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Back at the library, when he’d put his hand on Vivian’s back, he let himself imagine their connection was more than just her pregnancy. In that moment, the certainty about Vivian he’d felt in Las Vegas had broken through reality, and the enjoyment he’d gotten from leading her away from Miles scared him. He hadn’t enjoyed silencing Miles—he’d enjoyed feeling Vivian’s shoulder blades shift when he put his hand on her coat.
Hopefully she’d find a job soon and move out.
Given the fight she’d put up over the stupid winter coat, he didn’t think she’d welcome being set up in her own apartment like some kept woman. But if she had a job, she might not turn down an offer of help to finance her own place.
Of course, if she were actually a kept woman, he would be able to sweep her hair aside and kiss the nape of her neck....
At work on Monday, Greta came into his office with some paperwork and his plans to keep Vivian a secret from his employees died.
“Does your mother know you’re married?” She used the papers to gesture to the marriage license sitting in plain sight on his desk.
Karl looked from the benefits application on his computer to his overly maternal assistant. She was one of the few people who could outwait his ploy of ignoring a question, but he held out his hand for the papers and tried anyway.
She folded them against her chest. “When did you get married?”
“The papers, Greta.” His hand stayed outstretched in supplication.
“You can’t not tell me. What do I do if she calls?”
“She won’t call.” Or not again. Vivian had health insurance and a roof over her head. What more could she want right now?
“So you are married. No one in the office is going to believe this.” The papers crinkled in her hands as she clenched her fists in excitement.
“No one in the office is going to know.”
“Was she the woman calling the office on Friday?”
He waggled his fingers at her and she finally gave him the papers, along with a gust of cigarette fumes that had been lingering on her clothing.
“She was—oh, and I was so short with her.” Greta didn’t leave the office. She’d handed over the paperwork, but she remained standing with her eyebrows raised at him, hoping for more information.
Despite a tendency to mother, Greta was a great legal assistant. She’d been working in the city’s inspector general’s office longer than anyone else in the building, and Karl was fairly certain that she’d be working here long after his tenure was up. He threw her a bone. “I met her in Las Vegas. But,” he added, before she had a chance to beam and I-told-you-so, “don’t think you can take credit or tell anyone about this.”
“No more information?” The quickness with which her eyebrows collapsed amplified the ridiculousness of this entire situation.
“No.”
“You should still tell your mother.”
“What makes you think I haven’t?”
“You don’t lie outright, so if you won’t tell me that you have told her, I can only assume you haven’t. She’ll want to know.” Having said her piece, Greta left his office.
Since he hadn’t gotten a phone call from his mother, it would seem Miles and Renia hadn’t told her yet, either. Maybe he could put off telling his mother for another eight months and present her with a daughter-in-law and a grandchild at the same time. She might be so overwhelmed at the grandchild that she’d overlook the surprise daughter-in-law.
“You’re married?”
Karl looked up from his computer again to see the director of investigations staring at him from the doorway. Malcolm’s dark black skin and intense golden eyes made people feel as though he was a panther eyeing their suitability for dinner. Malcolm enjoyed the effect, multiplying it by wearing only dark colors.
“Did Greta tell you?”
“No.” Malcolm smiled. “You should learn to keep your door closed. Your assistant has a voice like a bassoon. Everyone on this floor probably knows by now.”
“Yes, Malcolm. I’m married. I’d not planned to tell anyone.”
“Did you really think you could keep information like that a secret?”
Yes, he had thought he could keep this a secret, but apparently he’d been delusional. If Vivian had stayed in Las Vegas, they could have gotten the divorce and no one would have been the wiser. However, with her pregnant and in Chicago, he was going to have to tell people. Putting it off would only make the inevitable more painful—yet he was still thinking about postponing the inevitable.
“How did you meet the lovely new Mrs. Milek? You’re always working. Even when everyone thinks you’re relaxing, you’re working.” Malcolm stroked his chin, a parody of the thoughtful investigator. “What kind of woman was able to slip through those defenses?”
