Life, Love, and a Polar Bear Tattoo

by Heather Wardell

Kegan's amusement faded, and I sobered as he said, "The attention to detail was definitely George's. I learned a lot from him in that area, about making sure you know exactly what you want and what you won't accept."

  "I bet he learned a lot from you too," I said, wishing I could soothe his pain at losing his friend.

  Kegan shrugged. "About the only thing George didn't have before me was risk taking. I encouraged him to try things. He went on the debate team because of me, put himself forward for student council. Hell, he only asked out the girl he ended up marrying because I said if he didn't I'd do it for him."

  "What, ask her out yourself?"

  "No, for him. I'd never steal a girl from a friend." Had he put just a bit of emphasis on 'friend' or was I imagining it? He and Ian weren't friends.

  I definitely wasn't imagining the intensity in his eyes. "Candy, I--" He rubbed his forehead, staring down at the table. "Look, can I say something and have you not tell me why I'm wrong?"

  "Of course." I wasn't sure what he meant, but he obviously needed to say whatever it was.

  Without looking up, he said, "It's my fault George died."

  I took this in for a second, then said, "Why do you say that?"

  He looked up at me. "Damn it, Candy, thank you. I've only said that to a few people but they all immediately tell me it's not my fault and won't let me talk about it. But it is."

  "He had a heart attack, right?" I said, planning to ease him around to realizing it wasn't his fault at all.

  "He sure did," Kegan said, "in the middle of a session at the gym I'd made him join."

  I pressed my fingers to my mouth and looked at him, longing to find just the right thing to say. He stared back, his eyes challenging but full of pain, and my heart twisted as I realized he was afraid I'd agree with him, agree he'd caused his friend's death. I reached out and put my hand over his, and he flipped his over and wrapped his fingers around my hand. A tingle shot through me at his touch but I ignored it. No time for that sort of thing. "Why did you make him join the gym?"

  "He was putting on a bit of weight, and he'd get out of breath climbing stairs," he said, tightening his grip on my hand. "I thought it'd be good for him." He gave a bark of laughter that hurt to hear. "I told him if he didn't lose weight he'd end up dying of a heart attack."

  I shut my eyes against the tears. It wasn't his fault, of course, but what a burden to carry around with him. "Oh, Kegan," I said. Opening my eyes, I said, "I'm so sorry."

  "If I hadn't made him go--"

  "He was a grown man, it was up to him--"

  "But I pushed him--"

  "And he never resisted you on anything else? Ever?"

  He stared at me. "Dude resisted me all the time. Complained I pushed him around. Even deciding where we'd go to eat lunch was a battle sometimes."

  Feeling my way, I said, "Then don't you think he might have wanted to join the gym? Maybe it was your idea, but he's the one who paid, and went. You didn't make him do anything. It's horrible that he died there, yes, but he wouldn't have blamed you, and I don't think you should either."

  We sat in silence for a few seconds, giving me just enough time to worry that I'd offended him before he pulled me to my feet and hugged me so tightly my ribs creaked.

  "Thank you," he said into my ear. "I needed another way to look at it, because my way it always looked like my fault. Your way makes it seem so different. Thank you."

  I tightened my arms around him, my eyes full of tears, and we stood together, my head pressed into his chest and his cheek against my hair, until a table of teenage girls behind us burst into applause and one said, "Congratulations, he's adorable!"

  We broke apart to see the girls, still clapping, stand up and toast us with their coffee cups. "When's the wedding?"

  I blushed, but Kegan grinned at them. "September fifteenth, I think," he said. "Next year, of course." He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and I slid mine around his waist to help him keep up the joke. "This year would be too soon, wouldn't it, honey?" He smiled into my eyes. "Only a crazy person would plan something big in just a few weeks."

  "You'd have to be crazy," I said. "Certifiable."

  He laughed, and the bravest of the girls said, "Are we invited?" making the rest giggle.

  "Sure," Kegan said, sweeping a smile across the table that turned several of the girls beet red. "Check your mail box in a few months."

  They lost themselves in uncontrollable giggles, and Kegan and I sat down again, this time on the same side of the table so both our backs were to the girls.

