A Promise for the Baby

“We’re married and you’re carrying my child. I think that makes you family. Or do you plan to hide from my family like you’re hiding from yours?”

How nicely Karl evaded the fact that he’d been hiding her, as well. “Hiding from my family is an exaggeration. My father could probably find me if he tried.”

His shoulders fell, but he didn’t sigh in exasperation at her. Since she was exasperated herself, this was a bit of a surprise. “There are aspects of your life you don’t want to tell me right now,” he said. “That’s fine. Not great, but we’re strangers in a rough situation and I’m trying to be understanding. But don’t outright lie to me.”

“Fine.” She put down her bagel and looked him straight in the eye. “It’s not an exaggeration, and I’m hoping he doesn’t try, but not for the same reasons you’re keeping me from your family, I’m sure.” What she had to say next would be harder to admit to, but she wanted him to understand, even if she couldn’t tell him everything. “My dad’s fun, but he’s not responsible. I need responsible.”

“Did he do something illegal?” His voice expressed simple curiosity, but there had to be more behind the question. Vivian didn’t believe Karl ever asked anything out of simple curiosity.

“What’s your time frame?” She pushed her half-eaten bagel away, no longer hungry.

“It’s not a trick question, Vivian. He either did or he didn’t.”

“Maybe it’s easy for you, but you’re a lawyer and you spend your time looking for evildoers. This is my father we’re talking about. He’s lazy and looking to make a quick buck involving the least amount of work. Combine that with Las Vegas...” She shrugged. “There are a million things he could have done that are wrong without being illegal.”

And that was just Las Vegas. If she assumed that every time they had moved in the middle of the night it had been because her father was escaping the law...

Of course, on a few occasions he might have been escaping his partners in crime, not the authorities.

“You should tell your father the truth.”

“No.” The word came out more forcefully than she had meant it to, causing Xìnyùn to whistle from the next room. “When I’m settled, I’ll tell him. Until then...” An offensive tactic seemed to be a better idea right now. “What are you going to tell your family about me?”

He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. It was cold, which was probably why she hadn’t touched hers. “At dinner will be my mom, my sister Tilly and her boyfriend, and my sister Renia and her husband, Miles. You met Miles at the library. I don’t know if his daughter, Sarah, will be there.”

“I’ll get you another cup of coffee,” she said, reaching out for his mug.

His hand was cool when it grabbed her wrist. “Don’t. If I want another cup I’ll get it myself.”

“I’m just trying to be nice.” I’m still in your apartment, eating your food, without a job. And now we have this secret hanging between us.

“When you’re offering just to be nice, I’ll let you get me a cup of coffee. Until then, you’re doing it because you feel beholden to me and I’m not interested.” He let go of her hand and she missed the cool touch of his palm on her skin.

Which was nuts. They weren’t a couple; they were a couple of people stuck having a baby together. She would get a job and her own insurance, they would agree on divorce terms and child support and she would never feel his touch again. He was a domineering pain in the ass, anyway. Because you feel beholden. Assuming jerk.

But because he was right, she asked her question again. “What are you going to tell your family about me?”

“The truth.”

“That we met while drunk, had sex and woke up married?”

The corner of his mouth kicked up in a smile, marking this morning as the first time she’d heard him laugh much less give any indication he could smile outside of Las Vegas. And she couldn’t help notice that his hazel eyes twinkled when he smiled. “An edited version of the truth.”

“Could you—” how to ask this question without sounding like she was trying to hide even more “—not tell them about the baby?”

The corners of his mouth fell as his smile turned suspicious. As he should be, Vivian thought, only not with regard to the baby. “Any particular reason to keep it a secret?”

“I’d always heard it was bad luck to tell anyone before the third month.”

“Miles knows—or at least guesses. He saw the book.”

“Just between us for now. Okay?”

* * *

KARL DIDN’T USUALLY lie to his mom, but he knew how to keep something from her. He’d hidden his impending divorce from her almost until Jessica had served him with the petition. It wasn’t something he liked doing—his mom had been angry about the secret of the divorce for months—but he made it a habit not to answer questions people didn’t ask. It hadn’t occurred to his mother to ask if he was getting a divorce. However...