“I’m not going to answer any of your questions, so you might as well stop wasting the city of Chicago’s time.”
Malcolm’s grin widened. “It’s funny how you think you can keep information a secret from me.”
“Listen, Malcolm, if you’re so curious about my wife, then why don’t you just investigate her yourself—just as long as you don’t do it on work time.”
“Hah! And how much of the information I learn about the new Mrs. Milek do you want me to share when I’m done?”
“None.” It wasn’t a lie. Karl intended to find out everything he needed to know about Vivian before Malcolm could ferret it out.
“Apparently you don’t think it counts as lying if you’re also lying to yourself.” With a salute, Malcolm left.
Karl could still hear Malcolm chuckling as he walked down the hall. Karl turned back to his computer, clicked on a browser. The cursor hovered over the search box. In a moment of uncharacteristic indecision, he closed the browser window and opened up work files, determined to put Vivian out of his mind for now.
* * *
VIVIAN PICKED UP the note Karl had left her on Friday morning, balled it up and threw it to Xìnyùn, who lobbed it into a small glass she’d appropriated for the game. Since Karl had disappeared last Saturday after they returned from the library, Vivian and Xìnyùn had gotten very good at basketball. Her husband seemed to think communicating through notes was an appropriate way to manage a marriage.
Even if theirs had been a hasty, drunk marriage better left in Vegas, they couldn’t hope to raise a child together communicating only through notes.
Dear Karl,
Jelly Bean flipped me off this morning. Apparently you said it was a “salute.” Be careful what you say to a four-year-old.
Thank you for your concern,
Vivian
Of course that was ridiculous. Karl would be at work too much to teach Jelly Bean—the name Vivian had taken to calling the baby growing inside her—how to flip someone the bird.
Dear Karl,
Jelly Bean returns from visitation having forgotten how to talk, but has become a surprisingly good correspondent. His teachers are worried.
Talk, dammit!
Vivian
She needed things from him. Humiliating though it was, she needed a place to live and health insurance. And she had also needed to get out of Las Vegas. Karl had given her those things with a poof of his magic fix-it sense. But an apartment and health insurance—and food, and a laptop so she could search for jobs, and a transit card and gas to get her around Chicago and to interviews—only solved her physical problems, not to mention that they made her feel increasingly dependent and trapped.
Maybe she didn’t need someone to talk to, but she wanted someone to talk to. Jelly Bean was still abstract; she couldn’t feel the baby yet, but she could feel her body changing and she wanted to talk with someone about it. When she told Xìnyùn everything she ate tasted like metal, he only whistled. And she couldn’t face her Las Vegas friends—not yet anyway. Not until she found new bearings.
Chicago was a big city, with people who might be her friends, eventually. But right now she was alone and the one person she knew was hiding from her.
Plus, she had things she needed to discuss with him. Such as whether or not she was officially on his health insurance yet and could go to the doctor. And did he want to go with her? She didn’t expect him to be an equal partner in her pregnancy—they were married, but they weren’t intimate—she just wanted...
Hell, she didn’t even know what she wanted.
She wanted to be able to stay awake past nine at night and catch him when he came home so she could eat dinner with him, rather than leaving his food on the stove. Maybe have a conversation with an animal that wasn’t a bird. Play a game other than solitaire. Measure Karl’s head for the hat she was making him as a gift rather than just guessing his size.
Vivian put Xìnyùn back in his cage, packed up her purse and headed out the door with a list of potential employers to visit. Her solution to her current situation was to get a job. A job would give her money. Money would give her the freedom to get her own apartment. There was always the possibility she’d make friends with someone she worked with.
Besides, being unemployed was not something she could handle for long, if only because getting up in the morning and going to a job had been a part of her daily routine for so long. She’d been working since it was legal for her to do so. It had been the only way to make sure she had money to save for college and find a life that didn’t involve moving in the middle of the night.
Fat lot of good it had done her. Her father had taken her life savings and disappeared into the darkness, leaving her to do much the same.
