Harlequin Superromance January 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: Everywhere She Goes\A Promise for the Baby\That Summer at the Shore (45 page)

“Self-preservation hardly makes me a coward.” Didn't it make him a survivor instead?

“Even if you don't believe it makes you a coward, trying to preserve some sort of self that is much less than who you
could
be certainly makes you stupid.” Malcolm waited, one eyebrow raised, but Karl didn't respond. Finally, Malcolm huffed in disgust and left the room.

If Karl could have done the same, and left the stupid part of himself behind, he would have.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

A
S
FAR
AS
Karl was concerned, the only pleasant part of this shopping experience was spending time with Vivian and watching her fingers trail over the pale wood of the crib. But because the world had a mean sense of humor, watching Vivian's long fingers touch every item in the store was also the worst part of shopping for baby furniture.

His wife bent a little at the waist to read the tag on the crib. “It says this crib converts into a bed, which would be nice. I like the color, too.” She straightened. Her lips were puckered and shifting from side to side.

“But?”

“But it's a bit too big for your mom's house.”

This entire shopping experience was proof that Karl could lie to himself. Watching Vivian's fingers
was not
the worst part of buying baby furniture. Listening to her assess each piece of furniture in terms of his mother's house was.

“It will fit fine in the second bedroom in my apartment.” They were a broken record. She would say it wouldn't fit in his mother's house and he would remind her of the cavernous space in his apartment.

She assessed the crib again, then shook her head, her long black hair swinging against her shoulders. “I think the crib and the guest bed would be a tight fit.”

At the first crib they'd looked at, Karl had managed to say, “We can get rid of the guest bed,” before Vivian walked away. Now, in a series of cowardly moves at odds with her character, she scurried away each time he tried to bring up the idea of them living together, baby in one room, parents in the other.

And each time he'd opened his mouth to call her on her cowardice, he remembered his conversation with Malcolm and his lips slammed shut. She wouldn't move back in with him until he released his judgment of her near felony. He couldn't release his judgment because, well, because there wasn't much left of him if he wasn't judging people.

Is that all I am?
God, what a horrible thought. He hurried to catch up to her before he lost any more of the precious time they were spending together. He at least wasn't so cowardly that he couldn't continue after his wife in the baby store. Malcolm was sure to be impressed, Karl thought wryly.

“Maybe we can buy a bassinet now and a crib later, when we figure out how much space we really have.” She was fingering the fabric canopy of the bassinet and not looking at him at all. Two people, having a baby together, picking out baby furniture, and they couldn't be further apart if she were still in Las Vegas. “Of course, there's still the changing table and the rocker that we need to get. I guess we don't
need
a rocker. Your mom has something I can use, and anyway I can't imagine my dad had much more for me than a dresser drawer when I was a baby.”

Karl seized on the possible change of subject. Anything to stop the scratch of the needle on whatever album of broken relationships they were playing. “What was your childhood like?”

“Besides moving in the middle of the night because my dad was caught up in another failed scheme?” She gave the bassinet a little push, but it didn't rock.

“You never imagine your parents excitedly looking at baby stuff?” Not that Karl could imagine his father ever stepping into a giant, baby-stuff-filled store like this one, but his father had enjoyed his children. He'd been strict with the boys and a little afraid to break the girls, but Karl had never doubted that his father had
wanted
them. Catholic prohibitions on birth control hadn't been the reason his parents had had four children.

Vivian bent to look at the tag on the bassinet. It was on the tip of Karl's tongue to tell her to stop looking at the price—that he could afford whatever she wanted for their baby—but he stopped himself. He wanted to know the circumstances that had made her who she was, and being frustrated with her for being frugal—clearly a result of her childhood—wouldn't help.

“Maybe buying a bassinet first and a crib later is a waste of money,” she murmured. “But we have some time to think about it.”

