Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 3 Page 25

  Chapter Ninety-Four

  The door creaked as Willow let herself into Chad’s apartment. She glanced around the room expectantly. Was he awake? A snore assured her that he wasn’t. She carried bags of groceries into the kitchen and began cutting fruit, making sandwiches, and mixing fruit juice. Nothing felt normal, but everything delighted her.

  Once finished, she took inventory of her pile of food and grinned. She piled the food in a box and then went hunting for Chad’s Frisbee. A baseball bat and softball dropped onto to her pile. She saw guns and wondered what he was doing with them lying around after his absolute disgust with her and her loaded gun. She picked it up and examined it, trying to find what kind of bullets it shot but only saw round plastic-looking balls—too big to be BBs. She’d ask Chad after she woke him.

  With everything ready, Willow took a deep breath and peeked into Chad’s room. Oh, she hoped he wouldn’t be irritated, but once the idea germinated, she had a hard time not tilling, watering, and practically forcing it to grow. However, first she had to wake him.

  “Chad?” She shook his shoulders gently.

  He bolted from the bed ready to do battle. “What is it? Where—huh?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You tell me! What are you doing here?” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, blinking against the light.

  “I—well, I woke up this morning. Birds were singing, it’s supposed to get up to sixty-five today, and the sun was shining. I thought—”

  Chad crawled back under the covers. His room was a little too cool for shorts. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t you have today off?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Picnic?”

  “Get out of here,” Chad growled, laughing. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  He emerged from his room to find her examining his paintball gun. “Isn’t it cool?”

  “Cool? It’s a gun with colored balls in it. What’s it for?”

  “Paintball.” At the look of confusion on her face, Chad grabbed the other gun and led her to the trashcan. “Watch.”

  Chad fired the gun into the side of the trashcan liner and paint splattered around the inside of he can, a few drops coloring the floor beside them. “You shoot it. You go out into the woods or fields and have wars shooting these at each other.”

  “And you flipped out that I had a loaded gun in my house while you have two just lying on the floor?”

  “Well, they’re not real like yours.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You woke me up, at two in the morning, to examine my gun when the children were at my house because you didn’t trust me to keep my word and put the bullets away when they were there, but you have loaded ones in your apartment for Laird to find?” Her voice raised several notches as she spoke.

  “I could shoot you with this, and it wouldn’t hurt you at all.” He paused, “Well, at this close range you’d get a bruise.”

  “You were serious?”

  “Yeah. Hey, we’ll bring them, and I’ll show you.”

  She watched, eyes bugged, as he piled jars of paint balls, vests, and four guns on the couch. All the while, he talked about strategy and made plans for a large group game the following weekend. “We’ll get Cheri and Chuck… oh and I think Joe is off. Maybe he and Alexa will come. Or! We could do a singles fight rather than a movie this time. You have enough land that it’d be great!”

  “Ok,” she agreed, thoroughly overwhelmed. “Can we go now? The sandwiches are getting soggy, and it’s almost noon. I’m hungry.”

  Chad disappeared into the bathroom to brush his teeth and hair. Willow rolled her eyes and leaned against the door, taunting him. “You don’t have enough hair to brush. Honestly, there isn’t a piece of hair on your head longer than an inch. Why on earth do you need to brush your teeth? You’re going to eat in a while!”

  They found a small clearing at the back of the Finley property that she hadn’t explored in ages. The picnic blanket spread out on a slight slope made it difficult for setting down cups but they reclined comfortably. In no time, the food was gone.

  “No ants.”

  “We always had early picnics because the ants, flies, and bees were usually scarce.”

  His expression grew impish. “Frisbee or paintball?”

  “Guns first.”

  For half an hour, they practiced loading, shooting, and reloading mid run. Willow stopped another lesson in paint-zilla warfare. “Ok, I’m ready. Now what?”

