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“You’re newlyweds. You should be cooing over each other. Giggling and otherwise being cute enough to make your dearest friends barf.”
Karl didn’t look up from the page he wasn’t reading. “Greta, we’re at work, and my wife and I shouldn’t be subjects of work-time discussions.” He didn’t expect the admonishment to have any effect, but it was worth a try.
“How do you expect to keep your marriage healthy if you and your wife aren’t living together?” She put her hands on her hips and peered down her nose at him. “And you’re having a child together.”
“Greta,” he said, trying to put a warning into his voice.
But she didn’t care. She’d mothered previous inspector generals and she’d mother future inspector generals. “I never met your ex-wife and why you got a divorce is none of my business.”
Nothing about his personal life was any of Greta’s business, but that’d never stopped her from interfering before.
“But that baby is more important than any little argument you may have had that sent your wife to your mother’s. And, next time you fight, you should have to go live with your mother. Seems only fair.”
“Thank you, Greta.”
“Oh—” she produced papers from behind her back “—these came for you.” Her piece said, his meddlesome assistant left.
Karl glanced at the papers she’d given him. If he’d known what she’d held, he wouldn’t have listened to a word she’d just said about Vivian—probably why she’d kept them hidden behind her back.
* * *
HEALTHY FOOD’S FRONT door squeaked open, accompanied by a strong wind, and Vivian looked away from the customer she was helping to see Karl unwrapping the scarf from his neck. The knit cap she’d made him was pulled over his ears, the smudge of ashes from an Ash Wednesday service poking out from under the wool. Almost everyone she’d served today had a cross of ashes on their forehead and Mrs. Milek had offered each employee some extra time off to go to Mass if they wanted.
Vivian was worldly enough to know what the ashes meant, but the significance of Karl wearing the cap was beyond her experience. She’d find out soon enough, so she swallowed her anxiety and turned back to the customer, barely managing to say “thank you” and “have a nice night” as she returned the woman’s credit card. Apparently she’d swallowed her anxiety away, but hope still choked her up.
“The cap looks nice on you.” She could be polite. Even if he couldn’t get over his issues with her past, she could be polite. He was the father of her child. She liked his family and was working for his mother. He was her link to stability and security.
Even if she knew her politeness was just a cover for wanting his respect and friendship, she didn’t have to tell him.
“When it was given to me, I was too preoccupied with other things to thank its maker.”
She searched his face for some indication that he wasn’t as distant as his words indicated. Even though she hated herself for caring, she wanted them to be more than polite strangers sharing a child. She could pretend it was all for the baby, but lying to herself would be more damaging to her sense of self than keeping a secret from Karl had been.
She didn’t acknowledge his roundabout thank-you, though. Graciousness only went so far. Instead, she lifted an eyebrow.
His eyes softened in his otherwise unyielding face. “Thank you. The hat is very nice.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Is my mom around?”
“She’s in the kitchen.”
“Thanks.” And then, as though they were cashier and customer instead of man and wife, mother and father, Karl walked off to find Susan.
Despite the banality of their exchange, Vivian felt as if the air between them had become clearer. Bright sun breaking through an otherwise cloudy day. Maybe even a possible rainbow.
* * *
VIVIAN’S FACE WAS lit up with amusement when she opened the door to let him into his mother’s house on Saturday, though her eyes had a guilty cast to them. Not guilt as if she’d done something criminal. More naughty—like he’d caught her with her hand in the cookie jar and crumbs at the corners of her mouth. His mom had many cookie jars, of both the literal and figurative type.
