Gestures and Jesters

Harge’s heart was beating too fast.

It was Sunday night, his entire family was in earshot, there was no reason for him to feel like this.

After Carol left, he went back upstairs, to Sascha. He was the picture of peace, his little chest moving steadily up and down. Sleep had been hard to attain, which was why Harge called Carol here in the first place instead of going to get Rindy.

Carol used to scold him for waking the baby. He’d get home late from work after a long day without Rindy, and he’d have to see her, hold her. And then, most times, Rindy would wake up and make her displeasure known.

He should know better by now. He picked Sascha up anyway, the triphammer of his heart slowing a little as he did it without waking the baby.

He brought Sascha to the armchair, sat with him. He had to be calm, or his stress would go to Sascha, and make the tricky maneuver he’d just pulled off pointless. He had to be calm, so he made himself do it.

Carol knew. They’d nearly whispered to each other the entire time she was in here, but Harge felt just as ragged as he had during any of their screaming matches, because Carol knew.

He’d assumed it would happen eventually. Rindy would say something, or she’d get it from Gerhard’s grapevine, or she’d have an idle moment, crunch the numbers herself one day.

He assumed it would happen. Didn’t mean he was ready for it, not ready enough. It was very hard to be ready for Carol, to anticipate Carol’s reactions. He knew that as well as he knew anything in this world.

He sat back in the chair that, blessedly, had nothing to do with his family. He held Sascha against his chest, enjoying the smell of him. Wisps of Sascha’s hair tickled Harge’s nose. Harge let his mind drift, which was actually less about letting anything happen and more about forcing it to. He breathed with Sascha, felt the impossibly soft hair that was, Carol was right about this too, every bit his mother’s.

Harge did not particularly like dating. He was out of practice, hadn’t done it since Carol. At this point, he couldn’t remember whether he’d ever liked it. He did remember a vague sense of relief when it was clear he’d be shipping out, that his courtship with Carol would be fast-tracked.

Now there was Lilah, and he couldn’t count on the Navy to get him out of the awkwardness of small talk. He could only hope, and he thought this was true, that he was getting better. 

Harge took her out for Chinese food in the third or fourth week. Rindy loved the cuisine, despite initially swearing that it was “yucky,” and that she would never, ever touch it. She now had a favorite Chinese restaurant, not so far from the office. Harge did not take Lilah there.

His mind sometimes drew unpleasant comparisons to Carol and Abby, the secrecy, the sneaking around. He tried to remind himself that it wasn’t the same. Unlike Carol, he wasn’t betraying anyone. Anyway, she and Gerhard hadn’t snuck around in the traditional sense, had they? Carol brought Abby into their home, his home, while he was at work, on business trips. Even when they went out, they wouldn’t have had to worry about indiscretion. Both women, best friends, even if they were spotted by someone, that person wouldn’t think twice about it.

Harge himself had thought many, many times of that first short-lived furniture shop, the hours they had together in a controlled space, behind a locked door. He thought of Carol’s own business trips, always with Abby, driving here or there to examine some armoire or other. Sometimes they were gone whole weekends, leaving him alone in the big house with little else but the radio for company.

He tried not to think of all those trips, the hotel rooms. What they’d gotten up to after Carol made her obligatory check-in call before bed, assuring him that Abby’s driving hadn’t gotten them both killed.

Those thoughts were far less of a presence in his mind now. Especially since Lilah, their first drink together. The secrecy of it still irked him though, made him feel vaguely dirty. He wouldn’t push it, however. He understood Lilah’s reasoning, had thoughts and suspicions of his own on the subject. If he sometimes felt unreasonably guilty whenever they went somewhere away from prying eyes, well. He wanted to see her, above anything else. Small inconveniences could be tolerated.

He smiled at her from the other side of their table, enjoying the sound of her voice. He noticed, sometimes, the hint of a background she was so ashamed of. Traces of an accent she rarely let slip. When it did happen, she’d catch herself almost immediately, remaining stubbornly American for the rest of their time together.

He liked her voice either way.

She didn’t have much experience with Chinese food. She was more familiar with Mexican, which he had never touched. She’d vowed a few days ago to find a suitable Mexican place in this city, and drag him there. In the meantime, they were on his turf. He watched Lilah take in everything about their surroundings. The look in her eyes was similar but different to the way he’d seen her gaze move over freshly-typed documents before handing them over. Quick but thorough, missing nothing.

She had beautiful eyes, he thought, only a little disgusted with himself for being such a schoolboy.

The menu was beyond her, she claimed, so he offered to do the ordering. Carol used to like it when he did that. Lilah though, she only allowed a basic lesson on what was what, a few suggestions.