She shook her father out of her head. He had no place in Chicago. He wouldn’t think to find her here and if he couldn’t find her, he couldn’t ask her for more money. All the money she got from a job would go to providing for her and Jelly Bean. And she’d start to get some of her self-worth back. With a job would come the knowledge that she wasn’t a leech on Karl’s silent kindness. And maybe the hope that she could pay him back, somehow.
* * *
WHEN KARL WALKED through the doorway to his apartment at eleven o’clock on Friday night to find Vivian had pulled a dining chair into the entryway and was reading What to Expect When You’re Expecting, he knew it had been too much to hope that he could dodge her for eight months.
“Good evening, Karl.” She rested the book on her lap and looked up at him. “Have you been avoiding me?”
It sounded cowardly when she put it like that. He stared at the curve of her lips above her pointed chin—soft over sharp—and he had to stop himself from running his thumb over the bow. He didn’t have to be drunk to be susceptible to the arcs of her face, but he needed to remember that she was only temporary. The baby was permanent, but Vivian fleeting.
“I work a lot.” It came out like a defense.
“Well, you’re home now, and I’m still up, so we can talk.”
He beat her to picking up her chair to carry it back to the dining table. As he passed the bar area of the kitchen, someone whistled at him. The bird was climbing around on a miniature jungle gym. Xìnyùn whistled again, a high-pitched, squeaky wolf whistle. The bird was on his kitchen counter. And whistling at him. He stopped to look at the bird, who hopped in response.
Vivian made kissy noises—at the bird, not at him. “Xìnyùn always did prefer men.”
Karl shook his head and continued carrying the chair to the dining room table. “Why is he out of his cage?” That wasn’t the question he wanted answered. “Why do you have a bird that prefers men?”
That still wasn’t the right question—the one that had been niggling at him. He wanted to know why she was here in Chicago. The growing fetus and health insurance didn’t seem enough of a reason for a stranger to be living in his apartment. But he didn’t ask those, because he was too caught up watching Vivian bend over and encourage the bird to hop onto her finger.
“Luck, be a lady tonight,” the bird squeaked. At least, that’s what Karl thought the bird said. It might have been a whistle.
He sat in a chair at his table in the apartment that used to be his escape from the chaos of life.
“Xìnyùn’s out of his cage because he needs the exercise and mental stimulation. Parrots are smart and need regular challenges to their intelligence. In answer to your second question, I have a parrot that prefers men to women because he’s not my parrot.”
“Are you going to be hunted down by someone whose parrot you stole?” What did he know about her other than that she claimed to be pregnant and was living in his apartment? And that he liked the curve of her lips and length of her neck.
She laughed, but a haunted look accompanied the noise. “Xìnyùn’s my father’s bird.”
“Where’s your father and why doesn’t he have the bird?”
“Um...” She looked at the window.
“There’s probably bird shit on my kitchen counter. You can at least tell me where your father is.”
She looked back at him. “I’ll clean up Xìnyùn’s mess. I’ve been cleaning it all week.”
Of course. He hadn’t been home all week. The bird could’ve been dancing on his pillow for all he knew.
“And my father said he couldn’t keep the bird right now. I came home from work one day to find Xìnyùn in my apartment, along with a note.” She said all that while looking at him, but then she looked out the window. There was more to the story of her father. “But I wanted to talk to you about our child.”
She sat at the table across from him, and the bird hopped down her arm, landing on the belly of the pregnant woman on the cover of the book.
“Should you be around a bird while pregnant?” He really should know more about pregnancy than that Vivian shouldn’t have caffeine or alcohol.
“It’s fine. I wear gloves when I clean up after him and wash my hands often, but that’s one of the things I wanted to talk with you about. I need to find a doctor.”
“Are you sick?”
She pulled her chin back into her neck and gave him a funny look. “I’m pregnant.”
Karl’s throat tried to choke him and he coughed. “This is all new to me.”
“It’s new to me, too. I’ve not had much more time to get used to the idea than you have.” She patted his hand like he was a child. Her hand was warm. “I need to start having regular checkups for myself and the baby. Would you like to go with me to the first visit?” When he turned his hand palm up, she grasped it and squeezed. “Maybe it will help this all be real to you.”
