by Beverly Farr
“Weddings can be a little stressful.”
An understatement if ever there was one. “Yes.” She straightened and looked him in the eye. “About last night,” she began bravely. “I’m sorry I blew up at you.”
“No. You have nothing to apologize for. It’s going to take time for us to get used to being married.”
At his words, Kelly knew she’d made a mistake. She should have slept with him last night. Then he wouldn’t be talking behind this wall of politeness that froze her out.
So what if he married her to advance his career? No one’s motives were ever completely clear. She was staying married to him to provide a good home environment for the baby, and because she genuinely liked him. And if he was staying married because of the baby, and to help his career, and because he found her attractive, then she could accept that.
She had to accept that if she wanted this marriage to work.
He added calmly, “In light of our conversation last night, I thought it best to cancel our cruise.” Like her parents, they had planned to take a cruise. A three week cruise, on a different boat.
She nodded. After she’d slammed the door in his face, a honeymoon cruise would have been a little awkward. Men didn’t take rejection kindly, and with their history, Lars had reason not to trust her. How was she going to make amends? “Good idea,” she said, determined to sound cheerful. “Now you’ll be able to attend the Board of Director’s meeting this week.”
He watched her carefully as if looking for a hidden meaning. “Yes.”
She took his hand and gave it a friendly squeeze. “You’re going to make a great President of Rawlins Lighting.”
#
Brenda called at seven p.m. and asked if she could come over that night. Not for dinner, just to talk.
Kelly was feeling tired. “Do you want to meet for lunch tomorrow?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Not lunch. I want to talk to you privately.”
Now Kelly was worried. With all the excitement of her wedding and moving into her new house, she hadn’t kept up with Brenda as well as she should have. They’d texted and talked on the phone a few times, but there had been no deep conversations for the past three weeks. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I just want to talk.”
She could tell from the clipped tone of her words that she was not fine. “Then come on over.”
“I won’t be interrupting anything?” Brenda asked. “You’ve only been married a few weeks.”
“No, you won’t be interrupting anything,” Kelly said dryly. Lars was avoiding her by working insanely long hours.
Within an hour, Brenda was on her front doorstep. Kelly opened the front door. Brenda was still in her work clothes -- black fitted pants, crisp white blouse and black jacket. “You look great,” she said. “That wig is amazing.”
Brenda flipped the long strands over her shoulder. “I don’t think anyone at work has noticed that it’s not real. At least no one has said anything.”
“Do you want anything to eat?” Kelly asked, once they were sitting in the kitchen.
Brenda shook her head. “No, I’m fine.” She looked around the house and said with approval, “You’re settling in. It looks good.”
Kelly shrugged. There was still so much more to do. “Thanks.”
“Where’s Lars?”
“He’s working late.” There was no point in telling her than he nearly always worked late, often coming home after she had fallen asleep.
“So what’s it like being married?” Brenda asked.
A lot like being single, unfortunately. They slept in separate bedrooms. “It’s okay,” she said.
Brenda raised one eyebrow inquiringly. “I guess the honeymoon’s over.”
The honeymoon never got started. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine,” she lied. Back when she was single, she would have told Brenda everything, but now that she was married, it felt disloyal to give her all the gruesome details. “Now tell me about you,” she said.
Brenda took a deep breath. “Here goes. I just wanted to tell you something face-to-face rather than having you hear it somewhere else.”
Kelly steeled herself.
“I’m getting married.”
Oh no. Kelly purposely kept her voice flat. “To Steven?”
Brenda smiled. “No.”
“Thank goodness,” Kelly gasped, which made Brenda give a little laugh. They both smiled. Now Kelly wasn’t so worried. “Okay. Tell me everything.”
“There’s not much to tell,” Brenda said. “I’m marrying a man named Marius Jaworski. He’s from Poland. He’s getting a graduate degree at SMU.”
Kelly was stunned. It was unbelievable. “But how? I mean, have you known him long?”
“He’s been a customer at the bank for two years.”
“And you’ve never mentioned him?”
“No, there wasn’t anything to tell.”
“Until now.”
Brenda laughed. “I know it sounds crazy, but we’re getting married on the fourth of July.”
“So soon?”
“Isn’t that a case of the pot calling the kettle black?”
Kelly shook her head, ruefully. “You’re right.” At least Brenda wasn’t running off to Reno and not telling anyone. She smiled. “Sorry.”
“And I would like you to be my maid -- I mean, Matron of Honor.”
“I’d be delighted.” Kelly wanted to be happy for her friend, but felt that there was something Brenda wasn’t telling her. Less than a month ago, she’d dumped Steven and shaved her head. For her to find someone else so quickly worried her. “Do you love him?”
Brenda hesitated, then said clearly, “Yes, I do.”
Oh no. Brenda was lying, too.