“Is she pregnant?” his mom asked in a whisper as she handed him a platter of sauerkraut pierogies to take to the dining room.

“Why do you ask?” If he could avoid answering the question, he wouldn’t have to lie to his mother. He didn’t want to. But he understood Vivian’s reluctance to share the news—though his reasons were different. The fewer people who knew about the pregnancy, the fewer people who would insist on showing him adorable baby booties and maybe the fewer chances he’d have to think of all the horrible ways children die. As long as only he and Vivian knew about the baby, he could ignore the risk childhood posed to a child whenever he wasn’t around his wife. Or so he told himself.

His mom grabbed the waistband of his pants, preventing him from walking out of the kitchen. He sighed in response. Some days, you are still five years old to your mother. “You married a woman I’ve never met. What am I supposed to think?”

“Mom, even if she were pregnant—and I’m not saying she is—I wouldn’t tell you until she was three months along. It’s bad luck.” At least Vivian had been kind enough to give him something to tell his mother while he lied to her.

“What do you know about this woman you’ve married? Where’s she from? What’s her family like? How do you know if you have anything in common with her?”

He removed his mother’s grip on his pants and turned to face her, surprised when her expression held fear. “We’re here for family dinner. You can ask her all the questions you want. Get to know her. You’ll probably like her.”

I do. More than the curve of her lips and line of her neck. He could relax in Vivian’s calm presence. She had a quiet, efficient manner and he found himself watching her move about the apartment instead of enjoying his view of the Chicago skyline. He had even changed the chair he sat in while in the living room so he could watch her knit or play solitaire.

“She’s just—” his mom halted “—different, and I’m not sure she belongs.”

Of all the things he expected to come out of his mother’s mouth... “Are you saying you don’t like Vivian because she’s not from Chicago, not Catholic—” at least, he didn’t think she was “—or not white?”

“I just think marriages work better when the couple shares a common background.”

He set the pierogies on the counter in exasperation. “You complain about Tilly and Dan not even planning a wedding yet—”

“‘I’m building my business’ isn’t a reason not to get married,” she interrupted.

“And you’re a devout Catholic wishing your sister could marry her longtime female partner.”

“She’s my favorite sister. Their relationship has lasted longer than most marriages I know.”

“Vivian and I have done what Aunt Maria and Josie can’t do and what Tilly and Dan haven’t cared to do. Be happy about that.”

“I just wish I knew her.”

“No, you wish you’d had the chance to approve of her before I married her.” Like you approved of Jessica because the two of you wanted the same things out of me, and they weren’t what I was willing to give. The marriage you approved of led to divorce. And Jessica and I had a lot in common.

He picked the pierogies up off the counter and headed through the living room to the dining room and the rest of his family.

In the dining room, Vivian was laughing at the anecdote of Dan panning Tilly’s restaurant and then picking her up at the Taste of Chicago, each unaware that she was the chef to whose restaurant he’d given a bad review. Instead of being an uncomfortable story, Tilly’s lively hand gestures and gift with words made it one of their best party stories. Karl slipped into the chair next to his wife with the odd feeling that the family table was finally complete. Until tonight, hearing Vivian chuckle at Dan’s tales of the ribbing his friends had given him over the review, Karl hadn’t known something had been missing.

* * *

THE CAR RIDE home was uncomfortable. Vivian’s enjoyable chat with Karl’s sisters had come to a screeching halt when his mom had entered the dining room with roast pork and twenty questions. Vivian had smiled and tried to remain pleasant, while avoiding the questions she thought were none of the woman’s business—and inappropriate to be asked at a get-to-know-you dinner.

“Everyone seemed very nice,” Vivian remarked to the passenger-side window and cars they were passing. By everyone, she meant Karl’s sisters, his brother-in-law and Dan. She hadn’t expected someone as straitlaced as Karl to have a sister with wild blue hair, and his other sister, Renia, while reserved, had an undercurrent of real warmth.

