Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Episode 11 (10 page)

“
A tie?
”

“
For now.
Come on
;
let
’
s go
.”

Her energy seemed limitless.
She led him through the trees to another side of the woods northwest of the farmhouse.
“
In spring, this is full of violets and there are toadstools everywhere.
I used to bring my fairies here and have little weddings.
Well, unless a dragonfly kidnapped them and dragged them to his dungeons
.”

The animation she displayed as she told her elaborate stories of princess fairies and their rescue by Oberon
’
s sons was something he
’
d never seen.
“
You know, I felt sorry for you when I first met you.
I imagined such a lonely and empty childhood
.
Now I feel sorry for everyone who didn
’
t have one like yours
.”

“
But you had a brother and a sister!
Can you imagine how much more fun
it would be
with someone to share the stories?
”

Laughing, he draped an arm around her shoulder steering her back toward the house.
It was growing colder
,
and he could feel it seeping into his bones.
“
And someone to argue with.
All by yourself, you got to decide how everything happened
,
and no one contradicted you
.”

“
Oh but it
’
d only be fair to share
—”

“
Children aren
’
t always fair
.”

All the delight and joy drained from her face in an instant.
“
Well, then maybe we should plan on either one child or a lot of years between two.
I can
’
t stand the idea of them being ugly with each other
.”

“
Willow, people don
’
t get along sometimes.
They disagree and irritate one another
,
but that
’
s what love is.
Putting up with someone when you
’
d rather make them go away
.”
At the back door, Chad turned and looked down at Willow as she grabbed an armful of wood.
“
Will you put up with me when you
’
d rather I go away?
”

“
I tried making you go away once.
It didn
’
t work.
I think I
’
ll just put up with you
.”

Willow thumbed through her
mother’s journals while Chad dozed on the couch. Every entry that referenced her mother’s pregnancy, birth, recovery—she read them all.
Her eyes slid to Chad each time she turned the page, hoping that he wouldn’t notice how often she did.

The journal entry was only faintly familiar.
Had she read it when she was tired?
She couldn’t say.
The entry date was smudged, but the decade and posi
tion in the journals put it during those first weeks after her birth. The words confused and unnerved her.

August, 198—

I can’t stop shaking.
Fear is a terrifying thing.
It controls you with a grip that chokes and destroys.
Oh, God what have I done?

I th
ink Willow senses my… what is this thing I’m feeling?
I’m freaking out.
I’m terrified.
I can’t believe how utterly debased I am. I wait, every day, for someone to knock on my door and take her away from me.
I expect, at any moment, to be dragged from her.

I stared at her while she slept this afternoon.
That little body in that tiny basket, sucking on her fists and sleeping—not peacefully, just sleeping. I almost took her to town and left her on the mayor’s doorstep.
She’s a decent woman—a Christian.
She would know what to do and would take care of it.
Willow would be safe.
Even if they found me and took me away, they wouldn’t connect her to me.

I just can’t do it.
I’m so selfish.
How will I ever make it through another day?
And then another.
I’ll live with my sins over my head for the rest of my life.
So many people suffer because of me and the foolish decisions I’ve made.
Fear.
I blame fear, but it’s really sin.
It’s me.
I did this to us.
I want to blame Steve.
The stupid jerk.
He started the spiral that has spun out of control, but I went out with him.
I knew he was a creep and I did it anyway. I have to take responsibility for putting myself in a dumb situation.

I can’t let myself blame myself for what I didn’t do, though.
I’m so messed up right now that I think I could.
This is why I never planned to use that check unless I had to.
I’d end up on a stand somewhere and a lawyer would pin it on me—on what I wore or how I supposedly flirted or whatever.
I would have been on trial.
Me.
The victim.
I would have been just as on trial as Steve.
It revolts me, but when my emotions aren’t strangling my brain, I see some validity in it.
Why should I be able to make claims against anyone without my word being questioned?
He should be innocent—gag me with a fork—until proven guilty.
But then the victim becomes the defendant.
I couldn’t stand it.

So here I sit.
I am guilty of so much.
I am not guilty of his wrongs, though.
I can’t let myself take on that weight.
My own sin crushes me.
God why didn’t you stop me?

The entry ended abruptly.
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
She sniffled despite her best intentions.
Chad’s head whipped up and he frowned.
“Wha—”

“I don’t understand t
his entry.
Her pain always hurts, but I don’t remember this one and it’s so bizarre—ambiguous.”

He patted the couch beside him.
“C’mere.
Lemme see.”

The slight slur to his words stirred something in her.
He sounded like Mother when she first awoke from an afternoon nap—the rare times she ever took one.
She moved to his side, passing him the journal.

Her hands played with the tails of her shirt while he read.
Emotions swirled within her as
she tried to r
econ
cile
her fear of
how their relationship had changed—would change—
with the comfort she felt being close.
How could she
be so
panicked one second and tranquil the next
?

“I remember this one,” he said at last.
“
I never understood it.”

“I just don’t understand why she sounds so wracked with guilt.
What guilt could she possibly have?”

“You know, she was probably dealing with some PPD.”

She blinked—frowned.
“What?”

“Postpartum depression.
A woman has a baby, her hormones go crazy, and it affects how she thinks and responds to things until everything levels out again.”

After a moment of thought, she took the journal from him and flipped from page to page.
“Almost all the entries around it are kind of out of character…”

“What brought you to these?
There isn’t much in here about winter or spring prep.”

She flushed and didn’t answer.
Shifting awkwardly, Willow turned the page, hoping he’d assume she didn’t hear.
A nudge told her he didn’t buy it.
“What?”

“Come on, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Ok then, what’s on your mind?”

He knew her too well. “
I was just trying to see how—” She couldn’t answer.
“I can’t.”

His other arm wrapped around her.
“
I don’t understand
, but I want to
.”
He bent closer and whispered in her ear, “You need to try to learn to trust me.
We have to be able to talk about things.” Shaking his head, he chuckled.
“Listen to me.
The girl is supposed to be telling the guy to talk.”

“Really?”

“Guys have a reputation for allergies to discussions—particularly if feelings are involved.”

“How did you know?”

“Because the only thing you aren’t comfortable with has to do with feelings… and usually in conjunction with me.”

Her breath caught.
“You scare me.”

“Can I take a guess?”

“No?”

Chad shifted her so he could meet her gaze.
“I’m going to anyway.
In fact, I’m not going to guess.
I’m just going to give you my thoughts.
Trust.
Consider everyone you’ve met in the past year.
The fear you feel—you learned it from your mother.”