#
Lars sat at his desk, rubbing his forehead as he looked at the papers before him. Frank Rawlins had turned over the reins of his company too soon. He should have stayed on for the transition instead of going off on his Australian cruise, leaving him to sink or swim. For the past month, Lars had felt as if he were sinking. Being Vice President of Production had not prepared him to be President of Rawlins Lighting. There were too many decisions to make without sufficient information.
There was a trucking strike effecting deliveries on the east coast, he was negotiating a bank loan to upgrade the plant in South Carolina, and it was time to re-evaluate the employee health benefits. And to top it all, he was still supervising the construction of the plant in Boston.
A buzzer at his desk rang. He picked up his phone. “Kelly’s here to see you,” Claire announced.
Lars didn’t look up from his work. “Tell her I don’t have time--”
Kelly opened the door. “This will just take a minute, I promise,” she said, walking towards him.
Today she wore a blue slip and a layered overdress of some sheer turquoise material that floated around her ankles. She was beautiful. She must be almost four months along now, but she still didn’t look pregnant.
Not that he’d seen her up close and personal. After the wedding day, he’d done his best to keep his distance. They slept in separate bedrooms, and he tried to convince himself that it was wise to maintain the status quo. As he reminded himself daily, a platonic friendship with Kelly was better than no Kelly at all.
But sometimes he was tempted to give in to his baser instincts. Would she pull away if he tried to kiss her?
I don’t want you to touch me. Not ever.
He frowned. “You have to leave. I have an important meeting in less than twenty minutes and --”
“My father always had time to see me,” Kelly protested.
That was part of the problem. Frank had given her everything she ever wanted. Lars was beginning to think Kelly had never learned the meaning of the word “no.”
Kelly handled him two printed screen shots. “I have two different dining room sets I’m considering. Which one do you like better?”
“They both look very nice.”
&nb
sp; “You didn’t even look at them.”
Chairs were chairs. What did he care what they looked like? He looked at the two options for a second, then pointed. “I like this one.”
She smiled. “Oh good, that’s my favorite, too.”
“If you’ve already decided, why are you asking me? It’s just a waste of time.”
“It’s your house, too, Mr. Time-is-Money,” she reminded lightly. “Although you’re hardly home enough to make it more than a pit stop between meetings and business trips. I hardly ever see you, Lars.”
That’s what he thought she wanted, but had he misunderstood her? “You’re seeing me now.”
“But I don’t even have your full attention. You’re thinking about this piece of paper,” She whipped it off his desk and held it high over her head. “If you want it, you’re going to have to come get it,” she teased in a seductive tone.
On another day, he might have found her antics amusing. “I don’t have time for this,” he said wearily. “I have a real job.”
She froze. “What does that mean?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
She persisted. “Are you implying that I don’t have a real job? Do you think throwing pots is just a hobby?”
He sighed. He didn’t want to offend her. “You work very hard, and you’re very talented, but you know as well as I that KPots doesn’t generate enough income to support you.”
“Since when? The first six months were shaky, but since then, I’ve been doing fine.”
He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “No handouts from daddy?”
“No. I’ll admit Dad spoiled me while I was growing up, but I’m completely independent now. I’m not daddy’s little girl, I’m a professional potter.”
“Who was still living at home.”
“And paying rent,” she countered defensively. “I would have moved out three years ago, if Mom hadn’t had her heart attack. I realized our time together was precious, so I decided to stay.”
He envied her attachment to her parents. “Then I apologize,” he said. “I didn’t realize KPots was doing so well.”
She relaxed at his apology. “It’s still a bit of a financial roller coaster,” she admitted, “but it’s the right job for me. I’d go stir crazy working a traditional nine to five. I can’t imagine anything more boring than to be cooped --” She caught herself. “Oops, now I’m offending you. Sorry.”
She thought he was boring. Suddenly tired, he said, “Don’t apologize. I know what you and your crowd think of the business world.”
“I don’t have a crowd,” she corrected. “And I don’t have a problem with the business world. I just like being my own boss and wearing comfortable clothes while I work. I might not pursue every opportunity as diligently as you’d like, but I value the quality of my life more than my bank balance.”
She might re-evaluate that sentiment if he bankrupted her father’s company. “Very commendable.”
She frowned at his tone. “You’re grumpy today,” she said, and handed him back the paper she’d taken. “What’s the matter?”
He didn’t want to add to her worries and let her know that she’d married a failure. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he said gruffly.
“You need a break,” she said with decision. She sat on the edge of his desk, swinging her sandaled feet. “Why don’t you take me out to lunch? Or I’ll order something in. We can eat Chinese food right here.”
He was tempted, but he had too much work. “We ate lunch together yesterday.”
“That was Monday, Lars. Today is Thursday.”
Now he was the one with the memory loss. “I can’t afford to take breaks from my work day whenever you waltz in here.”
“Then maybe I’ll stop waltzing in here, as you so rudely put it.” She stood to leave and sank to the floor.
Lars ran around his desk. Kelly lay silent, unmoving on the carpet. He checked her heart, still beating, and her chest rose and fell with each breath. “Claire!” he shouted.
His secretary ran into the room.
