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You have to stop suspecting your wife of being a petty criminal. And that was his problem. He knew—knew—she wasn’t doing anything other than watching over his mom and working at Healthy Food. He had to stop thinking such things or he and Vivian would never progress to anything remotely like parents who could raise a child together. And that would all be his fault.
Of course, his suspicions were worse because he understood why Vivian had nearly cheated—and could even understand why she might have followed through with her father’s plan. Watching her with his mother or working at Healthy Food, he saw how important family and community were to her. How loyal she was to the people in her life. Her father had trapped her with those loyalties, and if Karl had been in her position, he might have followed a similar thought process. He wouldn’t have let it get as far as Vivian had, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have explored all possible options.
Fate was scuffing up his line in the sand so that he could no longer see it.
Living together in his apartment may have seemed like a good way to get to know his new wife, but now he saw how trapped she had been, with no job and all her friends still in Las Vegas. He would never have been able to fully appreciate Vivian’s personality and her principles had she not moved out. In his apartment, he would have continued to see the down-on-her-luck woman who’d appeared on his doorstep rather than the effervescent woman who flirted with old Polish men while asking after the health of their wives.
Then he heard giggles, and Vivian’s lips pursed and the sparkle in her eyes changed from guilt to merriment. “You might as well come in,” she said as she opened the door wide enough that the laughter sailed out into the front yard. “Though I don’t think you’ll like what you find.”
Three of his mother’s friends and his mom sat around the kitchen table in a semicircle, small piles of gambling chips in front of them. The fifth place, which must have been for Vivian, had piles of playing cards and more chips.
“Karl.” His mom didn’t even get up from her seat to greet him. “There’s plenty of food on the counter if you want, and we have an extra seat. Vivian hasn’t dealt the next hand yet.”
“Christ, Mom. Is Vivian teaching you to gamble? It’s Lent.” He’d never known his mom to gamble and it was certainly against the spirit of the season to pick up a bad habit during Lent.
“If you’ve not given up taking the Lord’s name in vain during Lent, Karl, perhaps you should worry about your own behavior first,” his mom answered primly. “Get some food. Being hungry always makes you crabby.”
Karl turned his indignation to Vivian. “Are you teaching them to gamble?”
“No.” By the way the corners of her mouth danced, she was trying to keep a straight face, though not succeeding. “They already know how to gamble. I’m teaching them how to win.”
“By cheating?” And he’d just convinced himself to stop thinking of Vivian as a petty criminal.
“By counting cards. Which isn’t illegal, by the way. It’s frowned upon, and casinos in Las Vegas will kick you out if they catch you, but it’s not illegal.”
“That’s a straw man if I’ve ever heard one.”
She shrugged. “They’re having fun. What’s the harm?”
“You’re teaching my mother to cheat.”
“I’m teaching your mother to play the odds of the cards she’s dealt with the brains God gave her, not to stick cards up her sleeve. Do you stop thinking the moment you walk into a courtroom so the opposing attorney has an advantage over you?”
“That’s not really what I do every day.” Even as the words came out of his mouth, Karl knew he sounded like a lecturing prig. Had been sounding like a lecturing prig since he’d walked into the house. His mom and her friends were having fun. Vivian wasn’t really teaching them anything illegal. Hell, casinos were designed to favor the house; what was the harm in a few old ladies learning how to count cards in case they ever went to a casino—which, as far as he knew, his mother had never done.