Qualifying her statement seemed rude, and she could be polite to Karl, who had watched the interaction between her and his mother with interest but hadn’t done anything to interfere. Just because she came from mysterious people and a state that Easterners couldn’t distinguish from Iowa, didn’t mean she didn’t know how to be polite.

“Did you enjoy the food?”

“Yes. It’s the first time I’ve ever had pierogies. Probably the first time I’ve ever had Polish food that wasn’t kielbasa from the grocery store.” The only thing the sausage they’d eaten for dinner had in common with the vacuum-wrapped oval from the meat case was the name. Then there had been the cucumbers in a light sour cream dressing. “It was all delicious.”

“No Polish blood in you?” His question was lightly asked, but she’d been asked that question about ten different ways over the past two hours.

“I didn’t realize you were also obsessed with my ancestry.” Being offended warred with her fear of losing the little stability she had managed to grasp.

And she’d thought better of him.

“Of all my mom’s questions that you avoided answering, that’s the one I care least about. Tell me why you got fired and why you’re hiding from your dad, and I won’t bat an eye when you tell me that your grandparents are from Jupiter.”

“Is that why you didn’t stop your mom from combining dinner with a security clearance interview?”

He didn’t sigh, but she could feel the frustration come off his body in waves at her remark. “Vivian,” he said finally, “I haven’t known you very long, but you don’t strike me as the type of person who wants a man to rescue her just so he can prove he’s not neutered. You were holding your own. If you had needed to be saved, I would have done so.”

“What do you call me living in your apartment, eating your food and using the transit cards you leave on the table?” Suddenly she needed the parameters of their relationship defined. If he didn’t see her as helpless and dependent, how did he see her?

“Providing you with a helping hand isn’t the same as a rescue. If I were rescuing you, I’d have done this whole thing differently.”

“How?”

“I’d have a suit of armor and horse,” he said with the same flat tone with which he said everything else.

Something between a snicker and a sigh escaped her mouth. She hadn’t told his mother anything about her heritage because she was offended that it seemed to matter. When Karl said he didn’t care, she believed him.

Besides, if she offered him some answers, perhaps she’d win a reprieve from the questions about her father and why she was fired. She didn’t know that much about “her people” anyway. Her father had a habit of alienating people, even family. Maybe especially family.

“The last name and most of the blood on my father’s side is Chinese, but there’s some Mexican and Sicilian in there, too, I think. There were lots of different ethnic groups working on the railroads, fighting forest fires and mining out west. My mom’s a hundred percent Chinese, though.” She let the silence consume the oxygen in the car and extinguish her fear. “Would your mom like me more if I had Polish blood?”

She didn’t want to care what his mother thought, but this was his baby, too, and that woman was the baby’s grandmother. If the baby’s grandmother couldn’t get past her nonwhite skin, well...well, she’d figure out something. She always had.

“It would give her something to hang on to until she got to know you better. Being Catholic would work just as well.” Her leather seat creaked as she turned from the window to look at her husband, but the darkness swallowed his expression—if he had one.

She turned back to the window, disappointed in his answer and disappointed in herself for caring. “The Mexican and Sicilian parts are probably Catholic.”

She started when his hand rested on her knee and squeezed. She’d touched him once or twice, but he’d steadfastly avoided initiating any contact with her since putting his hand on her back as they’d left the library that day. She’d noticed that he watched her when they were in the apartment together—whether out of suspicion, curiosity or some other emotion she didn’t know and his expression didn’t reveal—but he never touched her.

“It’s not about you. My mom is mad at me for marrying someone she doesn’t know and didn’t get a chance to approve of, first. Since I am otherwise the golden child, she’s not used to feeling disappointed in me and her disapproval is landing on you. She’ll get over it, and you shouldn’t feel that you need to put up with it. If she continues, I’ll tell her to knock it off. Or you can opt out of future family dinners. Attendance isn’t a requirement for my help.”

If she hadn’t been staring so intently at his expression, she wouldn’t have noticed the slight lift of his mouth when he said “golden child.” As it was, she wasn’t sure she believed her own eyes. She ticked off her memories on her fingers, a laugh, two smiles and a touch all in the span of a couple days.

