinging
half-doors hung to her right, clothes to her left, and a third door
with a knob straight ahead. Unsure where to go, she turned the knob
and opened the door. A bright room full of machines, tables, and
walls covered with rolls of fabric greeted her. Women looked up
from their work, smiled, and returned to sewing again.

The woman nearest her laid her cutter aside
and hurried to assist her. “I’m Mattie. Can I help you?”

“I’m supposed to be trying these on, but I
think I got the wrong room.” Her eyes scanned the room, rising to
the ceiling. “Is this where you sew everything? It’s so bright and
well organized! Those sky-lights are marvelous.”

Mattie chatted with her for a moment, and
then showed the way to the swinging half-doors and assured her that
her privacy was secure. “Just hook the latch in case someone
doesn’t hear you in there. Have a nice day.”

Bill stood as Willow entered wearing a dress
she’d chosen. The fabric was similar to the fabric she wanted, and
the style was perfect for her. Everything about the garment suited
her, but unlike the clothes he’d seen on her over the years he’d
known her, this dress wouldn’t stand out in a crowd—or if it did,
the reaction would be decidedly positive.

“Bravo! Do they sell off the rack? You need
that dress.”

“I do not,” Willow protested laughing. “I’ve
just ordered one similar, and I have no intention of buying two
almost the same.” To Suki, she turned, holding her arms out at the
sides and said, “What do you think of the fit? It’s comfortable but
it feels a little roomy.”

Suki shook her head emphatically. “That’s
supposed to be a fitted dress. Try the other one.”

Over the next half hour, Willow tried on a
half a dozen dresses and twice as many skirts. They quickly
discovered that due to her muscular and decidedly curvy upper body,
skirts and tops were a better option for her. At last, she appeared
in the showroom in the one dress Willow had not intended to try on
at all.

Bill’s low whistle tinged her cheeks pink.
He crossed his arms over his chest and said, “Buy it. If you don’t,
I will, and I’ll pick the colors I think you’ll like the least just
to irritate you.”

As Willow returned to the dressing room to
put on her own clothes once again, Suki turned to Bill and smiled.
“That dress was incredible. I’ve never seen such a
transformation!”

Bill agreed, nodding but saying nothing.
Something about Willow had attracted him since Kari’s death, but
today he’d seen something else. While she didn’t have Kari’s
beauty, Willow Finley was definitely one of the most attractive
women he’d ever met.

He had the order paid for and ready to go
when Willow emerged from the changing room. “She just needs you to
sign that the order is correct, and we’re ready to go.”

Willow signed, each letter placed carefully
and precisely on the line, before thanking Suki and following Bill
outside. “That was surprisingly fun!”

Bill glanced at his hands in exaggerated
amazement. “I just went clothes shopping, with a woman no less; I
left the store in less than an hour and without any bags.”

“Not to mention a lighter bank balance. I
had the money to pay for them, you know.”

He draped an arm casually over her shoulder
and propelled her along the street. “Ah, but you should keep your
cash for needs. I’ll cut myself a check on Monday. So,” he added
changing the subject quickly. “What do you want to do now? We could
do some more window-shopping, or would you like to visit Rockland’s
first library? It’s up here just a few more blocks.” He hesitated
before adding, “Or, if we turn around and go back the way we came;
my apartment building is just a few blocks over. I could show you
where I live.”

“Your apartment? You don’t have a house?
Odd. Somehow, I always pictured you with a house. Yellow with a
green door and a white picket fence. Oh, and a cat. One of those
sleek black ones.”

They did an about-face and returned to the
car. He drove to the Roark Building and turning into the garage,
plunged them into the labyrinth of cars and storage units beneath
the building. Watching her in his peripheral vision, Bill noted how
each curve of the garage sent a new burst of panic through her. By
the time he parked and turned off the vehicle, Willow’s hands shook
and her breathing was shallow. Unsure what else to do, he decided
to try acting as though nothing was amiss. It had occurred to him
that he may have fed her fear on her last trip and hoped to push
her past it quicker this time. He walked around the front of the
car where she could see him at all times, and opened her door. He
offered his hand, pulling her from the vehicle, and if he noticed
her resistance, he gave no sign of it.