Victor Black - And the Garden of the Gods

Chapter 32: Willow's Room

Thursday afternoon, Victor spent his time in the cozy confines of Willow's Victorian house.

Willow's mother spent her day in the kitchen, preparing a snowy day meal reminiscent of Thanksgiving: a whole roasted turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole, and apple pie. The scent blew through the air, ducts into every room in the house. It permeated Willow's bedroom.

Bottles of fragrant, red Merlot consumed by her mother and Joselin lead to bouts of laughter bellowing up along with the aroma of fermented grapes.

"What are we going to do when mom serves dinner?" said Willow, pacing by the window. "Mom never does this, but she'll be offended if we don't eat."

Victor, laying on his back, sprawled on Willow's queen bed, didn't have an answer. He insisted no one could force him to eat anything. He consumed no more food and liquids.

"I don't think I could get a bite past my lips. I have no swallow, reflex," said Victor. He turned his head toward Willow. "You managed for a while. How?"

"Don't know—maybe it's taking me longer," said Willow.

"Have you gone, you know, to the bathroom at all?"

"I'm not answering you, Vic," she shrieked, acting insulted he'd ask such a personal question.

"It's just, you can't go if —"

"I know, I know."

"You sure threw up a lot yesterday, it was nuts. You were pretty upset."

"Well, I feel fine now. Better than ever." Willow snickered. "Strange."

"If you feel good, nothing else matters," said Victor, tapping his hand on the bed for her some lay down with him.

Willow stopped pacing. Victor saw her framed by the gray-blue of the frost lined window, and he thought, she's perfect. Her skin was pure, soft, and creamy brown. Her cheeks flushed a rosy red as she playfully pretended not to be as strong as she was, tossing her straight black hair to the side, over her shoulder.

"I don't know Vic."

"Oh, just come over here. When do we ever have a moment like this?" Victor tapped on the bed some more. "I promise to be nice."

Willow sat next to Victor, who bounced his legs off the edge of the bed.

"Come on, you can do it," he said, softly coaxing her. He produced a tirade of prompts under his breath. "Come on, over here. Come." He continued to whisper, poking her with his words, watching her hold back a smile.

Willow took in a deep breath of roasted turkey air, remembering holidays from the past. She had always spent them alone with her mom. Only a couple of her mother's divorced friends made plans at her house for the holidays after her father died, after the divorce. Her Aunt Joselin was always too consumed with work on the East coast to fly in, so today was special indeed; turkey, family, and Victor.

The bed shook, bouncing as Willow threw herself backward, arms over her head.

"There you go. Good girl," said Victor, turning onto his side to face her. She stretched across the hand-sewn red, white, and blue quilt. A toothy grin spread across her face.

She has the same mark on her forehead, Victor thought.

"Don't you feel better?" he said, propping his head up with his hand.

Willow closed her eyes. She sighed and let out a long, slow breath.

"This is nice. Thanks for being here, Vic."