It’s not as though he hadn’t imagined having a pregnant wife before. When he’d believed their marriage to be happy, he’d roll over in bed to look at Jessica and wonder what their children would look like. But with Jessica everything would’ve been planned. There would have been a calendar tracking when she was fertile, the best OB-GYN practice in Chicago already chosen and she would have picked out the crib she wanted before they even stopped using birth control. Jessica organized everything.
And he would’ve been a better partner to Jessica. Despite their arguments, Jessica wouldn’t have questioned whether he would be around to discuss the pregnancy. She would have assumed.
Vivian was a stranger, but legally she was his wife and—until he knew for certain otherwise—she was carrying their child. He should be no less a partner to Vivian just because she and the baby were inconvenient. Pregnancy was hardly convenient for Vivian, either. Whatever had driven her out of Vegas, she’d had a life there.
He squeezed her hand in return. “Yes. I would like to go to the first prenatal visit. I’m not sure I can make all of them, but I’ll make the ones I can, so long as you want me to.”
“I dropped in on your doorstep with no warning and you’ve taken me in. You’ve been great, considering. Really.”
“You’re a bad liar.” She looked out the window, but he saw the lie in the way her nostrils curled. “I didn’t kick a pregnant woman out on the streets, which means I’m not a jerk. It doesn’t make me great. We don’t know each other now, but that doesn’t mean we can’t eventually become friends. Friendship would be a better place to start than many people having a baby together.”
“Friends.” She turned her head back to face him. She was wearing the same pink sweater she’d worn when she’d first arrived. At the time he’d been too overwhelmed by the situation to concentrate on anything other than small details of her features and the haze of his memories. Looking at her now, face-to-face and with his mind open to his changing circumstances, he could see how pretty she was. Simple and without fuss, like a sunrise over the lake. “I’d like that.”
Neither of them noticed they were still holding hands until the bird climbed from the cover of the book to stand on Vivian’s middle finger and whistle.
She blushed and eased her hand out from his grip, the bird still carefully balanced on her finger. “I need to go to bed. This is past my pregnancy bedtime. I’ll clean up Xìnyùn’s mess in the morning.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said to her back as she slumped off to the bedroom. Cleaning up after a parrot would give him something to think about, other than his suddenly empty hand.
CHAPTER FOUR
“I’M SORRY, DAD....”
Karl eased the front door closed, not wanting to disturb Vivian’s conversation, and if he was being honest with himself, because he wanted to hear what she had to say to her father. She was in her bedroom, but the door was open so she couldn’t have an expectation of privacy.
That she probably still expected him to be out getting their breakfast made that argument a bit specious—a technicality he was willing to ignore to learn more about his mysterious bride. Vivian wasn’t forthcoming with information.
“...but I’m not going to tell you anything about what’s happened to me if you’re not going to tell me where you are.”
Interesting. Not knowing her father’s whereabouts was very different than his being unavailable.
“You always say it’s important, Dad, but me telling you that I’m fine is all you need to know right now.”
He slipped his shoes off and walked to the door of the guest bedroom in his socks, indecision an unfamiliar and uncomfortable feeling.
“No, nothing much in my life has changed since I last saw you.” The sarcasm in her voice cut through the door and Karl was certain her father was bleeding on the other end of the call, though it sounded as though her dad didn’t know why she was being so cutting. Hell, Karl didn’t know why she was being so cutting.
When had she last seen her father? She’d said he wasn’t available—a bit of an overstatement—but did he even know she was pregnant? That she’d lost her job? Based on the present conversation, Karl was willing to bet the answer to all those questions was no. For all her dad knew, Vivian was still in Vegas, dealing, single and with an empty uterus.
Vivian sighed. “Yes, you’re my father and you care about my well-being, but maybe you can see how that doesn’t mean very much to me right now.”
Clearly she didn’t want her father to know about the upheaval in her life, but why? Was she lying about the pregnancy? He shook the second question from his head. She would be a fool to lie about a pregnancy and invite him to the doctor’s office. He pulled his hand back from knocking at the door. It was unethical to eavesdrop and he now had more questions than answers—a punishment the Greek gods could have devised.