  Chad glanced around him, before pointing to the nearby trees. “Count to five hundred and then come out blazing. Hide when you need to. The point is to shoot me before I shoot you. It’s more fun with more people, but this’ll give you practice.”

  Willow counted as she watched him dash for the trees. She scouted the area for some place protected from all sides but found nothing. As a last resort, she climbed a tree with a perfect low-lying fork and settled in until Chad came back. She’d get him. A slow smile crept over her face. She felt it, even as she hung there in the branch. It was Mother’s smile—the same one she had seen anytime Mother thought she’d gotten her for something.

  Birds danced through the air, calling to one another. It seemed as though they warned of her presence, but eventually their songs and chatter shifted to something friendlier—more open. The branch pressed into her breastbone with a dull ache. Her weight on it felt heavier with each passing minute.

  At last, she heard the crashing of footsteps coming from the opposite direction than she had expected. If she had chosen to hide in the bushes, she’d be dead. The tree was a good choice. Willow waited, her eyes on the path he would have to take—on the ground right below her. She smiled again. Chad crashed through the brush, not even attempting for quiet. This made no sense. How could you hunt something if you were advertising your presence?

  He paused for a moment just under the tree. She waited. If she shifted to aim, he’d be sure to hear her. Three steps later, she fired. “Hey!”

  Willow slung the gun over her neck and then hung from the branches ready to drop. Chad saw her and wrapped his arms around her lower legs. “Let go.”

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Just do it. If you drop onto the wrong spot—bam. Insta-break. A cast won’t look right with that dress of yours.”

  She shook her head impatiently. “It’d be under the dress anyway. No one would notice.”

  “You would think of that. What were you doing up there? How’d you get up there so fast?” Chad let her down gently, pulling a leaf from her hair. “You killed a baby leaf.”

  “The tree will live,” she retorted. “I’ve been up there for ten minutes at least. It was the only way you couldn’t creep up behind me.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  Her confused expression was lost on Chad. “Why not?”

  “What if I had done that? We’d both be hanging in trees like sloths until the cows come home.”

  “My cow is home.”

  Chad brushed a stray strand of hair from her eyes, sending those strange feelings through her—the ones Marianne insisted were attraction rather than the fear she assumed they were. Panicked, she took off through the trees “Ok, stay on the ground. Five hundred. Ready? Go!”

  He turned, crashing through the brush, and disappeared. Willow glanced around her. There had to be a way to keep silent or at least bring him to her. She grabbed a few pinecones and crawled under nearby brambles, laying her vest under her for protection. Silence surrounded her comfortably.

  A twig snapped. Willow’s ears picked out the sound from the southwest and smiled. With a swift movement, she tossed the first pinecone against a nearby tree. No movement followed for several seconds and then the sound of fabric against brush came. She tossed another one farther away, sending Chad crashing past.

  “What the—” Chad whirled but saw nothing. “Where are you?”

  She scrambled along the ground, the front of her shirt grinding into the mud. “Here. Gotcha.”<
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  He watched, amusement carved around his eyes and lips, as she dusted herself off and tried to remove the broken brambles from her hair. “You just crawled in there and laid in wait for me, didn’t you?” Chad picked the rest of the twigs from the layers of her braid as he talked.

  “Yep.”

  “Ok, let me try phrasing this another way. You’re supposed to keep moving. Run as far away as you can, and then sneak back to find me. You move most of the time, hiding only if you think you hear me, and then come out blazing. If we both did what you’re doing, we’d never get a shot in, and we’d starve to death.”

  “And if we did what you’re describing in war or while hunting, we’d get killed or starve.”

  “But this is a game,” Chad protested, shaking his head. “You’re supposed to do it ‘wrong’ in order to play the game right.”

  “Ok. Fine. I’ll do it. I think you’re just irritated that I got you twice in a row.” With that, she sprinted through the trees counting out loud, “One, two, three…”

  Chad watched her until her green vest, dirty jeans, and now-brown hair melded into the forest around her. “Wow.”

