Past Forward Volume 1 (28 page)

As they folded
the blankets and tucked them behind Chad’s seat, Chuck and Willow
discussed the beauty of the fireworks. “What do you mean you’ve
never seen them so well?”

“Mother and I
would sometimes sit on the barn or even watch from that field on
the other side of the lake, but that’s private property and
sometimes they pasture a bull in that field, so most years we just
stayed home.”

“Where do you
live?”

Willow
described her farm along “Brant’s Highway” and laughed when Chuck
asked if they grew crops. “Just enough alfalfa for the animals.
We’re more of a homestead than a real farm, but I plan to expand
next year.”

Chad wondered
what Bill would have to say about that and started to tease her,
but Chuck’s words cut him off. “That’s right on my way home. I can
drop you off.”

The scene
played out in slow motion. The moonlight gave it an eerie, ethereal
feeling as though he’d entered a horror movie as an extra and
without a voice to warn the heroine. “Oh, thank you. It would save
Chad a trip. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Chuck said
something, but Chad didn’t hear it. Instead, he watched Willow—was
she gliding—toward him in that same maddening movie-inspired slow
motion. She spoke, but her words could not penetrate the rushing in
Chad’s head. He shook his head no, desperately trying to stop the
idea before it spun out of control.

A quick hug, a
word of thanks, and a smile later, Willow wandered off toward the
parking area, with Chuck carrying her pie pan and talking as though
she and Brunswick’s most obnoxious bachelor had been friends for
years. “What part of no didn’t she understand?” he muttered to
himself. He replayed the scene through his mind and heard the
question again, her lips carefully enunciating each
word.

“Do you mind if Chuck takes me home? It’d save you a trip, and
it’s on his way…”

“Oh Lord,
help,” he muttered in exasperation, sending one eye skyward. A
thought ripped through his mind, and he sank to the tailgate once
more. “Lord, Bill is gonna kill me.” He swallowed hard. “Can’t say
as I blame him, either.”

“Turn left up
there where the big tree is. That’s our drive.”

“So how long
have you lived here?” Chuck, in what she suspected was an unusual
thing for him, hadn’t spoken a word on the trip home.

“I was born
here.”

“Wow. Was your
dad ok with that?”

The question
took her aback for a moment. Almost no one had asked about her
father. She rarely thought of herself as having a father other
than
the
Father. “I don’t have a
father.”

“Everyone has
a father, Willow—”

Willow
interrupted quickly. “You’re right. I’ve never known a father like
that, and based upon the little I do know about him, I have no
interest in the man who could make that claim.”

“Bad dude,
huh?”

“Yes.”

Chuck parked
his little sports car and, with another first in his life, dashed
around the hood to open the door for Willow. “Here, I’ll take
that,” he said pulling the pie pan from Willow’s hands.

“Would you
like to come in and have another piece?”

From his
expression, she expected him to say something articulate like,
“Well,
duh
,” but instead heard
him say, “do you have ice cream?”

“No, but I can
make some. How’s your cranking arm?”

“Who’s callin’
me cranky?”

The Chuck from
earlier in the evening—the one who seemed clueless to basic rules
of civility—had vanished. Sure, he made occasional gaffes that
anyone might, but in comparison to the utter rudeness at the lake,
it felt quirky rather than boorish. He
wouldn’t hear of her cranking the ice cream freezer,
serving their food, or washing the dishes. There was something
endearing about the young man’s attempts at service that she could
see were new—and unskilled.

Near midnight,
Willow stood and tossed her water glass outside on the rhododendron
bush. “I’ve had fun getting to know you, Chuck, but I have to be up
early, so it’s time for you to go home.”

“Oh, sure. Can
I have your phone number?”

Willow called
out the numbers, while Chuck punched them into his phone. She
walked him to the front porch steps and said goodnight. At his car,
Chuck turned around and returned to stand at the base of the
porch.

“Would you
mind if I called? Do you
want
me to call,
or are you being nice?”

“Chuck, I
don’t know what kind of people you are used to, but I don’t say
anything if I don’t mean it. You’re welcome here any
time.”

Back in his
own car, Chuck inserted the key and put it in gear.
“Wow.”

The quiet din of congregational fellowship
muffled the sounds of an approaching cyclone. “Willow! There you
are! I looked all over your place for you, but I couldn’t find you.
I said I’d be there in time to save you the walk.”

Willow’s momentary shocked expression put
all those nearby on their guard. She was just learning that Chuck
had a habit of not hearing when someone said no to one of his
plans. This could get ugly. Fast.

To everyone’s surprise, Willow rearranged
her features into a genuine smile, took his hand, and quietly led
him out a side door into the quiet prayer courtyard behind the main
building. A quick glance around the yard assured her they were
alone. “Did we have the same conversation?”

“What do you mean?” Chuck’s voice already
held a trace of defensiveness.

“You seemed surprised that I wasn’t waiting
for you at my house. I distinctly remember saying I did not want a
ride—”

“But I told you—”

Willow dropped his hand and turned away
trying to control her temper. This man was excessively ill
mannered, but it seemed to her that everyone almost encouraged it
by ignoring it. She whirled back to face him and found her face
almost buried in his chest. “Oh!”