“Don’t you trust me?” he asked, teasing.

Lilah rolled those beautiful eyes at him. They sparkled. “It’s not your stomach, is it? When it comes to what goes in my belly, trust is hard-earned indeed, and you are most definitely not there yet.”

“Hard-earned, but not impossible?”

“That depends, I suppose, on your definition of impossible.”

He waved a hand, then used it to reach for hers across the table. “Not a fan of the word. I can be determined, when I want to be.”

“I noticed.” She tapped his fingers over hers, then pulled her hand back, sipping her drink.

Harge sensed no malice in the action. This wasn’t like Carol, all the times she’d rebuffed his touch as though he were some filthy stranger, not her husband. Lilah, he thought, simply wanted a drink, and moved to get it.

Maybe he had been a stranger to Carol, near the end. He’d certainly felt that way about her.

He didn’t want to be a stranger to Lilah. He wanted to know things about her. He sensed, or hoped, that she wanted to tell him, even if she was enjoying this game they were playing a little more than him.

Carol called him impatient, with everyone in the world besides Rindy. And his shrew of a mother, she’d said, because they were both angry and drunk that night. She was not wrong in that; he could at least admit it to himself. They may have been near-strangers by the end, but near wasn’t total.

He’d wasted too much time on Carol, on wanting things back the way they were. If that only made him more impatient now, more wary of time he couldn’t get back, he’d need to work on it. Lilah had made it quite clear in his office that he’d need to work on it.

“Why Chinese food?” she asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Most of the men, when I was in the Navy, they came back hating any sort of Asian food.”

“Most, but not you?”

“Didn’t say that.” He sipped his own drink. “But you have to move on, right? And the Chinese seem to have gotten their food pretty well sorted here.”

You had to move on. He had to move on. He hadn’t talked with a woman like this about his Naval service since Carol, not even casually. Doing so caused a lurch in his stomach, the kind that didn’t fit this place and it’s wonderful smells. He ignored it, at first, and then Lilah smiled at him, and the ache went away.

“Can you speak it?” Lilah asked.

“Chinese? I pretend sometimes, to impress Rindy, and usually the staff indulge me. And where I was stationed, a lot more Japs than Chinese.”

“Do you speak Japanese, then?”

“As far as you’re concerned, no.” She gave him a look, so he explained. “The only Asian words I know, I wouldn’t ever have reason to say to you,” he said, voice dry. “They’re not really fit for anywhere besides a smoking room, unless you’re wearing combat boots.”

“Which ‘you’re?’”

He frowned. “Pardon?”

“Is it only suitable if you are the one in boots? What if I had them on?”

Harge tried to deal with that visual without making it blatantly obvious how hard he had to try to deal with that visual. He swallowed, hoped she couldn’t tell. “Seems an unlikely scenario.”

“Why? According to Rindy, her Aunt Peggy wore them quite well.”

He exhaled a laugh, sat back in his chair. “Do you enjoy this? Bringing that woman up just to annoy me?”

“I enjoy it tremendously, yes. It’s not as though I can do it at work without people noticing.”

“As long as you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Tremendously.”

She touched his hand on the table, smiled.

This was the first time he’d taken her out for a proper meal. It was usually coffee, or a drink. When they went to the movies, one of the posters advertised a reshowing of all those cheap, fake war serials Rogers used to star in. Mercifully, Lilah hadn’t followed through on her threat to make him watch those.

Weeks in, and this was their first meal together. It went well, until the food showed up.

Lilah had ordered lo mein, declaring that noodles must be safe enough. He teased her for the tame choice, over his kung pao chicken. “I thought you’d go for something bolder,” he said.

“One thing at a time. I’m not sure you could handle me at my boldest.”

“And yet you’re here.”

“I said I wasn’t sure, not that I wasn’t willing to find out.”

She was three bites into her noodles when a waiter came by with dishes for another table. Egg foo yung, Harge recognized on one plate. He’d barely registered the strong scent of it before Lilah bolted without a word, only a series of harsh sounds and a hand over her mouth. In the brief look he got before she dashed around the corner and toward the restrooms, her fair skin had morphed closer to green.

Several people, staff and otherwise, looked up at the sudden retreat. Harge shifted in his chair, debated going after her, or asking one of the waitresses to check. Five minutes, he decided, glancing at his watch. He’d give her that long, or until someone offered to check on her themselves.

Carol hadn’t liked it if he crowded her when she was sick. She said that he hovered there, waiting for her to be finished, and it didn’t help. As with most things in their relationship, he eventually left her alone.