He cradled Kelly’s head in his hand. “I don’t know what happened. She was standing here, and the next minute she was out cold.”
“She must have fainted,” Claire said, taking Kelly’s hands and rubbing them. “I thought she looked pale.”
Lars searched Kelly’s thin face. She was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. He felt like a selfish brute for not noticing. “Kelly, darling,” he said.
Her eyes fluttered open. “What happened?” she asked weakly.
“You fainted.”
“Oh, that,” she said as if embarrassed. She brushed the hair away from her face and struggled to sit up. “I must have stood up too quickly. Sorry to alarm you.”
“How long have you been fainting?”
“Not often,” she assured him. “I’ve blacked out once or twice. It’s normal for pregnant women.”
What if she blacked out while she was driving? “I don’t care if it’s normal,” Lars said, picking her up easily. The sheer material of her dress floated over his arm, reminding him of her wedding dress. “I’m taking you to see Dr. Armanzo.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck for support. She protested, “But your meeting --”
“To hell with the meeting.”
She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. She said quietly, “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Her words cut through him, and he knew he hadn’t been doing well in the husband department.
#
Dr. Armanzo pursed her lips with disapproval. “You’ve been a bad girl, Kelly. Your blood sugar is down. Are you eating regularly?”
Kelly lay on the examining table, pleating the paper gown in her fingers. Since she’d gotten pregnant, nothing tasted good, but she knew that was a lame excuse. “I never eat real meals. I’m more of a snacker,” she said.
“Then snack more often with three big snacks a day,” Dr. Armanzo said firmly. She glanced over at Lars who stood by the doorway, his arms folded, a stern expression on his face.
“I’ll see to it,” he said calmly.
“And how are you sleeping?” Dr. Armanzo continued.
“Pretty well. I don’t have to get up as much to use the bathroom as I did in the first trimester.”
“She doesn’t sleep regular hours,” Lars volunteered. “Sometimes she’ll get up in the middle of the night to go work on a project.”
How did he know that when they didn’t even sleep in the same room?
Dr. Armanzo shook her head. “Not good, Kelly. You need to take better care of yourself and your baby. You’re not gaining enough weight and the baby’s smaller than he should be.”
Kelly felt a stab of guilt. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “Overall, I’m so healthy, sometimes I forget that I’m pregnant.” She addressed her stomach. “I’ll do better, baby. I promise.”
Dr. Armanzo placed a plastic wand on her abdomen and they heard a distinct shwaa shwaa sound. “That’s the heartbeat,” she said. “In a few weeks you’ll be feeling the baby move, too, and it will seem much more real.”
Lars stepped closer. “Our baby,” he said quietly, and smiled down at Kelly.
She held out her hand for his and for a moment they were together, listening to the miracle of the new life they had created.
We’re going to be parents, she thought as she looked at her husband’s handsome face. No matter how different she and Lars were, the baby would draw them together with shared goals and dreams.
Lars insisted on driving her home. “But what about my car?” she asked.
“I’ll get someone to drive it home,” he said.
Thus spoke the President of Rawlins Lighting. “And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? I need to get back to the studio.”
“You should rest,” he said firmly. “You’ve been doing too much, making your pots and also trying to decorate the house. It’s not
a race. We can have empty rooms for a few more months.”
He was right. She had been racing around, trying to get everything done. Did she think that if she made the house perfect, he’d want to stay home more? How desperate was she? “I’ll slow down,” she promised. One afternoon away from the wheel wouldn’t kill her.
He nodded. “And we’ll get a cook.”
It was bad enough that the house was so big that she had to have a cleaning service and a gardening crew, but now they needed a cook, too? Lars had insisted on hiring help because he knew KPots was her full-time job. But she didn’t want to run into paid employees every time she turned around. It would make her feel as if she lived in a hotel. “I don’t want a cook.”
Lars frowned. “Not every day. A few days a week. Let me do this for you, please?”
He was concerned about the baby; he was concerned about her.
Or maybe he wasn’t thrilled with her cooking. She was a very indifferent, throw-the-food-together-and-call-it-dinner kind of cook. And he was a big man. Hummus and a plate of veggies wasn’t enough to fill him up.
“All right,” she said, giving in. “But just until the baby’s born.”
“Thank you.” He walked into the kitchen with her, and stood, holding his keys, anxious to go. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, holding up the take-out food he’d bought her for lunch. “Are you sure you don’t want to join me? Fajitas are your favorite,” she said, shaking the bag to entice him.
“I’ve got to get back to work.”
Of course. She tried not to take his rejection personally. She knew how important it was to him.
Her phone played a melody, indicating that she’d gotten a text. She ignored it.
“Go ahead,” he said. “Is it your parents?”
Her parents didn’t contact her often, but when they did, Lars always wanted to know. She read the message. “No, It’s from Andrea. She’s throwing a surprise birthday party for Julie tomorrow night. She says we’re both invited, if you want to go.”
“Tell her we’re not going.”