But the hint of a smile disappeared as quickly as it had come when he continued talking. “I don’t know if that helps. I’ve never been—”

“Anything but the perfect man all mothers dream their beloved daughter will marry?”

He laughed. If she wasn’t careful, she might have to take off her socks to keep track of the number of times she got a reaction out of him. “I was going to say ‘on the receiving end of a mother’s interrogation,’ but we can let your statement stand.”

“How your mother feels about me doesn’t matter in the long run, I guess. I’ll get a job, get my own health insurance. We’ll have a baby and get a divorce. You’ll be free to marry a Polish Catholic girl your mom has known since birth.”

Karl didn’t respond. But neither did he remove his hand from her knee until it was time to get off the freeway.

CHAPTER FIVE

VIVIAN WAS SHIFTING, trying to get comfortable in the waiting room chair and filling out yet another form with her medical history, when Karl came in.

“Hi,” she said, surprised. She’d told him the time and date of her first doctor’s appointment, and he’d said he’d come, but she’d expected some work emergency to conveniently detain him. Despite his touch of her knee on the way home from his mother’s and his promise they would be friends, he’d been the same distant man of the previous week. And he still seemed to work all the time. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I’m sorry. Scheduling my own doctor’s appointment made me late.” He put a heavy hand on her head, smoothing down her hair before giving her neck a reassuring squeeze and sitting down. No, she wasn’t being honest with herself. He hadn’t been quite the same man. Instead of going straight to work after the gym, he’d come home and eaten breakfast with her yesterday and today. They’d talked about how her job search was going, and she’d reminded him of today’s appointment.

And yesterday, instead of getting home from work after she’d gone to bed, he’d come home and taken her out to dinner. As she’d taken a bite of her stuffed mushrooms and peered at the pictures on the wall of the steakhouse that seemed to be a Chicago institution, Karl had turned into a different man.

No fewer than ten people, not including the gruff waitstaff, came to their table to say hello. Each time, he introduced her as his wife, accepted their congratulations, ignored their looks of surprise with ease and asked about their families. She’d started to wonder if the taciturn man she shared an apartment with had fallen into the twilight zone and been replaced by a politician. Then she’d noticed his glad-handing didn’t extend to his eyes. He smiled, but the twinkle wasn’t there. Her husband played Mr. Important out in public, but he didn’t enjoy it.

The man next to her in the waiting room, silent, steady and present, was the natural Karl.

“What are all the forms for?”

“Everything.” She handed the clipboard to him, embarrassed to be sharing her complete medical history with a man she barely knew. But he was going to learn more about her as soon as they got into the doctor’s office so why hide it now? Jelly Bean was his baby, too. “Family medical history. Vitamins I take. Past illnesses. My doctor in Vegas hasn’t sent over all my records yet, but I think they’d make me fill everything out, anyway.”

“You missed information here.”

She looked at the space he was pointing to. “I don’t remember how old I was when I had my first period.”

Karl’s head jerked and he started to blush. “I guess, I didn’t, I mean...”

This time she put the supportive hand on his knee. “It’s okay. We have one night of sex and now my menstrual cycle has become important to both of us.” She chuckled because her other option was to cry. “When we leave this office, I probably won’t have any secrets left.”

“Why’d you come to me instead of finding your father?”

Of course, she couldn’t blame him for asking the question—she’d practically invited it—but still Vivian tried to pull her hand off his knee. He stopped her, placing his hand on top of hers and keeping it there. She could feel his touch all the way down to her toes.

“I thought I should tell you about the child in person,” she said. It was the same stupid reason she always gave him.

“So, still some secrets.” Someday, she knew, he wasn’t going to let it slide.

“Yes.” And she would keep those secrets as long as she could. He needed to know about her health and her body because the child growing inside her was his as well as hers. He didn’t need to know how she’d waited until the last minute to decide not to sell her integrity, and how the fates had punished her anyway.

“You said you wanted me here. I can go back to my office if you need the privacy.”

“No. We’re a team on this—” if on nothing else “—and I’d like a friend.”