This turn of events was unfortunate, if not totally unexpected. The secretaries sometimes brought in treats to share with each other, and Harge noticed Lilah’s refusal to partake. He noticed the way she sometimes recoiled at the smell of fresh ink, before schooling her features to hide her discomfort.

Carol had nearly thrown up on him before they knew about Rindy, because he’d worn his favorite cologne, the one he’d worn for years. He tossed the bottle, nearly full, when they got the news.

Four and a half minutes, by his count, before Lilah returned. She’d gone from green to overly pale, her light skin closer to a ghost’s shade. He stood, pulled her chair out, a hand light on her back as he helped her sit down. He’d had the plates sent back while she was gone, wary of triggering another episode. He urged her to drink from her water glass, but kept his voice quiet.

“I’m sorry,” she said, between sips.

“Don’t be. Are you okay?”

There was a moment, just a moment, of something real in her expression before she schooled it, like usual. “Yes, of course. Doesn’t seem likely that I had any Chinese ancestry in another life, does it?”

Another life indeed. “We should talk,” Harge said, still quiet, but not losing her gaze. “When you’re feeling better.”

Her eyes went wide for longer than they should have, longer than she usually let them. “About how I’ve ruined our night?”

There was a tremor in her voice, under her try at a laugh. The accent was more prominent. Harge took her hand. “The night’s not ruined,” he said. “Nothing has to be ruined.”

Lilah stared at him with those keen eyes that missed nothing. Harge let her. When he put up a hand for the check, she didn’t argue.

Harge saw the inside of her apartment for the first time that night. Clean, lovingly decorated, about what he’d expect, knowing what she made. At the moment, Lilah’s coffee table was piled high with takeout containers. The remnants of bland, digestible food that made him long for the spiced chicken he hadn’t touched. A worthwhile sacrifice, since Lilah’s skin had returned to it’s more healthy shade of pale.

She sat on a loveseat. Harge occupied an armchair that was too small for him, and brought back memories of Rindy’s pretend tea parties. “Feeling better?”

“In a sense,” she replied, sighing with the answer. “’Morning sickness’ they call it. What lies.”

“That’s what my,” he caught himself, “that’s what Carol said too. How far along?”

She was watching him closely. “Far enough not to have it noticed. By anyone but you, I hope.”

“I don’t know about the other secretaries, but the other partners are ancient,” he said. “They barely remember what a baby looks like, let alone what a woman does when she’s having one. You should be fine.”

For now, at least. It wasn’t necessary to add what she already knew.

Lilah sighed again. “So, when did your ex stop throwing up?”

Harge tapped at his knee in the too-small chair. “Probably around the time Rindy came out?”

She closed her eyes. “Dear lord.”

“Everyone is different,” he said hurriedly. “That’s what I hear, at least. I’ve only experienced the one.”

Lilah opened her eyes, raised the brows. “You’ve only experienced. Well, Rindy’s a sweetheart, I’m glad you soldiered on and survived the ordeal.”

Harge laughed. Nervous habit had him reaching to smooth his hair, but that had his elbow hitting the chairback. “You will too,” he said. “I’m, you’ll be an amazing mother, I’m sure.”

“Are you?” Her voice was soft, but no longer teasing. “I’m not sure of that yet. And I’m definitely not sure you know me well enough to say that with any authority.”

“I’d like to. Know you well enough.”

“Still?”

“Yes.”

She was looking at him like she did when he offered up a particularly bad excuse for why he couldn’t take a call with some idiot at work. His dodges, she said, were terrible. And then she would proceed to give a far better reason to whoever he was trying to ignore.

She was silent now, watching him with a new kind of scrutiny.

“My wife’s a lesbian,” Harge said into the silence.

Lilah blinked. “What?”

“Ex-wife,” he corrected. He hadn’t caught himself that time.

A clock ticked somewhere in the apartment, once, twice. “I repeat the question.”

“My ex-wife is a lesbian. She had an affair with her maid of honor, her best friend, a while before she…before Rindy. They used to run a shop together,” he added, “but it didn’t last. Then, while we were in the process of divorcing, she met another woman, a younger woman, while she was Christmas shopping for Rindy. They drove off together, literally. They have an apartment together now. And Carol has another shop with the first woman, the one she cheated with.”

That clock ticked. Again, again, again. “That was…unexpected.”

“For me as well.”

“Why tell me this?”

That was the question. Most in the office knew he was divorced, but not the gory details. Potentially, he’d just opened himself to a world of suffering. His father would blow a gasket if he knew.

That thought made the gamble a little less terrifying.

