Past Forward Volume 1 (55 page)

“That may be true, but don’t take it out on
me.
Let
it out on me if you need, but I’m not your whipping
post.” He prayed firmness is what she needed, because the
tenderness that would have worked with Cheri had already failed.
“What’s going on?”

“I’m seriously perturbed if you must know.
My mother is dead, if you haven’t noticed. I’m all alone as well,
and, for your observation pleasure, I even lost my dog!”

“That’s a lie.”

This got her attention. “Just who do you
think you are?”

“I’m your friend. I’m proof that you’re not
alone. I didn’t want to b—” He stopped himself short. It wasn’t
true. Not anymore.

“You didn’t what?”

“That’s not important,” he hedged. “What’s
important is that I’m your friend, you’re not alone, and yes, you
have every right to be hurting, grieving, angry—just not at me.
This isn’t my fault.”

“I want my mother back! I can’t do this! I
can’t stay here alone and do all of this alone, and yet I don’t
want to leave. I just. Want. My. Mother.”

These words, Chad understood. He also knew
how to help. Having a hormonal sister was a decent introduction to
grieving friends. He immediately retrieved a “roll of Kleenex” from
the bathroom closet, and with one arm around her, unwrapped the
Reese’s with his other hand.

“Take a bite.”

“Why.”

“It’s like a kiss on an owie—it makes it all
better.”

She quickly lit the lamp and stared at him,
dumbstruck. Her eyes were red, swollen, and tear stained. The most
callous person would have been moved. Chad was crushed.

“Owie? All better? You’ve got to be kidding
me.”

“Take a bite.”

“I couldn’t swallow,” she choked.

Chad retreated from the room, leaving a
stunned Willow staring at the doorway. When he returned, she seemed
ready to attack again. “Just walk out—”

“And return with water.”

“Who asked for water?”

“Well if you don’t want to drink it,” he
began, “I can always cool you off with it.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to take a bite—”

Exasperated, Willow grabbed the peanut
butter cup and shoved the entire thing in her mouth. Almost
immediately, she spit it back out staring confused at the paper
wrapping. Chad fought to keep a smirk from his face, but it was too
late. “Hush. Who wraps their food in plastic
and
paper?”

She handed it to him, but he backed away. “I
don’t want it now. Scrape off the chocolate from the paper with
your teeth.”

“What?”

“Just do it,” he said exasperated. All
attempts to try to cheer her up were over. He’d tried and
failed.

Tentatively, Willow bit into the chocolate,
pulling the candy from the paper cup with her teeth. “Oh, this is
delicious.”

She removed all traces of chocolate from the
cup. Chad choked back a laugh as Willow hobbled from the bed,
tossed the cup in the bathroom trash, and washed her hands. “Thank
you.”

“Care to talk about it?”

“No. I don’t care to talk about it. I want
to break things. I want to scream. I want to throw a tantrum. I
want to rewind my life.”

“I know,” he said, feeling worthless. “I
know.”

They stood in opposite places. He beside her
bed feeling and looking terribly out of place, she in the doorway,
leaning against the doorjamb and looking pained and ready to bolt.
Night breezes blew the heady scent of phlox into the room, yet
still they stood.

Her voice, soft, quiet, pained, finally
broke the silence. “Please leave.”

Alone without friends or family to comfort
her after the death of her mother, Willow Finley’s idyllic life is
over—and just beginning.

Follow Willow as she learns to
blend her old life with the new, experiences things she’s only read
about, and makes the first friends she’s ever had. Living as if in
the past, her life is moving forward.

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Check out the
Past Forward
series
TRAILER

The Rockland Chronicles

Noble Pursuits

Discovering Hope

Argosy Junction

Thirty Days Hath…

Advent

31 Kisses

The Aggie Series
(Part of the Rockland Chronicles)

Ready or Not

For Keeps

Here We Come

The Hartfield
Mysteries
(Part of the Rockland
Chronicles)

Manuscript for Murder

Crime of Fashion

The Agency Files
(Part of the Rockland Chronicles)

Justified Means

Mismatched

Past Forward- A Serial Novel

Volume 1

Volume 2

Volume 3

Volume 4

Volume 5

Historical Fiction

Allerednic (A Regency Cinderella story)

The Annals of Wynnewood

Shadows and Secrets

Cloaked in Secrets

Beneath the Cloak

The Not-So-Fairy Tales

Princess Paisley

Everard

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The porch swing rocked gently in the crisp
air. Steaming cups of chamomile tea warmed their fingers as they
chatted, huddled under a warm quilt. Willow’s head nestled into the
shoulder near her ear, and she reveled in the strength and security
there. It felt good to have affection again.

The anger that had held her captive in its
relentless grasp during the past few weeks seemed more manageable
at times like this. The day was over, the work done, and for half
an hour in the moonlight with steaming cups of calming tea, Willow
and Lily could talk about everything that hurt without Willow’s
emotions raging out of control. She loved these times. They
reminded her so much of her long talks with her mother. If only the
pain and fatigue in her heart was as manageable as that of her
leg.

