Past Forward Volume 1 (56 page)

“Just go away, Chad. Leave me alone. I’m
tired of being your little project. I think it’s time you found a
new one. I’m not interested.”

Tom Allen had stepped in and reminded her of
all Chad had done to help her since her mother’s death,
particularly since her accident but had only fueled Willow’s anger
even further. She’d reached into her purse, pulled out a large wad
of bills and tossed it onto the ground at his feet, turned, and
fled weeping.

Even now, weeks later, Chad remembered the
limp in her awkward gait and the anguish in her voice. When her
anger and her rejection pierced deepest, her earlier words soothed.
“That’s why you’re safe to attack.”
Until she no longer
needed someone to bear the brunt of her pain, Chad wasn’t going
anywhere.

Chad felt Luke’s eyes on him as he buffed,
polished, and generally avoided what both men knew; the headstones
were finished—had been for days. “Chad, you’re going to wear that
thing out. Just take it out there.”

“She doesn’t want it from me—not now.”

“Yes she does. She wants you to keep
fighting for her.”

Chad stared at Luke with new interest. “Does
Aggie flip like that?”

“Yes… well, not the same but they all have
at times. Also, she has the children to hold onto. She has Mom and
the church, Tina and William. And, she’s had a few more months to
deal with it.”

“I’m so out of my element, but—”

“She’s alone,” Luke finished. “The aloneness
strips you raw just to watch it.”

“Yes! How’d you know?” The moment he spoke,
Chad felt the foolishness of his words as they knocked the wind
from him. “Dumb question.”

They loaded the headstones into his truck,
and Chad stood, leaning his head against his door. “How do I do
this? She’ll throw me off the property—”

“Just go put it on the grave. Don’t ask.
Just do it. She’ll be glad… eventually.”

The shovel pierced the ground. Piles of dirt
fell beside him as he made room for the headstone. Time continued
as he dug, as if the pain represented by those slabs of wood meant
nothing to the rest of the world. He worked slowly, each shovelful
deliberately and precisely removed before he planned the next—a
pathetic attempt to drag out the process in hopes she’d come
see—yield. She didn’t. Procrastination failed, he settled Kari’s
headstone into place, and moments later, the smaller marker for
Othello stood proudly beside Kari’s.

He sat, leaning against the tree and
admiring his handiwork. Had he chosen the right wording? Was making
one for Othello too much? The Finleys considered animals pets, not
family. Chad shook his head as if to clear it. He had to stop
second-guessing himself. The sun wrapped him in a warm cocoon, and
the autumn breezes rustled the golden oak leaves above him, until
Chad Tesdall fell asleep.

“Why won’t he just leave!” Willow’s fury
neared epic proportions. “What is he doing out there?”

Though her leg and foot still didn’t have
the strength it once did, she went about her fall housecleaning as
though unencumbered, only the pain that the mirror showed around
her eyes proving that the effects of the injury still lingered. She
swept the attic ceilings, wiped the walls, dusted and oiled the
stored furniture, removed the rugs, beat them to within an inch of
their existence, and when all was spotless, covered everything up
there with the roll of sheeting plastic Chad had brought her weeks
earlier. Just seeing that plastic irritated her. She didn’t want
it. In fact, she wanted to toss it at Chad’s head.

From the porch, she glared at Chad’s truck
and nearly went crazy trying to see exactly what Chad was doing. He
seemed to be sitting there at her mother’s grave, which infuriated
her further. “He’s probably whining to Mother.
Tattling
!”

Half an hour later after dragging the rugs
back up two flights of stairs (and ordering the memories of how
helpful Chad had been the last time she’d beaten the rugs from her
thoughts), Willow lost her patience and stormed out the front door.
She called for Saige, but the dog seemed to have vanished.

Halfway across the field, Willow saw Chad
rise from the base of the tree and walk toward his truck. Just
before he climbed over the fence, he waved at her, paused for a
response, and jumped over the fence. His truck roared to life, and
he backed onto the highway. Tires squealed as he sped away from the
farm.

“Yeah. You go. Go and stay gone. Everyone
needs to just go away and stay away.”

Her anger melted slightly as she saw the
headstone. The handwork on it—so lovely. The carved lettering, the
small cross at the top, and the well-oiled wood appealed to her
love of beauty. The hand-carved inscription tore at her heart.

Kari Anne Finley

Mother * Mentor * Friend

Beloved

It was perfect, every word expertly chosen,
placed, and the result was lovely. She wanted to thank him, but as
seconds passed, her heart hardened again.

