“The next day, after school, Christopher Evans came with his parents. He stood at the end of your bed and just watched you while you said hi to Fern and Doug and his parents. When they were done saying hello, Christopher climbed on the bed, crawled up to you and literally bent to one knee and asked you to marry him. You gave the sweetest sad little smile and said yes. He then told you that if you could hold on for two weeks, he would plan everything out, but you had to get better to walk down the aisle because he was going to give you a church wedding. It was all so cute, we thought it was one little kid placating another one.”
“Like saying something to make the sick one feel better?”
“Exactly,” Randall said. “Now you didn’t get better overnight, but you held your own, and you got to the point where you could sit up in bed on your own. We didn’t see Christopher again until three nights before Easter Sunday. He and his parents came to our house, and he laid it all out what he had planned. He had this pad of paper with lists all made out. He went over the wedding ceremony step by step. He even assigned tasks to your mother and me.” He chuckled.
“I was to go out and buy you a white lace dress.” Angie giggled. “Thank god it was Easter time and all the cute dresses were on sale. Fern and I did that and Fern made the wreath to go on your head, with the flowers and ribbons. Your father was to talk to the doctors and get you released from the hospital that day. With the promise that you’d return after the ceremony.”
“What was Doug’s job?” Willow snickered.
“He was armed with one of Christopher’s lists, and it was his job to make sure the church was in order. That the organist had the right music, the flowers were in the right place, a spot in the front pew was available for the families of bride and groom. Stuff like that.”
“And how old was Christopher at this time?”
“Five and a half.” Angie grinned. “The day came, we went to the Sunday service, and you were being brought to the church by ambulance. You arrived just as the service was ending. Pastor Jones was talking to the congregation about what was about to take place. No one was warned ahead of time. They were invited to stay or leave. They all stayed. Your father met thedoctor and nurse in the vestibule and Doug joined you to make sure you were ready. When you were, he opened the doors and came to the front to sit down.
“You had asked me to be your matron of honor, and Christopher asked his father to be his best man. It was slow going, and so many times I wanted to run down the aisle, pick you up and carry you to the front.”
“You and me both,” Randall said. “At one point I tried, but you told me no, this was your dream to walk down the aisle on my arm at your wedding. The nurse walked behind us rolling your IV pole.” They paused and handed her photos. “We finally made it to the front, Pastor Jones asked who gave the bride, I said we did, then I picked you up and set you down beside Christopher. It only took fifteen minutes, but you had the wedding ceremony, and afterward, you asked me to carry you down to the basement to the reception, where cupcakes and Kool-Aid were served. You were only there about an hour and a half total, then went back to the hospital.”
“One of the parishioners worked for the local paper and did a human-interest piece on the wedding,” Angie said, and showed her the article. “A national paper picked up the story, and it generated tons of potential donors. See, by this time, we’ve had everyone who was remotely related to us for a bone marrow match tested. Nothing. The doctors said that was going to be your only chance of survival, a bone marrow transplant. They couldn’t give you any more chemo.”
“The next three weeks after the wedding was chaos.” He looked at his wife and grinned at the word. “You took a turn for the worse, but it seemed like at the last minute we found a perfect match, and you hadthe bone marrow transplant, and it seemed like overnight you improved. I mean improved enough that you only spent another month in the hospital, was in remission and went home.”
“So, where was Christopher during all this?”
“His father was in the military, and it wasn’t until recently when he found us, while looking for you, that we found out his father had been transferred, and Christopher and his mother had gone to Japan with Mr. Evans. So, he was out of the country.”
Willow didn’t know what to say to that, and she sat there looking at all the pictures. She kept going back to one of the two of them with Pastor Jones behind them after they were ‘pronounced’ husband and wife.
“But what about this?” Willow showed them the license and frowned.
“No clue how that happened.” Angie sighed. “I know Pastor Jones was having trouble with his intern clerk, saying he was too pushy and overzealous in the paperwork, that not everything had to be done right then and there. As for my signature, the only thing I can think of was a couple of days after the ceremony, I stopped by the church to talk to Pastor Jones. See that's when you took a turn for the worse. I had been on several committees at the church before you became sick and that clerk said my signature was needed on some reports for a committee. I remember him shoving a clipboard at me, and I signed it as I was practically running down the hall to talk to Pastor Jones. Never even looked at what I was signing. I was looking to talk to the Pastor in order to plan your funeral. Signing dumb documents were the furthest thing from mymind, I signed it just to get him to get the hell away from me.”
“But surely it can’t be legal?”
“You wouldn’t think so, but when Christopher arrived in Oregon, he said a few weeks prior he had gone to the courthouse in Manhattan to get a marriage license for him and his fiancée. That’s when he was given that. I know the wedding took place in California, but I’m assuming if it was on file in New York, then it’s legal.”
“Well, I have one of the guys from next door looking into it. Before you judge, not everyone next door is hardened bikers. They’re what you would call weekenders. They all have good day jobs, but love to ride. Only a couple of them operate the bike shop. Scott, who made a copy of the license is an actual lawyer, but he doesn’t do divorce, he’s looking into finding me a good lawyer. I even called my lawyer I used for the business, and she’s looking into it also. But until I have an actual divorce lawyer, I’m at a standstill.”
Chapter 12
The next morning, Willow was in her workshop working on a new design. She was in the zone and totally oblivious to what was going on around her. Her parents were out exploring the town and said they’d be back in the afternoon. This gave Willow plenty of time to work on her new design. Unbeknownst to her, she had an audience.
Christopher watched the woman as she reached down beside her and scooped up a massive glob of gray clay and slapped it on what looked like a turntable in front of her. He actually winced when he saw watery sludge shoot out in several directions. “Chaos,” he whispered, and his parents, who he had called several days ago looked at each other and grinned. They knew how their son was with order and his ever-present lists. When he’d called them frustrated beyond all reason, they had made the decision to come and see if they could help.
Christina walked around and looked at the stuff and sucked in her breath when she saw a vase matching the one currently in her home, taking up residence in the middle of her dining room table. She turned and stared in shock at the blonde woman seated before the pottery wheel. Transfixed she watched the glob of clay transform right before her eyes. She glanced at her husband and son and saw they were looking as well.
Forty-five minutes later, the woman turned off the wheel, spun around and screamed when she saw the three of them standing there. Before anyone could do anything, she reached back, picked up the item she’djust completed and threw it at Christopher. He didn’t catch it in time, and it hit him square in the chest and let it fall to the floor.
“What the hell, woman!” he demanded as he stalked toward her, but she’d scraped up the sludge and threw that at him also. Christopher quickly dodged it, but it still landed on his face and in his hair. Christina and Chris were laughing so hard at their son that they were no help to him.
“What are you doing here?” Willow demanded as she stood and tried to back away from the advancing, angry man.
“Why are you here?” Willow demanded, and stopped short when her ass hit the table behind her.
“I came to see if you’ve contacted a lawyer yet and to get the clothes I left in your washer.”
“They’re upstairs, and no, I haven’t found a lawyer yet. You expect me to jump through hoops after only a couple of days? What the hell?”