“I don’t know what all to do. I have planned
for more work next year—not less.”

Lily pushed Saige away from her feet before
asking, “Why?”

“I can. I can sell everything I don’t need
myself, so it’ll keep me busy.”

“Busy enough to help you forget—” Lily
began, her hesitation audible. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Actually, it’s not that. Not really. It’s
just that I’ll be doing the work anyway, so why not give Jill what
she needs at the same time?”

“I’ve wondered about a few things…”

“Such as?”

Willow listened as Lily explained how
interested people were about life on the farm whenever they heard
about it. She told about the schoolteachers who had come to her
wondering if Willow would allow a fieldtrip to her farm. She shared
how encouraged she’d been by Kari’s journals and the faith that
Willow’s mother obviously had. She mentioned the fruits, the
vegetables, and the crafts that, while just another part of
Willow’s existence, were fresh and exciting to those who didn’t
live with them for survival.

“Have you ever named your farm?”

Willow shook her head. “No. We joked about
it when we read
Anne of Green Gables
or
Rebecca of
Sunnybrook Farm,
but—”

“I think that’s the first thing you should
do.”

“Really?”

Lily nodded. “Yep. And then I think you
should consider publishing your mother’s journals—either as a
compilation of years or as an autobiography journal style.”

“Who would want to read Mother’s journals
but me?”

“You truly have no idea how unique your life
is; do you?”

Willow wasn’t a fool. Of course, her life
was different. She lived it and saw how those around her lived.
What she didn’t understand was the attraction to the novel for
novelty’s sake.

“I know that I live differently. Chad made
that glaringly obvious with his continual questions of why I didn’t
do this or that as sacrifices to the infernal god of time!”

“Don’t be ugly.”

For a moment, Lily’s words scratched at the
hardened door of her heart. The woman—so near her own mother’s
age—rarely corrected her, but of late, she had shown little
patience with Willow’s latent antagonism toward Chad. Lily seemed
tired of it. “Do you have any idea how often he asked me why I
didn’t want to save time on this or that?”

“Do you have any idea how much of his own
personal time he devoted to ensuring you didn’t lose your
harvest?”

“I tried to pay him—” she protested.

“You kicked him in the gut.”

A smile spread across her face but she hid
it from Lily. “Literally.”

“What?”

“I kicked him in the gut the night
before—”

“Before you lost your senses?” Lily
interrupted, each word laced with irritation.

“I understand Chad is your little pet, and
you feel badly that I don’t worship at—”

Lily stood and moved toward the front door
as if she’d rather go to bed than listen to any more. “Your anger
has rotted into bitterness. You’re taking it out on the wrong
person. Attack Satan with your grief—not the people who have shown
you nothing but love and affection in the face of your loss.” She
paused and turned back, her own emotions taking hold. “Let Jesus
take these broken pieces of your heart and create stained glass art
from them. Don’t use them as weapons against the people who love
you.”

Tears overcame her—again. “Why do I get this
way? I hate it! Why do you think I pushed Chad away?”

“Because you don’t trust him.”

Willow shook her head, watching the shadow
move on the moonlit porch. “But I do—” Her voice quieted. “I think
I don’t trust me.”

Lily returned, sank back down into the
swing, and rewrapped the blanket around them. Willow dissolved into
a fresh wave of tears. Between sobs and choking back sobs, she
confessed, “I miss him.”

“Let me call.”

Her heart froze at the thought. “No.”

Chad’s shoulders slumped. “You’ve got to be
kidding me. Now?”

“I thought it’s what you’ve been workin’
for, Chad. They called and asked for my best rookie. I told them
that was you.” The chief leaned against his desk, both palms flat
on the top as though ready to shove it across the room.

Hands stuffed in his pockets, Chad shuffled
his feet. “When would I start?”

“Thirty days.”

He kicked his toe against the chair in front
of him. “When do I have to decide?”

Varney sat quietly for what felt like hours.
At last, he spoke. “Chad, son, it sounds to me like you already
did.”

The words twisted in his gut. The
decision—it could affect every hope he had for his career. He
wanted to shout, “I’ll take it!” but instead he grit his teeth and
muttered, “Yeah.”

Chief Varney came around the corner of the
desk and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Well, I’m a little
surprised, but I can’t say I’m sorry. You’re good for this
place.”

As Chad stepped out of the office, he heard
the chief call for Martinez. It felt like a kick in the gut. He’d
worked so hard for that job. He wanted that job. But until he knew
Willow would be ok…

Her words flooded his memory as he grabbed
his hat and the keys to his cruiser.
“No, Chad, I don’t need a
ride home.”

“Come on, Willow, this is ridiculous—”

“Well, ridiculous or not, I want to walk. I
can do it now, so I want to,” she argued.

“You’ll be hurting by the time you get
halfway there. You’re going to overdo it—”

A crowd of people outside the church and
across the street in the park overheard it and glanced their way.
“Well it’s my life to overdo, isn’t it? You know, I am beginning to
understand why my mother avoided people!”

He’d stepped forward, put an arm on her
shoulder. “Willow, I’m sorry, but—”