He wanted Vivian to understand. This wasn’t just about why his job was important, but also about who he was.
“Did you know that the inspector general for the state of Illinois at the time, a man named Dan Bauer, removed a briefcase full of cash and campaign fundraising receipts during a raid of a driver’s license agency? He eventually pled guilty to obstruction of justice, but the raid happened almost a full year before the Willis children were killed. It was too late to save my family, but someone might have noticed in time to save the Willis children.” Bauer had had a responsibility to those children—and everyone who drove on Illinois highways—and he’d failed on the job. His failures had cost lives.
Karl didn’t notice Vivian had stood up until she returned with his coffee cup, full and steaming. “Thank you,” he said.
They sat in silence for a while, the clock flashing on the coffeemaker in the kitchen, marking the time they were in each other’s company. His anger cooled. Enjoying her company was too active a phrase for how he felt right now.
Content. He was content to have her in his apartment, even though they were in the living room and not in his bed. Content to feel her presence across the coffee table and know she would still smell faintly of jasmine if he sat next to her and gathered her into his arms.
If he was actively anything, he was being actively foolish for feeling this way while still not knowing her secrets.
She owed him an answer—a real one—to at least one of his questions. Karl picked something easy. “So, if—what was the phrase you used?—‘the last name and most of the blood’s Chinese,’ how did you end up in some town in the middle-of-nowhere Nevada for high school?”
The moment she smiled at him, he knew it was a stupid question. Blame it on the decaf, the late hours, or the woman. He was smart enough to know immigrants lived everywhere in the United States, not just in big cities and ethnic communities like Chinatowns—or Archer Heights, where he had grown up, for that matter.
“You’re making the same mistake most people make, assuming that someone with Chinese heritage has parents who came in the 1970s and studied engineering. The first Yaps came to the United States in 1852, to mine for gold.”
Ah, his question had been even dumber than he’d realized.
“When the Yap men had enough money, they brought over women from China to be their wives. In times of poor fortune, or during the times immigration from China was banned, they married within the United States, if they could find a Chinese wife. In 1910, a Yap ended up in Idaho to fight the great wildfire and found love, but not with a Chinese woman. Because she was white, and intermarriages were illegal, I don’t think he married the Sicilian woman he took to Nevada with him. But my dad remembers his grandmother’s strange Sicilian-Chinese stir-fry. I have a Mexican grandmother, too, also on my dad’s side. They were able to marry because my grandfather argued Mexican wasn’t Caucasian.”
She smiled at him as if he was a child being taught a lesson, and he deserved it. He’d learned in history classes about the Chinese workers on the railroads and the Chinese Exclusion Act; he’d just never come face-to-face with the actual history of it.
“The Yaps may have been in the United States longer than the Mileks,” she said.
He chuckled. “The Mileks, yes, but please try not to compare notes with my mother, lest you get the great history of the Poles in the United States from her. It’s much like the lecture you just gave me, only hers starts with Casimir Pulaski and the Revolutionary War. She conveniently forgets that Casimir Pulaski had no children and the only evidence of relation is a coincidence of dates, locations and last names.”
“They say men marry women like their mothers.”
This time his laugh was full and hearty, all residual anger gone in the enjoyment of being teased by a beautiful woman. “Next time my mother asks why I married you, I’ll be sure to tell her that you remind me of her.”
“Just what every mother and daughter-in-law wants to hear.”
He lifted his hands in mock innocence. “Don’t blame me. You said it first.”
Vivian’s mouth opened to respond, but whatever she was going to say ended in a great yawn, which she tried to cover with her hands.
“It’s late. We should go to bed.” He still had questions for her, but she would be here in the morning.
“I’m sorry about tonight,” she said behind another yawn.
“Don’t be too sorry, or I’ll think you’ve changed your mind.” He wanted her to change her mind.
She shook her head. “I kept telling myself I’m already pregnant and the horse is out of the barn, but it’s not enough to make up for me being here and dependent on you.”
They’d had much the same thoughts, only he’d let the heat of passion overwhelm practicality. Vivian had occupied nearly all of his thoughts since she’d arrived, and it would’ve been a relief to know how accurate his imagination was. Then he could come up with new fantasies.
“My reassurance that your housing and health care didn’t come with a cost wasn’t enough?” He knew it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t have been enough for him and he respected her more for it.
“When I have a job of my own, and my own apartment, then that will be enough.”
“Why haven’t you applied for one of the jobs at the casinos?” They’d talked about the jobs she’d applied for and what she was interested in doing. Not once had she mentioned applying for a riverboat casino position.
“I’ve worked in casinos since I was eighteen, and I grew up around them. I’d like to try something new.”
Ah, there was the guilty look, he thought, when she turned toward the window, but he was suddenly too worn out by emotion to pursue it. Like his other questions, this one could wait until morning.
CHAPTER NINE
“DAD, I’M ASKING you again, where is my money?” Vivian heard herself shriek the words and quickly lowered her voice before she woke up Karl.