“I’ve been in Sin City for sixteen years and you were never so interested in my well-being before.” One short thunk came from the room. “I will continue to take care of myself, and it will be easier without wondering if you’ll show up on my doorstep.”
Her words stopped his attempt to be courteous and find something else to listen to. However occasionally constricted Karl felt at having his entire family live in the same city, he couldn’t imagine fearing their appearance on his stoop. Or worse, believing them to be more of a hindrance than help if he got in trouble.
“Dad, that was a fun time, but I’m too old to be looking for the next adventure.”
The desperation in her voice echoed the strain on her face from the night she’d shown up in his lobby. It had been that strain that had convinced him she was pregnant and that she believed it was his baby. Both of their lives would be a lot easier if he’d never bought her that drink.
Realizing he wasn’t going to learn any more about his wife, Karl walked to the kitchen, setting the newspapers and the bag of bagels on the counter. He was putting out plates when she came out of her room.
“Oh.” She stopped short at the sight of him, blinking. “I didn’t hear the front door.”
He turned his back to her and poured two cups of coffee. “I know.” When he turned back to face her, she hadn’t moved. “Sit down. Have some breakfast.”
She clasped her hands together, twisting them. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough to know you don’t know where your father is and that you’ve not told him you lost your job. Or that you’re pregnant. Why?”
A quick, frightened glance at the bedroom door gave away her thoughts.
“Is there a reason the fact of your father’s ignorance might induce me to kick you out of the apartment?”
“No.” Her hands fell to her sides and she inched to the breakfast bar. She gave him one more cautious look before sitting down. “I have good reasons for not telling my father about losing my job.”
He pushed a cup of coffee to her. “And for not telling him that you’re pregnant.”
“That, too.” She wrapped her hands around the mug, but didn’t drink any coffee. Karl waited. “I’m not going to tell you what those reasons are right now, no matter how silent you are.”
His laughter surprised them both. “The tactic loses some of its effectiveness when you put it so baldly.” That he was continuing to help her didn’t disturb him—she was pregnant and he didn’t believe in punishing a child for the sins of the mother, whatever the sins she was hiding might be—but how little he cared about her secret scared the hell out of him. Her attractiveness wasn’t enough to justify his feelings. He liked her, simple as that. “At least tell me that you’re not keeping a secret from me because you did something illegal.”
“I didn’t do anything illegal.” The matter-of-factness with which she said those words left a myriad of other secretive possibilities undenied.
“Does the secret have to do with why you were fired?”
“I don’t want my dad to know I’m pregnant because I don’t want him to have extra incentive to come looking for me.” Topic of conversation seemingly changed with the vague answer, she reached for a bagel, but Karl wasn’t satisfied.
“Because?”
Vivian put the bagel on the plate with a sigh. “Because he’s trouble, and I’m too old to go on thinking it’s fun.”
“Shouldn’t it be a parent’s prerogative to know if they’re going to be a grandparent?”
“Have you told your parents about me yet?” she asked.
“Parent. My dad died when I was sixteen.”
“I knew that. I’m sorry.”
“The people responsible for his death are the ones who should be sorry. You didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“But I’m not the only one keeping secrets from one of the baby’s grandparents.” She looked out the window before reaching for the tub of cream cheese. “My dad is better off not knowing.” Scrutinizing her bagel as she smeared it with cream cheese, she continued, “He wouldn’t care that much anyway.”
Interesting. She had the same tells when she was lying to herself as she did when lying to other people.
He took his time choosing his bagel and spreading it with cream cheese, enjoying her wary looks as she tore small bites off hers and chewed them slowly. If she didn’t want to continue worrying about what would happen if he knew her secrets, she should spill them and get the pain over with.
His coffee was barely hot as he washed his breakfast down before changing the subject. “Speaking of a parent’s prerogative and whether or not she knows about you, my mom planned a family dinner for tomorrow.”