Chuck stepped back. “I’m sorry, Willow,
I—”

“Are you?” With a deep sigh, she sank onto
the nearest bench and patted the seat next to her. “We need to
talk.”

An uncomfortable look covered Chuck’s face.
“Really, I didn’t—”

“You’re lying to me. Sit down.”

Chuck sat. “I’m not—”

She folded her hands in her lap and waited.
After several dozen seconds of protests and blustering, Chuck
closed his mouth in a stony silence. Willow tried again. “You
done?”

His expression was a cross between that of a
trapped rabbit and a charging bull. “I don’t understand what the
problem is, Willow. You’re acting all mad at me.”

“I am not accustomed to people lying to
me.”

“But I didn’t lie!”

A peace stole over her as she prayed for
guidance. “Chuck, you offered me a ride to church. What did I
say?”

“I said I’d be there by nine-fifteen. You
weren’t there.”

“I said I would walk.”

“But I said—”

Willow interrupted before he was stuck on
that track again. “So in other words, it is my fault that I didn’t
ignore what I’d already told you and assume you would also ignore
it?”

“What?”

“I told you that I was walking and that I
would not be there when you arrived so not to stop and pick me up.
Now, you are irritated with me because I did what I said I would
do. I was supposed to go back on my word and wait around hoping
you’d ignore me?”

“But I said—”

Her patience was thinning rapidly. “Chuck.
What did I say?”

“But I said—”

“And I said?”

Chuck repeatedly insisted that he’d promised
to arrive, he had done what he’d promised, didn’t understand why
she was upset at him, and why she wasn’t waiting when he arrived.
Conversely, Willow refused to be bullied into acquiescence. Chad
overheard part of the argument on his way into the auditorium and
was tempted to tell Willow it was a hopeless cause. Chuck never
backed down.

“What do you want from me Willow? I tried to
do something nice—”

“Since when is it nice to ignore a woman’s
wishes?”

“But it’s five miles!”

“Since when is it nice to ignore—”

Chuck’s voice rose in exasperation. “You’re
being impossible!”

A very quiet and low reply punched the wind
from his lungs. “Do not ever raise your voice at me like that.
Ever.”

“I just—”

With a deep sigh, Willow stood. “Chuck, I
want to be your friend. I like you. However, I will not tolerate
being ignored, and I won’t be lied to. If you want to be my friend,
you’re going to have to listen when I say no, and you’re going to
have to be honest with both of us when you do something wrong.”

She was nearly at the door when Chuck’s
quiet voice reached her. “I’m sorry.”

Willow turned and saw a new expression on
Chuck’s face—one she suspected few ever saw. She saw humility and
genuine contrition. Chuck’s shoulders slumped as he continued. “I
heard you say you were walking and not to stop.”

Returning to the bench, Willow glanced up
into Chuck’s miserable face. “Why did you act like you didn’t?
That’s a lie, Chuck. You tried to shift the blame onto me. You
accused me of rudeness. I don’t have many friends, just Chad and
Bill—well and maybe Lee, but friends don’t do that. Even I know
that.”

“People don’t do anything with me if I just
ask.”

“Does it work to ignore them when they
decline?”

Chuck’s miserable face tugged at a maternal
heartstring Willow didn’t know she had. “Sometimes.”

In a lifetime of solitude with her mother,
Willow had never imagined someone so alone. She wondered about
Chuck’s mother, his family. How had he been allowed to continue
such a self-destructive path? Would she be able to have a
reasonable friendship with someone like him?

Another thought crossed her mind. A man like
Chuck was probably starved for fellowship and affection. Willow
hugged him. “I’m sorry, Chuck. You must find life frustrating at
times.” She pulled away and stood, offering her hand. “Come on,
let’s go inside. We’re missing Bible study. Just remember,” she
warned playfully, “if I say no, I mean no, and we’ll get along
great.”

A ripple of surprise rolled over the
congregation as Willow and Chuck entered the auditorium hand in
hand, and sat comfortably next to Alexa. Pastor Allen watched as
Willow turned her attention to the morning’s lesson but included
Chuck as he called out passages in rapid succession.

Fifteen minutes and a jumbled and
incomprehensible lesson later, Pastor Allen snapped his Bible shut
with a smile. “I can’t focus. I’m trying to teach James chapter
two, but I think we’ve all seen it lived before our eyes this
morning.” His voice wavered. “Scripture spoken by action— isn’t it
beautiful?”

As he shuffled through the day’s paperwork,
Bill paused at the sight of Willow’s birth certificate. Renee
Freeman must have meant for him to send it on to Willow. The date
caught his eye just as he started to refold it. He glanced at his
calendar. Thursday, July nineteenth. Monday was her birthday.

Bill’s thumb slid up and down on the touch
screen, scrolling the numbers back and forth until he gave in and
punched Chad’s quick dial button. Three weeks since their date—not
that he was counting... He’d tried to arrange another afternoon in
the city on the seventh, but she had plans with Chad for a
fireworks display. The following Saturday, he’d suggested dinner
out in Fairbury and a movie on his laptop at her house, but again,
she wasn’t available. This, however…