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“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.”
“If he showed up at my door tomorrow, what would you do?”
“I’d turn him away.” She didn’t have to look at Karl to know he didn’t believe her. She sighed. “I’d let him in and make him dinner. He’s my father.” And she would remember how he’d turned the experience of buying her first maxi pads into a spy game so she forgot her embarrassment. How they’d started their time in each new house by searching for secret passages, though they’d never found one. And how he’d never laughed at her for believing a wardrobe could take her to Narnia.
Karl put his hand on her shoulder. Vivian supposed it was meant to be supportive, but it felt holier-than-thou. “Just because he’s family, doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be subject to the same rules as the rest of us.”
She swatted his hand away with the spatula. “It’s easier to preach when you don’t have to practice.”
“How do you know I haven’t practiced what I preach?”
“Because if you did, you’d at least have a little sympathy for how hard it would be to shut the door in my father’s face.” She set the spatula down on the counter, sick of this conversation. “I’m going to get dressed. You can finish the pancakes.”
* * *
KARL DIDN’T SEEM to get any less suspicious as they cleaned up breakfast and he got ready to spend his Saturday at work, while Vivian got ready to do very little with her day.
With her hours upon hours of free time last week, she’d applied for thirty different jobs and was waiting until new positions were posted on Monday. And waiting for people to call her back—hopefully—and waiting for the proper amount of time to pass before she could call and check up on her applications. Or wait to hear nothing and decide it was time to rework her résumé. Into what, she didn’t know.
Not to mention that she wanted a job before she started showing. Employers weren’t supposed to refuse to hire a pregnant woman, but she had little faith that someone would give the woman who waddled into their office a fair shake. If she could only get hired, it would be much harder to fire her when her belly started to show.
As if she needed another worry on her shoulders.
Hearing the front door shut she got her tennis shoes out of the closet. Staying cooped up in Karl’s apartment—even if the view was beautiful—was driving her crazy. So she’d gotten into a new habit lately. After Karl left for the day and Vivian had completed what few chores she had, she would put on her shoes and winter coat and take a walk around the city. Surrounded by public art and grand buildings, the sticky situation she found herself in seemed less important.
She slipped out of the apartment building before the doorman saw her. He was nicer to her these days, but his obsequiousness was just as insulting as his previous rudeness. She was nothing to him but Karl Milek’s wife, when she only wished to be treated as a person.
Once she escaped the protection of the building’s awning, snowflakes danced in the air before dying on her neck, and she took the time to readjust her scarf and hat. Whatever winter resilience she’d gained during her high school years in northern Nevada had been ruined by her years in Las Vegas. A couple of blocks and turns later and she was on Michigan Avenue, headed north and bent a little forward into the wind. Slush seeping through her tennis shoes sent chills up her spine. Even bundled in her Karl-bought winter coat, scarf and hat, she shivered.