  "Well, that was interesting," he said, smiling at me.

  "I'd like to say I was never that giggly, but I know I was," I admitted. "It's a teenage girl thing. I drove my mother crazy when I was fifteen or so with it."

  "I bet you were adorable," he said, imitating the girl's tone.

  I batted my eyelashes, looking as cute and ditzy as I could, and we both laughed. "Yup, adorable," he said, and my cheeks flamed at the affection in his voice.

  "And smart, too," he added. "How'd you know what I needed to hear?"

  Focusing on the half-eaten cookie in front of me, I said, "Ian's parents died to get me a Christmas present. Trust me, I know guilt."

  He put his hand on my shoulder, and I turned to face him but didn't look up. "Are you sure it was for you?"

  "Unless they knew someone else who'd want a giant stuffed animal made to look like a polar bear skin rug, yes." The rug had been found in the car's trunk, in heartbreakingly perfect condition. It was in our basement in its cardboard box; I couldn't stand to look at it but hadn't been able to make myself throw it out.

  "But nobody said it was your fault, right?" His grip on my shoulder tightened. "How could anyone think--"

  "Just like how you did," I said, raising my face to look him in the eye. "They wouldn't have been there if it hadn't been for me."

  He said nothing, looking at me with compassion, and I added, "It's like you said. I know it's not my fault, but I can't feel it's not. Nothing feels right any more."

  I swallowed hard against the rising tears, and he slid his hand down and around my back. "Candy, did... who said it was your fault?"

  Could I tell him? Would it help? I stared at the table then made up my mind. Just as I took a breath to speak, he pulled his arm away from me and said, "Look, we should run through those plans quickly once more before I go to the lawyers. Okay?"

  Without waiting for my reply, he jerked the folder from his briefcase and spread the plans on the table, narrowly avoiding knocking over my coffee.

  Apparently he'd had enough of the personal discussion. Fine, then. I'd wanted us to stay professional anyhow. "Sure, sounds good," I said, holding my voice steady with effort. "Anything in particular you wanted to know?"

  "Yes," he said, then, "No. Just keep--"

  "Well, hello there."

  I looked up to see Larissa standing in front of our table, eyes narrowed. "How... cozy. The chairs on this side of the table don't work?"

  "Difficult to see the plans if we're on opposite sides," Kegan said, seeming not to notice her antagonistic tone.

  "I suppose," she said. "No room at the restaurant to check them out?"

  "I needed coffee," he said, "And Cand-- Candice was good enough to oblige. We're pretty much done now, though. Want to sit down?"

  "No, that's fine," she said. "I wouldn't want to interrupt."

  Again he ignored her tone, now bordering on rude. "Actually, you wouldn't be. I need to leave for a meeting, so you'd just be keeping Candice company, which I'm sure she'd appreciate." He got to his feet and packed the plans away. "Candice, I'll see you sometime tomorrow. Larissa, always a pleasure."

  And he was gone, weaving his way through the crowd toward the door. Larissa and I watched him go, then she turned to me. "What are you--"

  "I'm working," I said.

  "Snuggled up to him?"

  If she'd been there a few minutes earlier she'd have seen some serious snuggling. I forced a l
augh. "Don't be ridiculous. He needed coffee, and we needed to go through the plans, so..." I shrugged.

  And I had needed to tell him about what Ian had said to me, and I didn't get to. As I had a thousand times before, I considered telling Larissa. And, just like all the other times, I decided not to. She knew Ian, knew and liked him, and I didn't want her opinion of him changed by what was almost certainly a comment born from his anger and pain at his parents' death and not true blame of me.

  Almost certainly.

  *****

  Ian had skipped emailing me a few times, so I took the night off myself, not even bothering to log in to see if he'd written. I had too much to think about.

  I was playing with fire and I knew it. The more time I spent with Kegan the more I remembered everything I'd loved about our time together, loved about him, and the more Ian seemed to fade.

  But when I was with Kegan, I seemed to brighten, and I didn't want to give that up. Something about the way he saw me made me feel better and stronger and more professional than I'd ever felt before, more able to handle things.