  After the five hundred seconds passed, she chased him all through the woods, up two trees, and under every bush he could fit in until he finally gave up in surrender. He dismissed her assertions regarding her so-called “lousy shooting skills” with nearly-mock irritation. Her aim might not have been perfectly straight, but with a wicked sixth sense and perfect hearing, it didn’t need to be.

  They collapsed on the picnic blanket, Chad covered in paint splatters and looking like a bad high school art project. Willow, on the other hand, only had a few drops of orange on her shoe where he’d missed her but the paint had splattered on it. “I still can’t believe you not only saw me, but you managed to dive for cover!”

  “I wasn’t going to go out that easily!”

  “Man, you and Hope Senior are never allowed on the same team. I think the president should recruit you two for an assassination team or something.”

  Willow rolled onto her side, staring at him. “Why?”

  “You’d never quit and you’re too stubborn to let anyone get to you. You guys should have been on the Bin Laden case.”

  “I’m afraid even to ask.” She grabbed a banana. “I’m glad I bought plenty. These are so good.”

  Chad scrambled to his feet and grabbed the big picnic umbrella. He carried it around the blanket until he found the spot that shaded them the most and drove it into the ground. “Don’t need a sunburn.”

  “Is that why you have to wear those funny hats on the beat? Is it to protect your head and ears from the sun?”

  “Yep.” He shook his head. “They make us look like the Royal Mounted Police.”

  “I think they make you look cute.”

  He sighed as he dropped back onto the blanket, balling the corner under his head. “Willow, no man wants to hear he’s cute.”

  “Handsome, dashing, debonair then.” A new thought occurred to her and Willow leaned close and murmured. “Or, I could just say you’re ‘hot.’”

  “You’re skating on dangerous territory, Willow.”

  “Dangerous how?”

  “You flirt with me, and you will have to accept the consequences.”

  She leaned back on both elbows as a slow smile teased the corners of her mouth. He could threaten all he wanted, but he liked it. She could hear it in the low rumble of his chuckle and the way he almost challenged her to try again. She would. Later.

  “I think I should be offended, but I’m too lazy,” she said as she leaned back, her hands behind her head, staring up at the clouds overhead. “Hey, I see a dandelion.”

  “They’re common enough.”

  She kicked his foot gently. “I meant in the sky.”

  A glance at him told her he hadn’t looked—and wouldn’t. Already she knew that expression. She had seen it so many times—that brief moment when his facial muscles hovered between normal and relaxed in sleep. Perhaps those were the little things that made marriage so much deeper—more intimate—than simple friendship. Understanding someone at a level you couldn’t unless you lived with them daily.

  She closed her eyes, her mind swirling with ideas. That had to be it. How many women half-lived with their husbands before they married? Probably not many. After all, not many women needed the physical help to keep a farm going or protection from someone like she had. Perhaps that was part of her reticence. Was it simply a matter of already enjoying that deeper friendship without the hassle of vows and… things?

  The warmth of the afternoon acted as a soporific drug, lulling the couple to sleep. The cry of a bird overhead woke her—how much later, she couldn’t tell. Chad dozed, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. It reminded her of Othello sleeping beside her on similar picnics past. That thought brought a smile to her lips. Wouldn’t he love to be compared to her dog? Didn’t people call unattractive people “dogs?” She was sure she remembered Mother saying that. That euphemism never made sense to her. Othello had been beautiful.

  She rolled over onto her side again, leaning on her arm. With one arm thrown over his eyes, Chad slept. As she watched him, another thought tiptoed into her mind and nudged her. A slight snore encouraged her even more. Before she allowed herself to think about it, Willow leaned over him and kissed him lightly. She waited for him to wake and mock her, but Chad hardly stirred. It seemed nothing like the kiss in North and South. Her original opinion made more sense. Smashed lips.