“I want to keep knowing you,” said Harge. “Hopefully, you want to keep knowing me.”

The clock. Five more seconds went by, loudly. At least it seemed loud to Harge.

“Well,” said Lilah, “now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

“Regarding me, or my ex-wife?”

“Both. As well as the other lesbians.”

“I’m willing to discuss it. But can I possibly do it from over there?” he gestured to the empty half of the loveseat. “Or standing up, that’s fine too. But this chair isn’t.”

Lilah let out a real laugh for the first time since before the entrees arrived. “Come on, then. You can’t do much to me that hasn’t already been done.”

She touched her stomach in jest. The move still warmed him, brought back dusty, pleasant memories. Harge stood up, went to her.

The proposal was more accidental than planned, but not unplanned. Lilah’s pregnancy meant a ticking clock, but Harge had still intended to wait a bit longer. Until he had a proper speech, at least.

Lilah’s landlady derailed that. It was the landlady’s fault, Harge insisted, not his. Lilah’s rent on that shoebox of an apartment was running late, mostly because of all the money spent filling said shoebox with baby things. If Harge could’ve given her a raise no questions asked, he would have, but there were other partners involved, bureaucracy, and Lilah’s refusal to be one of those secretaries who openly bedded the boss.

The landlady grumbled, Lilah was short on cash, Harge happily wrote the wretched old woman a check. Which led to all sorts of questions about Lilah, the husband she claimed worked out of town, and Harge.

“I’ll pay you back,” she told him, flopping down onto his sofa, which would take up half her living room. “You damn fool.”

“You don’t need to pay me back.” Harge removed his jacket, draped it over a chair. “Not calling me names would also be nice.”

“They are accurate names.” She rolled her shoulders, rubbed at the back of her neck, smiled at him with a kind of indulgent exasperation. “You’ve ruined me with Mrs. Kimble. And the neighbors.”

“Good, we can meet here, then. Nearest neighbors are a couple miles away.”

“Don’t you think we meet here enough?”

It was late on a Friday night. Carol had Rindy, and the housekeeper went home hours ago. “I like you here,” Harge said, sitting down next to her. “Makes the place less empty.”

“So would a new lamp.”

“And, I’m not tripping over my own feet all the time, like at your place. Which that crone is overcharging for, by the way.”

Lilah didn’t argue when Harge scooted over, gestured for her to put her feet in his lap. She’d kicked off her shoes in the living room, removed the girdle in the bathroom, out of his sight. “You’ve blown my cover, Hargess Aird.”

“Don’t you think all the deliveries of baby things did that?” He rubbed her ankles, worked his way down.

“You hardly helped. Captain America says Rindy is his—”

“Stop.”

“—and you come around waving your checkbook, claiming the Braun baby. It’ll be such fun, living in my building now. Though I will grant that you have better furniture.”

He smiled, watched her stretch out on the couch, shifting until she found a comfortable position. “You know, if I was really claiming the baby, he wouldn’t be a Braun.”

She’d closed her eyes as he massaged her feet, opened them now. “He?”

Harge shrugged. “It’s true. My mother and all her awful friends, they all say you can tell by the way she carries it.” It was a half-truth. They did say this, but he couldn’t remember what that even meant, how many ways there were to carry, or any of the specifics.

“Since when do you listen to your mother? What if it’s a girl?”

“The last Baby Girl Aird turned out pretty well.” That’s what Rindy had been, for a bit, until he and Carol could agree on a name.

“You’re being very presumptuous, don’t you think?”

He wasn’t thinking. Not with complete rationality. He knew this, yet the words kept coming. “Hopeful,” he said. “I’m being hopeful. And you already said you aren’t fond of your name.”

“I’m not fond of it because no one else is fond of it, not because it’s inherently terrible.”

The words were pointed. Harge raised his eyebrows. “Is Aird inherently terrible?”

“Aird,” Lilah repeated. The deliberate dullness of her voice didn’t match the sparkle in her eyes. “Braun just means brown. Or it did, before that horrible woman ruined it for all of us. There are plenty of lovely things that are brown. Chocolate, horses, pennies, that stuffed bear Rindy likes—”

“My hair.”

Lilah kicked his thigh half-heartedly. “Then there’s Aird. Who wants to be named after desert air?”

‘I’ll have you know, those words are not spelled the same.”

“Close enough. You’d know that if you ever had to write your own name, instead of having me to do it.”

“What if I did want to write it down? On, on a marriage license, or a birth certificate?”

“Is this a proposal? Are you proposing that you do those things?”

Harge was very aware of their solitude in the house. He wished suddenly for Rindy, for her voice or her footsteps, or even the sight of her small body barreling in here. Anything to break the enormous tension he’d created.