  I liked it.

  Friday, August 12th

  I woke up determined to cancel. I wouldn't meet Kegan. It was dangerous. Going to Wonderland with him had been one thing, but this was basically a dinner date and I couldn't do that.

  Could I?

  No, I could not. I would email him and tell him something had come up. Overtime at work. Spanish Flu. Ninja needing an intervention to stop him chewing plastic bags. Anything.

  Ninja's plaintive howls forced me to drag myself out of bed. I fed the furry little brute and then went to the gym. I was nervous, given how difficult my last workout was, but this one went very well. Of course, I only did half of what I'd done the last time, and I'd taken a day off, so it probably wasn't a big surprise. Still, I'd gone, and that was good.

  Proud of myself, I went home to shower. I was especially careful to scrub my back to shining perfection; it wouldn't do to have my tattoo artist ("my tattoo artist". I had a tattoo artist!) offended by the state of my skin.

  I spent ages deciding what to wear. I needed something that was appropriate for the office while still providing easy access to my back.

  Did most people panic so much about their outfit for getting a tattoo? Probably not. Maybe I wasn't the tattoo type after all.

  Maybe not.

  But I wanted to be.

  *****

  Kegan called me at about eleven. "Candy, I need your help." He sounded strange, almost nervous.

  "Of course. What's up?"

  "Can you come here?"

  I cast a glance at my calendar. Wide open. Lou and I had talked in the morning and I had a lot of tasks, but nothing that had to be done immediately. "Sure. Should I bring Lou? Is there something wrong?"

  "No, it's fine. I just need to talk to you. See you soon."

  I sat staring at the phone as if it held all the answers. It didn't. Only one person did.

  *****

  When I got to the restaurant, Kegan was just as vague. He smiled at me, but then looked away and didn't seem to be able to meet my eyes. He asked me to explain Lou's plans for his office area, but I knew that wasn't the real reason I was there.

  At noon, his workers headed out in small groups. A few invited us to join them, but Kegan turned them all down, saying we had work to do. As if to prove this, he asked a few more questions about the designs, all of which we'd covered the day before.

  The last one to leave was the guy with the tiger and lion tattoo. He smiled at me, and said, "Got your tattoo yet?"

  "Tonight," I said on a whim, and we all laughed. The guy waved, the door closed behind him, and Kegan and I were alone.

  "Tonight, eh?" Kegan echoed.

  I blinked twice, making my best innocent face, and said nothing.

  "You promised to show it to me if you get one, don't forget."

  "I did no such thing."

  He returned my innocent face, then suddenly turned serious. I felt my skin prickle. I was about to find out why I was here, and I so didn't want to know.

  Apparently Kegan didn't want to tell me any more than I wanted to hear, because he said, "I'm sorry I cut you off yesterday at the coffee shop. I just saw Larissa come in and figured we'd better be working when she spotted us. Did she say anything?"

  "Not much," I said. He raised his eyebrows, clearly not believing me, and I had to laugh. "Okay, she wasn't exactly thrilled, but she didn't say anything about seeing us not working, so I guess you fixed it in time."

  "Yeah, but you didn't get to finish what you were saying. If you want to, any time, I'm ready to listen."

  "Thanks," I said, trying to smile. I wanted to, but I couldn't just jump into it.

  We sat in silence for a second, then he reached for the plans again. Idly turning the pages of Lou's design, he said, "I had a phone call last night." He took a sip from a mug on his desk before going on. "Larissa's friend Fiona."

  He met my eyes then, at the worst possible time, as I was battling the strongest jealousy I'd ever felt. I didn't want him to see her. I had no claim to him, and didn't even want one. He could see anyone he liked. Just not Fiona. She wouldn't be good for him.

  I turned my head away and swallowed hard, then said, "Oh?", trying to keep my voice neutral, with maybe just a hint of interest but no real concern.

  "And I don't know what to do."

  When I didn't speak, he said, "What do you think I should do?"