* * *

IN THE SMALL exam room, Karl turned his back to give Vivian privacy while she changed into the hospital gown. He cracked the door once she had changed, then took a seat in a chair while she sat on the examination table, swinging her feet in the air. The false intimacy of the exam room, combined with the very real consequences of their night of sexual intimacy, made for an awkward situation.

“Oh, the father is here,” the doctor said as she walked into the room. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

Karl had felt discomfited enough as the only man in the waiting room without the doctor commenting on his presence in that chipper voice people use to inform their dogs a walk is coming. But the woman didn’t seem to notice his discomfort—or she didn’t care—and the visit wasn’t about him, anyway.

“Considering how many times I hear people say ‘we’re pregnant,’ I almost never see the father.” His head jerked up when the doctor sat and patted them both on the knees. She looked old enough to be his grandmother, but he hadn’t expected her to treat them like children. “Good.” Pat. “This should be a partnership.” Pat. “And I expect this means both of you will be abstaining from coffee, alcohol, soft cheese and lunch meats.” Pat. “It’s not fair for the mother to bear those burdens alone.”

He knew about the coffee and alcohol. He hadn’t known about the cheese. How much feta had been in the Middle Eastern food he’d brought home? Had Vivian picked it out? Had she eaten it? Was it even a soft cheese? Karl glanced at her and she lifted her eyebrows in what he expected was supposed to be reassurance, but he still felt as if he was swimming through a bizarre dream the consistency of gelatin and the color of black coffee—with grounds trapped beside him in the jelly.

“So.” The doctor clapped her hands. “I imagine you have lots of questions...”

How had offering a drink to an attractive woman at a hotel bar in Las Vegas led to him sitting in an exam room with a stranger in a hospital gown?

“...let me tell you what’s going to happen at this exam, and you can ask all the questions you want when we’re done.”

Now was probably not the best time to ask that question—or to ask when he was going to wake up. Although, he cocked his head to the side and caught sight of Vivian’s pink toenails as they swayed in and out of his vision, the dream didn’t really seem terrible. Still bizarre, but not definitively bad.

“The last thing we’ll do is an internal ultrasound. It’s early yet, so you won’t see much, but we might get to listen to the heartbeat.”

“The fetus has a heartbeat?” Karl asked, and immediately felt stupid.

“If the date of your last period is right, the fetus may have a detectible heartbeat. Don’t worry, Dad.” The doctor patted his knee again. “People ask questions when they’re scared and sometimes they’re silly questions. Babies are scary and they’re also wonderful. Stick with your beautiful wife, here, and you’ll be fine.”

Vivian’s legs had stopped swinging and her lips had pursed as though she might cry. Or—he reevaluated the brightness of her eyes—burst into laughter. He wasn’t the only one who found this scene ridiculous.

The exam was reinforcing all the many things he didn’t know about his wife. He’d seen the stranger he’d married in a hospital gown, knew she couldn’t remember the age at which she had her first period and knew she’d been exposed to a lot of secondhand smoke on her job. He didn’t know why Vivian had lost her job, why her father was missing or why she wouldn’t tell him about her pregnancy. Until she told the doctor, he hadn’t realized she spent most of her days walking around the city when she wasn’t applying for jobs and cleaning up after the stupid bird.

These were the repercussions of having a child with a stranger. These strange half intimacies of hearing her describe how regular her menstruation had been—really, did such details matter now that she was actually pregnant?—but not knowing if she’d ever gone to college defined their relationship.

Vivian and the doctor were talking about genetic testing, but Karl only heard half of it. This wasn’t how he’d planned to have a baby. When he’d sat at the hotel bar knocking back whiskey and waiting to die because being older than his father was inconceivable, he’d thought back on what he’d accomplished in his life.

And he’d come up short, which had probably been the alcohol and his thirty-ninth birthday talking. He had a job that was more than just important to him, it was important to the city of Chicago. He was the independent watchdog for the taxpayer and that didn’t mean he was looking out only for their money.

The worst effects of corruption and fraud weren’t wasted dollars, but wasted lives. Two dead Milek men on the side of the highway and one dying Milek boy in the hospital were testimony to the devastation a bribe and a blind eye could leave.