The Ghost Of Willow’s Past-2
589 Words
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Dusty remained on the park bench under a massive Douglas Fir tree. He had his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his arm stretched across the back of the bench. He’d layered up against the cold day.
He’d hoped Amy might come back to her willow tree, and felt pretty damned pleased with himself he’d been right. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do.
“Enjoying the day.” He tipped his head back. Yesterday’s rain had washed the air clear, leaving the world a breathless blue. The air had a snap to it, his breath made misty clouds that caught the morning sunlight before dissipating.
He’d also enjoyed watching Amy walk down the steps into the garden. The way the woman moved was a thing of beauty. A confidence radiated from her, probably the martial arts training. He could now picture the short, sassy cut of brunette hair beneath the rose-red knit hat. Bet it would shine beautifully in the winter light.
“I wanted to see you again.”
The words would probably scare her off, but they were blunt truth, just as his mother had always taught him to speak.
“You left a bit abruptly yesterday.”
He’d seen the pain, seen her try to explain. Unable to do so, she’d wrapped her dignity about her like a cloak of steel and lace, thanked him for the coffee, and departed.
He tilted his head. “You’re not glaring at me or walking away. I’ll take those as good signs.”
Amy’s slow smile crossed those perfect features and brought yet another aspect of her character to life. He’d decided that if Amy didn’t show, he’d probably fly down to Reno and join Chief Warrant Clay Anderson at the casinos. Even if it didn’t inspire him much, it would get him out of Portland.
But now that he’d seen Amy, he canned that plan. Maybe tonight he’d dig around his parents’ place and see if he could scare up a sketch pad. He winced against that. Three years and he still thought of the place as theirs. They hadn’t left him much in the way of possessions, but the condo was free and clear which gave him somewhere cheap to land on leave. It beat the Army barracks at Fort Campbell hands down. He hadn’t even spread out from the small back bedroom he’d grown up in. Maybe he needed to deal with that.
“Dusty?” The smile slipped off her face. He wondered just what his expression had revealed.
“Sorry, I was just thinking. I really need to clean up my place.”
“Oh, planning on dragging me back to your den?”
He laughed. He could really get to like this woman. “The thought crossed my mind last night a time or two, but no. It’s clean enough. But the condo’s still filled with my parents’ stuff. I’d be glad to oblige you, by the way.”
“Oblige me with what?”
“Dragging you off.”
Her sad smile indicated that the answer was “not so much.” He hadn’t expected more, didn’t really know what he was expecting. He’d simply wanted to see more of her; she was also the only other person alone at Christmas he knew in Portland. So he’d come to the garden at sunrise and settled in to watch the day awaken.
“You must be an early riser,” he hadn’t had to wait very long.
She settled at the far end of the bench, well clear of where his arm draped over the wooden back.
4
Willow listened. Did they know? Would they understand? Stories were like roots, they slide deep under the soil, reaching out and seeking for connection. Willow could feel Amy’s heart and how it hurt. Different than Amelia and Hiroshi, but still, hurt. Willow’s old roots lay deep under the bench, a whisper beneath the soil.
- Writer