  "It's nothing to do with me," I said, willing the words to be true. "Fiona's nice enough, I guess, from the little I know of her. Seems a little flaky, but that's probably just me. If you want to go out with her, then go. If not, then at least be nice to her, because if you're not Larissa will find you and make you cry. Do you want to see her?"

  He shook his head slowly, staring past me at the street reflected in the bar's mirrors. "I don't know what I want any more." He sounded so tired, almost defeated.

  "Is this why you wanted me to come here?"

  He nodded. "I need advice."

  Then write to a columnist or something. Don't ask me to send you out with another woman. "I can't tell you what to do. It has to be what you want." I forced myself to go on. "Maybe you should just go out with her. What have you got to lose?"

  Our eyes met.

  "I've got nothing to lose, I guess."

  "There you go," I said, with a lightness I definitely didn't feel. "Did you talk for a while?"

  He nodded. "Ten minutes or so. Then she had to go. She... um... she suggested that we should go out for dinner sometime."

  "Take her on Monday, if you want."

  "No," he said, no doubt in his voice. "That's for you."

  "If you're sure."

  "I am."

  The longer I sat with him, the more I knew that dinner on Monday was a dreadful idea. I was already feeling jealous, possessive of him, when I had no right to be. Spending more time with him outside of work was only going to make that worse.

  "Look, I think you should go with her instead."

  "Why?"

  Just one word, and so hard to answer. I settled for, "I don't think we should be seeing each other outside of work."

  "We went to Wonderland."

  "Yeah, but that was different."

  "Why?"

  "Because you were helping me celebrate that phone call."

  "So this is celebrating Lou saying you did a great job. There's no difference."

  I considered this. It made sense. What made even more sense was when he said, "That Wonderland trip, that's the most fun I've had as far back as I can remember. I'd really like to have this dinner with you. But if you don't want to, I can understand. I won't push you."

  I knew he meant it. And I knew something else.

  "I do want to go."

  He smiled at me. "Shark Bait at seven?"

  "I've never been there, so sure," I said, smiling back at him.

  "We'll consider it research."

  *****r />
  Somehow, I got through the rest of the day. My mind wasn't exactly on my work, though. I hung up on two callers by mistake, accidentally shredded the proposal I was supposed to be taking to the fax machine, and spilled coffee on my computer. The highlight, though, was calling Lou's wife Luba "Beluga", the office nickname for her due to her bald spot that resembled a blow hole. Fortunately, Luba was hard of hearing, so I got away with it, but still, not my finest hour.

  I couldn't stop thinking about Kegan. I'd never thought we could be friends again, and I was genuinely happy that we were heading in that direction. I didn't know how Ian would feel about it, but I put that out of my head. The flickers of desire I felt when Kegan looked at me? I put those out of my head too.

  When I wasn't thinking about Kegan, analyzing every word he'd said to me, every look, I was thinking about my appointment that evening. There was still time to back out. Once the tattoo was in my skin, it would be permanent. Some things can't ever be reversed.

  At last, five o'clock came, and I began to pack up with unseemly haste.

  "You're in a rush tonight," our kitchen designer Meredith said, reapplying her lipstick.

  "Uh, yeah."

  "Where are you going?"

  "I, um..." Inspiration struck. "I have to go home."

  Inspiration just ain't what it used to be.

  "Why?"

  "I... oh, fine, I'll tell you, but you can't laugh."

  "Okay."

  "I'm getting a tattoo."

  Meredith dropped her purse and bent down to retrieve it. Either it was making a strange snorting noise, or she was.

  "Hey!"

  "I'm sorry, I'm trying not to. It's just so not you."

  "It is too me."

  "No, it's not. But hey, if you want it, that's okay. Want company?"

  "No, I'll be fine. Go have a drink for me, and I'll show it to you tomorrow at the spa."

  Meredith had arranged for a group rate at a spa, "since we're all so stressed at work these days". I'd never been to a spa, but this one sounded gorgeous. Set in two hundred acres of pine forests and rolling hills, it had a whirlpool, tons of relaxing spots to sit and lounge, and treatments made of chocolate. What could be better?

  "Please don't, I hate tattoos." And with that, Meredith gave me a big smile and departed, leaving me standing alone and confused.