“It’s not my fault,” her father pleaded. Nothing was ever his fault. “How was I supposed to leave Las Vegas with no money?”
“How was I supposed to live in Las Vegas with no money, especially after you got me fired?” She shared responsibility for getting fired, but blaming her father seemed fair since he wouldn’t take responsibility for anything else.
“You’ve managed before. You’re resourceful.”
“Resourceful?” Of course that’s how he would see her. Good ol’ Vivian. It’s the first day of school in a new town, but she doesn’t need her dad to help her register for classes. There’s no food in the house, but he needs to meet with the guys because “it’s gonna be big.” She’ll figure it out because she’s resourceful. Go ahead, gamble away the college fund she worked and scrimped to save. She’ll get to college anyway, because she always manages.
Apparently she hadn’t managed well enough. She’d registered for school and gotten them groceries, but she’d never made college happen. A random series of college courses taken when she had the money didn’t make a college degree. All it made was a table dealer who’d read Homer and taken calculus.
All her dreams of college and getting a good, respectable job—developed out of the scares of years spent in a world that hoped for one big score to fix all problems—lost in a card game.
Marriage and pregnancy had gotten her out of Las Vegas, but not in the way she had wanted. She hadn’t earned her way into this beautiful apartment through hard work, and neither had she loved her way here with the man of her dreams. She’d slept her way into this apartment, and the truth of it broke her heart. But she couldn’t leave, because outside of this apartment was a quicksand world of unstable housing and unemployment. She hadn’t loved Las Vegas, but at least she’d been on stable ground there.
“Yeah. I heard you were fired and aren’t even in Vegas anymore. You must have
figured something out, though.”
“I could be in a homeless shelter somewhere, or out on the street begging for money. What do you know?” What do you care?
“But you’re not. I know you’re not because you’re...”
“Resourceful. I know. You’ve said it before.”
“I’ve almost got all the money to pay these guys back. Then I only need one more big hit to pay you back. I’ll pay all of it back to you, Vivy, I swear.” I swear this is a sure thing. By next year, you won’t even need financial aid to help with college. We’ll pay your way through any school you want.
“Are you going to get me back my money the same way you lost all of yours and got me in this situation to begin with?”
“The next time...”
The next score. Over the next big mountain. Around the next corner. “Get a job and earn money the hard way, like the rest of us do, Dad. You know what, if you get a job, I won’t even charge you interest on the money you owe me.”
“Ah, Vivy, you wouldn’t charge me interest. I’m your father. Even if you are frustrated with me now, we’ll have a fun road trip from wherever you are back to Vegas and you’ll remember how much you love your old man.” Even on the other end of the phone she could see the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and his wide smile. When he smiled like this, old women stopped him on the street to pinch his cheeks, and he had such a look of innocence that he could walk out of Fort Knox with bars of gold in his hands.
She had tears in her eyes, but she wasn’t fooled. “Emphasis on old.”
“Don’t be that way.”
“Dad, I want my money back.” I want my life back.
“My plan’s going to work this time, Vivy. I swear it. I can win. I won you that bird, remember. That bird has to be worth something. Most parakeets can’t talk, and Xìnyùn’s a regular conversationalist.”
Yeah, if gambling phrases were all I wanted to talk about.
Of all the apps that were available for smartphones, the one Vivian wanted most right now would enable her to reach through the phone and shake sense into her father. She probably couldn’t shake hard enough.
They said their goodbyes and hung up, which was good because Vivian didn’t think she could keep calm much longer.
When she looked up and saw Karl standing next to her in the kitchen, she nearly dropped her phone in the sink. “Did it ever occur to you that eavesdropping on conversations is rude?”
“No.” He didn’t even look ashamed of himself for listening in. His face had the unfeeling, immovable look of suspicious-Karl. Last night’s open, honest laughing-Karl was gone.
“How much of that conversation did you hear?”
“Enough to know you’re resourceful and that your father took your money.”
“Oh.” Thirst rushed her and she got herself a glass of water. And then another. She pressed the third against her head, hoping to cool her nerves. Karl waited.
He didn’t speak until she’d drunk the third glass of water. “I’d like to hear the story from you.”
Vivian thought about lying. Though she hadn’t been forthcoming with everything she hadn’t lied to Karl yet, and she didn’t want to start. Until she got a job, he was all that stood between her and that homeless shelter she’d hung over her father’s head. She could tell most of the story honestly.
“My father hopes that around the next corner will be a golden ticket to wealth. He bet more than he had at a private poker game.” She couldn’t tell this story while staring at him staring at her. She needed something to distract her from her own foolishness. Since the coffee was already made, she got out mixing bowls and started making pancakes.
“I don’t even know why he was allowed into such a high-stakes game.” Especially with the men he’d ended up playing with. They’d scared her in the short time she’d interacted with them. How her father managed to spend his free time with them...
When she shook her head at her own ignorance about what her father had been doing since she’d moved out of the house, flour from her measuring cup spilled onto the counter. To get something to wipe it up, she would have to turn around and face Karl. She left it to clean up later. “No, I do know how he got into the game. When he wants something, my dad is nothing but charm and flattery.” And that innocent smile.