  Willow’s mind whirled. Viewed from outside herself, it didn’t look the same as in the movie. Margaret had done something different. Poking him gently, she waited but Chad didn’t stir. Once more, Willow bent over him, trying to imitate Margaret’s kiss. She tried a feathery pass, but it also was wrong. The hand over Chad’s eye brushed over his mouth impatiently.

  She sat back disgusted. He’d lied. He’d assured her there was something different in the kiss between men and women, but obviously, there wasn’t. It was just another set of smashed lips. Maybe it was just different for men. Marianne had made it obvious that men found physical closeness more… important and intense, so maybe that was the difference. That made more sense than him lying to her. With all his faults…

  The scene replayed itself in her mind, repeatedly. She struggled to envision what the difference was—what she was doing wrong. Her eyes widened. There was something different; she knew it now. She had to try again, but he’d moved last time. What if he caught her? How humiliating! Then again, she mused, he was her fiancée. Why should it be humiliating for a woman to kiss her future husband?

  As soon as she thought it, she answered herself disgustedly. It was humiliating that she had to sneak the kiss in the first place. What was stopping him anyway? Was he just not attracted to her that way? Maybe their strange marriage would work, and Marianne was wrong. Certain looks, hints, the recent habit of touching her as he passed or pulling her close when they talked—he was definitely attracted to her. She’d be a fool to think otherwise.

  She traced his jaw line with the lightest touch she could manage. Chad hardly moved. His breath shifted slightly and then he resumed his normal steady breathing. She hovered over him once more. Each second that ticked past nearly drove her crazy with embarrassment. He could wake up any minute, and the sight of her face centimeters from his could send them both scattering. Margaret’s lips had seemed to pull at Thornton’s. Maybe—

  She tried again. This was definitely different but still left much to be desired. So, the lips didn’t smash. So, they stuck together like taffy on the bottom of your shoe. Whoop-de-doo. She collapsed on the blanket again, disappointed.

  Chad’s voice startled her. “Couldn’t wait, eh?”

  “I—”

  His eyes opened lazily. “I wondered when you’d figure it out.”

  “Have you been awake—” she started and then realized she truly didn’t want to know. “Don’t answer that.”

  “Dare
you to try it again.”

  “What’s the point? From what I can tell, you have your choice. Sticky lips or smashed ones. I think the movie just made the ordinary look good.”

  “You’re back to North and South again?” Chad raised himself on one elbow.

  Disappointment was etched in her heart, making her feel like a child who discovered that grab bags are just pretty ways of selling unwanted junk. “It looked different there, but—”

  “Did it occur to you,” he began his eyes capturing hers as he spoke, “That both of them were kissing? He kissed her back. That’s like night and day.”

  “Oh.” The disappointment hadn’t left her voice. Willow’s breath caught as she saw a determined look enter his eyes. “I—”

  “Hush. You started it.”

  “But—”

  Suddenly, talking didn’t seem very important. Suddenly nothing else seemed very important. For several long seconds Willow’s mind reeled in unfamiliar and exhilarating territory until Chad settled back on both arms, grinning. Willow, on the other hand, sat frozen in place.

  “Wow,” she whispered.

  Chapter Ninety-Five

  Carol and David turned off the highway and into Willow’s driveway. On their right, they saw the simple headstones beneath the sprawling oak, and the familiar tightness in their throats returned. This wouldn’t be an easy lunch.

  Chad met them at the truck, welcoming them to the farm. As he helped Carol from the car, he said, “Willow had a bad night. She’s upstairs showering.”

  “Bad night?” Carol and David glanced at each other concerned. It hadn’t occurred to them that Willow might still have problems.

  Chad led them to the greenhouse as he talked. “She called around two, just as I was getting off work.”

  “Does she have them often?”

  “Some,” Chad admitted. “More than I realized until recently. She’s never called me over a nightmare before, so I knew it was pretty bad.”