When he caught up to her, she was ready to respond. “My parents got married because my mom was pregnant.” She smiled wryly. “I mean, at least we got married on the same night I got pregnant. The marriage even came first, really.”

This bassinet rocked when she pushed it. They watched it in silence until it came to a stop. Karl took Vivian's hand and gave it a squeeze.

“My mom lost everything because of her pregnancy. No one actually said those words to me, but my aunt Kitty used to remind my dad of that when they fought, and I often overheard.” This time, she was the one to give
his
hand a squeeze. He squeezed back, to support them both. “My mom's parents
hated
my dad, and they eventually disowned her. She dropped out of college. She died in childbirth. When I got older, I wondered if my aunt Kitty tried so hard to get custody of me because she felt guilty for her family abandoning my mom. I don't know and I'm afraid to ask.”

Karl stepped closer to her so that he could wrap his arm around her, a full understanding of her childhood finally beginning to form in his mind.

“Even though I was an accident who forced him into marriage and then killed the woman he loved, my father never let me believe I wasn't loved.” She tucked her head against him and he pressed a kiss against her hair. “I'm not pretending he was a great father. He's a liar and a cheat who could never figure out how to make sure there was food in the house for his kid. But he always had time to listen to my stories from school. He would take me to the library and the park. And when he told me I could be anything I wanted to be, I believed him. My dad's greed is just the negative side to his vision for a better future. He always believed in me.”

Vivian shifted a bit, as if to pull away from him, but Karl kept his arm tight around her. He wanted her against him as he processed what she said. Their respective fathers had each fought for their belief in their children, only they each seemed to be fighting for a different team. His dad also believed in his children and in a better future. Only Pawel had taught him to believe in justice and fairness. That there is a
right
answer, even if it is the hard answer, and that usually right and easy are on opposite sides.

Karl opened his mouth to say the words Vivian wanted to hear. Not just “I love you,” but also that he didn't judge her past decisions. That he understood them and, more importantly, he didn't care anymore. That he wanted her more than his sense of self-righteousness.

But his memory of his father grounding him for an illegal hit during a hockey game was as fresh in his mind as if it had happened yesterday. The ref hadn't seen the hit, but his father had. Not only had Karl been grounded for a month, he'd had to call the opposing player and offer an apology. “Just because the ref didn't see you, doesn't mean you can get away with cheating,” his father had said before Karl had taken a deep breath, dialed the number and prepared to ask forgiveness, all the while knowing any absolution would have to wait until the next time he went to confession.

So the words never came out. He put down the shopping basket he was carrying and turned so that he faced Vivian, putting his cold hands against her warm face. The fire of her lips melted his as soon as he touched his mouth to hers. Her lips were soft and, when she opened her mouth to welcome him, moist. He could feel the puffs of her exhaled breath on his cheek.

If only he could say the words, then he could have a kiss like this every night of his life. And every morning. And before he left for work and when he came home from work. And just because his wife was amazing. Her tongue slipped into his mouth before he could pull back and say anything.
If
he was going to pull back and say anything. His track record so far wasn't very good.

Vivian slid her hands down his back and grabbed the waistband of his pants. Karl stopped thinking and just let himself feel.

Vivian was the one who finally broke the kiss. Her lips were shining from a mixture of their kiss and her lipstick, and her eyes were bright.

“I'm sorry,” Karl said. Not for the kiss—he could never be sorry for the kiss—but for his inability to say the words she wanted to hear.

Vivian closed her eyes for several seconds. When she opened them, their brightness had been replaced by pity. She nodded, patted his cheek with her hand and walked off. Karl was left standing in the middle of a field of baby furniture alone.

He caught up to her in the forest of baby toys.

When people accused Karl of having a stick up his ass, he was never shocked. He just preferred the term
straitlaced.
Like he also preferred
righteous anger
instead of
judgmental fucker.
An administrator for the Illinois Department of Human Resources had called him that last name once. Karl hadn't particularly cared for the sexual affair that the administrator had been having with a key figure in the state's Department of Human Resources office, but the high-pay, low-work jobs that her family got without ever seeming to have to interview
had
been a concern. The administrator had been arrested the day after giving Karl his epitaph.