“It’s a rare person who’s not susceptible to flattery.” Karl was standing so close to her she could feel his breath on her neck.
“Yes, especially when it’s in the form of an eager puppy.” Her father was a small-time grifter, hoping to be big-time one day. And to big-time grifters, her dad was a mark, because he didn’t have the smarts not to get in over his head. She took a step to the right, shifting the pancake-making operation with her. “Apparently he won for a while and got cocky. Then he started losing. So he kept betting bigger and bigger to win his money back, but it never happened. When he couldn’t meet his obligations, he stole every penny I had. He’d been visiting me and I was stupid enough not to make it hard for him.” All her security and the cushion she’d built up for sixteen years, gone in an instant.
God, this was embarrassing to admit. Since she’d left Jackpot, Vivian had tried to live a normal, stable life. Get to work on time. Save her money. Pay her bills. She’d thought she was safe from the chaos of her father because she only interacted with him when he said he needed money.
She dumped the milk and eggs into the flour mixture with a splash, adding to the mess on the counter. No wonder her dad had thought she would help him. She’d left Jackpot intent on leaving schemes behind, but she’d always given him money whenever he’d needed it. She’d gotten out; that was all she had been concerned about.
She started mixing. “Then he disappeared. I don’t think that even everything I had was enough to cover his debts.”
Karl put his hand on hers, stopping her furious beating. She looked down at the bowl. There were no lumps in the pancake mixture. They were overmixed and would be tough.
“You were at the bar that night because of what your father did.”
“Yes.” The actual timeline was a little different than what Karl was assuming, but it was close enough.
“And your job?”
The frying pan banged when she set it on the stove, a great, satisfying sound that rang through the apartment and echoed in her ears. “My father’s debts cost me that, too.”
“Ah.” Karl nodded as though he understood, but he didn’t understand anything. Not her fear, not how close she had come to slipping and crashing into a hole deeper than the Grand Canyon. “If you hadn’t been fired, would you have come to me for help?”
“No. I would’ve told you about the baby, but...”
“But you would’ve done it with a phone call rather than a cross-country drive.”
“I was raised by a single parent. I could’ve made it work.” Plus, she wouldn’t have had a long drive with which to talk herself out of an abortion. And she would’ve had the money to pay for one, too. As life had actually happened, though, she’d driven to Chicago certain she would ask Karl for abortion money, but then spent the drive coming to the realization that she couldn’t go through with one.
Objectively, she could see she was vulnerable both financially and emotionally. If a friend had been in her situation, she would suggest an abortion and then question the friend’s judgment when she decided to have the baby anyway. But there was nothing objective about being faced with such a decision, and she couldn’t say anything other than “I’m keeping my baby”—as if she was in a Madonna song.
She’d given herself trigger reactions. If Karl had said “I don’t want a baby” or “How dare you bring this into my life?” or something else of the sort, she’d have mentioned abortion. He hadn’t, and so she hadn’t. It hadn’t been the best way to decide to have a child, but Vivian was certain there wer
e people who’d had children based on a fuzzier decision-making process. Even if she didn’t know any.
She wasn’t going to let herself think about the consequences of leaving a major life decision, such as having a child, in the hands of one man’s reaction to the news. She’d been in an emotional chasm at the time. If she were being honest with herself, she hadn’t fully climbed back out yet. She was on the edge of the canyon, teetering, and her life could go either way. Sometimes lifting herself over the edge and back onto solid ground seemed a sure way to lose her grip completely.
“And we can see how well that turned out,” Karl said.
Pancake batter dripped onto the counter as she whipped around to face him. “I’ve done the best I could with what I have. When the longest you’ve ever lived in a place after your seventh birthday is two years, let me know how willing you would be to pack up and leave your life behind, no matter how less than ideal it is. Until then, shove off.”
“Your mother?”
“She died in childbirth. And, yes,” she added, turning back to the pancakes on the stove, “women still die in childbirth.” The thought should scare her, but death seemed the least of her worries right now, especially since her baby would have a stable father and welcoming family. More than she’d started out with.
“Your father raised you.”
“My mom’s sister helped out for a while, but Aunt Kitty left when I was about seven. Not long after she left, we moved for the first time.” They’d exchanged letters until Aunt Kitty couldn’t keep up with their moves. When Vivian was in high school, she had mailed her aunt a letter that had been returned, marked undeliverable. And her one blood connection to her mother had disappeared from her life.
Vivian had thought about Aunt Kitty on and off over the years, but now was the first time she understood why her aunt had left.
She flipped a pancake too early and poorly; half of it ended up on the stove top. “My father should never have had children. But—” her childhood hadn’t been all bad and she had to credit her father for that, too “—he loved me. I never doubted that. He made the moving seem fun and he protected me the best he knew how.”
Harlequin Superromance January 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: Everywhere She GoesA Promise for the BabyThat Summer at the Shore Page 37