Saying Goodbye

Willow Wilson was Wilson Wilson's niece, a free-spirited young woman who had her own way of doing things. Much like her uncle, she was rather quirky at times, and if the word 'independant' described anyone, it described her. As Tim put on his best suit, he couldn't help remembering the time when she had been staying with the Taylors and hadn't returned home one night. Of course everyone had feared the worst, and the Taylors had searched high and low for her. Tim's thought had been 'If I don't find her, if she isn't safe, Wilson's gonna kill me', but he was more worried about Willow than anything else. Everything had turned out all right that night, but now...

Now Tim was getting ready to go to her funeral, which was something he wasn't looking forward to. He didn't like funerals, especially if the person in the casket was someone he knew. There was Mr. Binford's funeral, and Jill's father's funeral...and now Willow's. If it wasn't for the fact that Wilson had no other way to get there, Tim didn't know if he'd be going himself. Poor Wilson...

Those had been Jill's exact words before she had started crying. 'What is it with women and crying? Even Wilson wasn't crying, and this was his niece.' Tim shook his head, adjusted his tie, and went downstairs to check on Jill and to see if Wilson was ready to leave. It wasn't so much that Tim was against crying; after all, he had cried at Mr. Binford's funeral, though you wouldn't catch him admitting it now. But he still couldn't get past the idea that men, as a general rule, did not cry.

"Jill?" he looked around the living room, then spotted her standing at the back fence, talking to Wilson.

Wilson, who for once was without his ever-present hat, was nodding at something Jill was saying. Tim went out, and Wilson peered over Jill's shoulder. "We ready to go?" Tim asked him.

"All set." replied Wilson.

"Car's in the garage. Come on around, and we'll get going." Tim jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating that Wilson should cut through their house.

"I'm so sorry, Wilson." said Jill thickly, "If I didn't have that paper to write..."

"It's quite all right." he replied, his eyes crinkling a bit as he forced a smile that she couldn't see; he was still in his yard, and he disengaged his hand from Jill's as he walked around the fence to get to their yard. As he came through their gate, he had a road map up, obscuring his face. "Now, Tim, if we take-"

"Wilson, trust me, I know the way." Tim assured him as they went inside.

"Bring the map with you." Jill whispered to Wilson as he passed, provoking a small chuckle.

The long silence that stretched between them as Tim drove would have been oppressive to Jill, who would have been nattering on about any odd thing just to keep conversation going. Even Wilson could be very chatty sometimes, but not today. Tim found himself in a strange position; he was the one who found the silence oppressive, and Wilson's mood just struck him as odd. He said very little as he hid behind his road map, and what little he did say was road-related. He didn't seem very much like a bereaved uncle, but then again he was sometimes hard to read.

"So...how long has it been since you saw her last?" Tim asked, unable to take it anymore.

"Oh, let's see...I guess about five months, give or take. Why?" Wilson glanced over.

Tim blew out his cheeks, and shrugged. "No reason."

After another long silence, Wilson traced their route on the map with his eyes, and chewed the inside of his cheek. "You know, Tim...I don't think it's really sunk in yet."

Tim nodded, and merged into the right lane, giving his typical half-grunted, mumbled agreement.

"Catherine and I, we never had any children of our own. Cancer took her before we'd been married for five years, and...Willow was like a daughter to me." he spoke in a quiet, subdued voice. "I remember when she was born, she had...this full head of red hair. I'd never seen a newborn with so much hair." he chuckled a little and fell silent, remembering.

Tim glanced over at him, but Wilson's face was calm and composed. "This's gotta be really hard on you, Wilson. I'm not much good at this, to be honest with ya. Just sorry I can't do more than drive you there."

"No, and I appreciate that, Tim." said Wilson. "Oh, don't mind me. I'm funny about these things...it never seems real until I see the casket. Then I know it's true."

"Mm-hmm..." Tim scratched his chin, then quickly grabbed the wheel again. They were coming to a busy part of the highway.

"Tim, you should take this exit right here." Wilson pointed.

Normally Tim would have argued, but in this case he made an exception; Wilson had obviously made this trip before, either on the bus or with a friend, so he should know. An hour passed with nothing but the occasional rustle of Wilson's map, and when Wilson spoke again, it actually caused Tim to jump.

"You know, Tim, I just remembered a quote from Isaac Asimov; 'Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome'."

"What made you think of that?" asked Tim.

Wilson merely looked out the window and said nothing, and Tim, who expected a follow-up explanation, was surprised when none seemed to be forthcoming. Tim didn't press him for an answer, and he wouldn't have gotten one; Wilson was no longer in the mood to talk, and found himself thinking about what it must have been like to be in that car. He couldn't imagine such sudden terror, and he hoped that shock took over and they felt no pain. He wanted to tell Tim to turn around and drive them back home, he wanted to open the door at the next stop light and jump out. He stayed put, and kept silent.

Author's Note: Chapter 3 and perhaps an epilogue will be posted some time soon. Don't be shy about reviewing, you guys; it's a good morale booster. I don't want to give too much away, but in the next chapter Wilson must come to terms with Willow's death. Ta-ta!