Free Past Forward Volume 1 by Chautona Havig

please talk to me so I don’t have a chance to blow
this, he silently pleaded.
    The door shut. He stared at it wondering
what to do next. Should he wait downstairs? Take a drive, check the Mighty Aphrodite for early drunks, and then come back? Had
she eaten today? Should he make her something to eat? What was it
about Willow that had him constantly fussing over her to eat
anyway?
    She reappeared mid-thought. Without a word
to him, she crossed the hall and disappeared into the bathroom.
Water splashed in the sink giving him encouragement that she’d be
down soon. He practically fled to the porch, but remembering the
chief’s words, he retraced his steps into the house and strode into
the kitchen for a glass of water.
    She found him there minutes later, her face
freshly washed, eyelashes still wet, but whether from washing or
crying he’d never know. “Drink.”
    “You’re bossy.”
    “You need some bossy right now. Drink.”
    She smiled. It had worked. You never knew
with women. You could try for an innocent joke and some women
treated it like an insult of mammoth proportions.
    They walked along the trees to the oak where
her mother’s grave was still littered with wilted and dried
flowers. “It hasn’t been a week.”
    He was confused. It had been
longer—Realization dawned. It hadn’t been a full week since the
burial. He had a hard time calling the short service a funeral. “I
know. I’m so sorry.”
    “You’re kind to come out here like this. It
was my understanding that men didn’t handle tears very well. Mother
used to say that men are allergic to them.”
    “Everyone needs time alone to grieve,
Willow, but no one should have to do all of their grieving alone. I
don’t like tears any more than the next guy, but I dislike the
cause of them even more.”
    A glance at her face surprised him. She’d
been crying all the while. Tears streamed down her face and left
trails on her t-shirt. Somehow, the grief hadn’t reached her vocal
chords yet. Torn between the natural inclination to comfort and a
deep desire to run, Chad stood there, hands stuffed in his pockets,
nearly looking as miserable as she felt.
    Her hand wiped her eyes impatiently. Then
came a sniffle. Irritably, she glared at him. “Don’t be nice to me.
I can’t take it.”
    “I can’t just be mean so you won’t cry.”
    They sat at the foot of her mother’s grave,
Willow weeping. Her arms rested on knees drawn up to her chest. Her
hair fanned around her shrouding her from his sight. She wept
freely, the silence punctuated by occasional sobs. Chad, unable to
help but even less able to leave, awkwardly patted her back
occasionally and murmured worthless attempts at comfort.

    “Someone has a serious case of the grumps,”
Judith Crane commented knowingly.
    Joe glanced up from a report as Chad slammed
his ticket book on the counter. “Something wrong, Chad?”
    “… just a glorified
babysitter. Can’t wait to get to Rockland and do real police
work,” Chad muttered under his breath.
    Joe’s eyes met the chief’s as Varney peeked
around his office door to see what the fuss was. “Tesdall, you get
that Finley girl taken care of?”
    “Yes, the babysitter did his job. He didn’t
tuck her in and give her a sucker for being good, but hey, he’s
learning. They didn’t teach him—”
    “That’ll do, son.” Chief Varney ran a
relaxed station, but he didn’t tolerate disrespect.
    “Sorry,” he muttered as he hung the
cruiser’s keys on the keyboard and clocked out for the day.
    As Chad tore from the parking lot, the
remaining officers and the chief stared at one another, shocked.
Chad was such an even-tempered guy; they’d never seen him like
this. Joe and Judith exchanged glances as the chief disappeared
into his office, chuckling. Unfortunately, neither of them heard
the chief murmur, “The boy’s fighting something. Oh won’t Darla
love this.”

Chapter Seven
    “So Chad’s bringing her? Is something going
on there or