Darkness fell as she sat in the same spot
Chad vacated hours earlier and poured out her soul to the Lord.
Anger permeated her thoughts so thoroughly that she truly didn’t
think she’d ever rid herself of the rage now anchored in her heart.
In rational moments, she knew she was wrong, but her pain always
swallowed her reason and left her even more bereft and heartbroken
than ever.

Bill had called and come by several times,
but with no answer to his knocks and calls, he went away again.
She’d stopped answering her phone. Chuck had come by twice, but
each time she’d stepped outside the door, hugged him, and told him
to go home. Lee’s visits were brief. Willow didn’t care to talk,
but she didn’t send Lee home. Only Lily’s visits did she welcome
and greet without question or orders to leave.

She no longer went to church and knew her
rare visits to town reminded longtime residents of her mother—head
down and her eyes focused on the destination, never meeting
another’s eyes if she could help it. Much of her adaptation to life
around her was now lost in a cocoon of self-preservation—much like
Kari’s.

Hunger drove her into the house. Saige’s
side-swaggle walk failed to amuse her as it usually did. Her beef
stew simmered on the stove, the bottom sticking to the pan but not
yet burned. “That was close,” Willow muttered to herself. She
glared at the Dutch oven. “It’s
his
fault.”

The first bite was halfway to her mouth when
she heard Chad’s truck barrel into the yard and stop short. She’d
recognize the sound anywhere, although it had been weeks since he’d
come this close to the house. Before she could stand to order him
from the property, he filled the doorway.

“Look. You can hate me. You can blame me for
everything that has gone wrong in your life. I don’t really care.
Well, that’s not true, but I understand. But the one thing that I
asked you to do is keep your phone on and—”

She was on her feet by the time he finished
speaking. “I don’t have—”

Chad took two steps and their shoes nearly
touched. “Yeah, ya do.”

“Who do you think—”

“I’m a friend. A real one. I’m that one in
Proverbs that’ll hurt you if it’s best for you and apparently, it
is! You cannot live here alone without any way to call for help.
Period.”

“I did for nearly twenty-three years.”

Chad stuffed his hands in his pockets in
what she recognized as an attempt to keep them from throttling her.
“And if you hadn’t had the—” He swallowed and Willow wondered if
he’d swear. He never had before, but... He continued without
sullying their ears. “—thing with you, you’d be dead now. Dead. Do
you get that? Do you realize you would have died if you had lain
out there for hours? That was an artery you cut, woman!”

“It’s my life to lose!” she flung back at
him.

His voice, quieter and gentler than she
could have imagined, and much more so than he’d ever been, broke a
tiny hole in the wall she’d erected around her. “No it isn’t.”

“What?” she whispered, confused and
weary.

“It’s not your life anymore. You gave it to
Jesus.”

“I don’t want to hear that.”

A trace of a smile hovered around the
corners of Chad’s lips. “Where’s the phone?”

“In the basket on my bedside table.”

“Eat your dinner. I’ll go get it.”

Willow watched, stunned at his interference,
as Chad strode from the room and out of sight. She sank into her
chair and lifted the same spoonful of stew to her lips. She
couldn’t taste a thing. The rich gravy, the carrots, potatoes,
tomatoes, and onions—she tasted none of it.

Chad stopped in the doorway, saw her bowl,
and went to get her other one. He ladled himself a healthy amount
of stew, grabbed a slab of sourdough bread, buttered it, and sat
down at the table next to her. “I wondered about that. Your minutes
lapsed.”

Confused and somewhat annoyed, Willow
watched as he ate her stew, pulled a new minutes card from his
wallet, and added them to her phone. As if to be certain that
everything was in working order, he grabbed his own phone and
dialed. Her phone rang, and he pushed it across the table.

“Answer it.”

“That’s crazy.”

He cocked one eyebrow at her. “Answer
it.”

She glared at him as she picked up the
phone. “I’d say hello, but what’s the point?”

“The point is that you can give me the
silent treatment. You can wail, kick, scream, and fight me every
step of the way, but I’m not leaving you alone anymore. You’re not
thinking clearly. No one should hurt alone.”

“I have Lily.”

“When she has time and until you decide you
don’t want her around either. I know what happens, and it’s not
happening anymore.”

“I’ll call the police.”

Chad grinned as he took his last bite and
stood to rinse it in the sink. “That’ll work just great, because
they won’t have to send anyone out.”