The problem was not that Karl didn't know who he was; it was that he didn't think he could be flexible without breaking. Even for Vivian, who was shaking a rattle with a wide, bright smile on her face.

But he was willing to try. “What are you doing on the twenty-ninth?” he asked her.

“Probably working. Why?” Before she could shake the rattle again, Karl took it from her and put it in the shopping basket he was carrying. “Why'd you do that?” she asked.

“Even if our baby has no interest in the rattle, you seem to like it.”

Vivian raised one eyebrow at him. Maybe the people who called him overbearing were right. He pulled the rattle out of his basket and handed it back to her. She gave it one loud shake, which reverberated through the store, then handed it back to him. “Why do you ask about the twenty-ninth?”

“It's Phil Biadała's wedding. I'd like a date.”

Vivian put down the set of colored rings she was holding and assessed him. He didn't squirm—he never squirmed—but he did relax his stance. Just a little.

“Okay. Let me clear it with your mom first, but okay.” She picked up another rattle, giving it several shakes.

He smiled. “My mom will say yes.”

“She's still under the impression we will kiss and make up.” She put down the second rattle and picked up another. If she was trying to make each rattle more annoying than the first, she was succeeding.

“Is a perfect nuclear family no longer the goal?”

Karl had a feeling she was now shaking the rattle because she didn't know what else to do. He'd made her nervous, which hadn't been his objective. But he was pushing himself, and there was no reason she couldn't be pushed along with him.

Finally, she set the rattle down and lifted her face to his. Her expression was perfectly smooth, with no wrinkles to reveal how she was feeling. Only her eyes betrayed her nervousness. “It's still the goal. But I've not changed my mind about what I deserve.”

As much as it hurt to admit it, Malcolm was right. “You do deserve it.” He picked the rattle off the shelf and handed it to her. Then he picked another off the shelf and handed that one to her, as well. “And I'm trying.”

* * *

A
S
HE
HAD
been for the past several nights, Karl was the last customer to leave Healthy Food. It didn't seem quite right to call him a customer, but he never stayed to help clean up, so he wasn't an employee. He offered to help, but Susan always shooed him out the door with a reminder about his real job and its importance to the city. Despite his protests, he always looked relieved when he walked out the door as the mops came out. Relieved and tired.

Vivian didn't blame him for either. Cleaning up a buffet restaurant was a nightmare—people managed to get food in the strangest places when it was their responsibility to carry it to their tables. Plus, Karl had a job. One that was important to him. More important to him than she was.

Not that she could blame him for that, either. She could be angry with him—often was angry with him—but she'd been around the Mileks long enough to know that Karl had idolized his father. She'd also learned that Papa Milek had been more willing to say “I love you” than “good job,” and all the Milek children were expected to hold to his high standards of being a good citizen. Susan spoke with such praise about how Karl had stepped into the role of man of the house after the car accident. Up until he'd married his ex-wife, Karl had tried to play father to his sisters, even when his pep talks and advice had fallen on deaf ears.

His struggle with his expectations of himself and the imagined expectations of his father had looked physically painful, especially when surrounded by baby furniture that was all supposed to be about joy. She could feel sorry for him, and even have to restrain herself from smacking him, but she couldn't
blame
him.

She moistened her finger on the little sponge next to the register and began to count the money in the till—something else to do so she didn't think about Karl and his inner-little-boy struggles with his grown-up self. The register made satisfying crunching noises as the Z-tape printed out. Her brain must make similar noises when she thought about her situation and how easy it would be to pack her bags and move into Karl's apartment to play family. He cared for her; Vivian didn't doubt that. He would be faithful and honest. Frustrations or not, they were friends. It would be so easy to believe that was enough.

When he kissed her, she believed it was enough.