“It’s a proposal of the idea of a proposal,” Harge said as the room stayed quiet and Lilah looked at him. “You wouldn’t have to pay that busybody anymore, and here you’d actually have space for the baby.”

“I have space there, too. My mother kept me in a dresser drawer for a bit, you know.”

“That sounds barbaric.”

“And you sound entitled. I look quite comfortable in the pictures.”

“But you outgrew the drawer. Kids tend to do that.”

Lilah tilted her head. “And what about Rindy?”

“The only time she ever resided in a drawer, she got in herself. It was a very short-lived housing arrangement.” He’d screamed at Gerhard when he found out Rindy was using the furniture shop’s merchandise as a playground. Abby only said that if she was going to lock an Aird up in a crate and ship them off to strangers, that it wouldn’t be Rindy.

“This wouldn’t be short-lived. Ideally.”

“It wouldn’t.” He wouldn’t lose another marriage. If he didn’t fear that possibility so much, he would’ve done this earlier. A better version of this.

“What about Rindy?”

“She loves you. And she’s been wanting a puppy for ages. This should make her almost as happy.”

“Are you certain?” Lilah asked, though she was fighting a smile.

“She loves you. I love you.” Harge held her gaze.

“I love you,” Lilah replied, very softly. “Your hands are shaking.”

They were. He hadn’t noticed. He’d stopped massaging Lilah’s feet, now simply held one of them between trembling fingers.

“How long have you thought about this?” Lilah asked.

It was cruel, asking him to form coherent words when he couldn’t even still his hands. He answered anyway, the best he could. “Since Christmas, maybe just before. When I saw you and Rindy dancing together.” It’d made him happy enough that even Gerhard coming into his home to take Rindy for the day hadn’t dampened his good mood. Much.

Lilah let out a sigh. “Hell. Work’s going to be a nightmare when it gets out. And lord, the Christmas party. That was awful enough already.”

Harge had to swallow twice before he could speak again. “Lilah?”

“Come here, you ridiculous man. I can’t reach you very well this way, can I?” She tapped the growing protrusion of her belly, usually well-hidden.

Harge went to her, kissed her again and again. He was back to being glad that, for now, Rindy wasn’t here.

Even with his Naval departure looming, Harge’s first wedding took months to plan. With a timer that was far more unforgiving than the US military (and without the involvement of his mother), the second time was very different.

They were in Atlantic City within weeks. Rindy was just as excited as either of the adults, and much less nervous. Harge was nervous, at least. He hoped Lilah wasn’t, but also, selfishly, that she was. A little.

The nerves were not helped when she sat him down on the bed of their hotel room right before he was about to leave.

“I thought I was banished,” he said, taking one of her hands, and using his other one to rest on her belly. Rindy was singing loudly as the shower ran behind a closed door. Once she was out, Lilah would help her get ready for the wedding. Rindy, supposedly, would help Lilah too, but that depended how loosely one defined terms.

“You are, the ladies must make themselves beautiful. But—”

“You’re already beautiful.”

Lilah rolled her eyes, touched his cheek. “We need to talk first.”

The nerves turned to a knot of dread. “Okay.” He kissed her hand. “What about?”

“Not tonight, you said, and I let it go. But it’s now or never, I think.”

He had no idea what she was talking about. Then when he did, he wished he didn’t. “You want to talk about Carol? Now?”

“Not want, no. But, now or never.”

“How about never?” She hadn’t brought it up again, and Harge let himself forget, made himself.

“Harge.” She rubbed his cheek, freshly shaven, with her thumb. “I need an answer.” She let her hand drop to her lap.

“To what?” His stomach rolled. He kept his hand on Lilah’s belly.

“Carol. If I told you I didn’t want her involved anymore—”

“I’d tell you you’re hardly the first.” He’d been listening to his parents go on and on about cutting Carol off for years now.

“And after that? What else would you tell me?”

“I wish you’d asked this question before you answered mine.”

Lilah ducked her eyes from his. “I should have, yes. But I was happy, very happy, with your question and my answer. I didn’t want to have to change it.”

Harge felt sick. “Would you change it?”

Lilah released the shakiest of breaths. She covered his hand on her belly with hers. “I wouldn’t want to.”

“What do you want me to say, Lilah?”

“If I tell you what I want you to say, then there’s no…” She shook her head. “Just say the truth, about Carol.”

“I did. There’d have to be a good reason.”

“Like?”

Harge let go of Lilah’s hand to run fingers through his own hair, doubtless ruining it in the process. “Yes, she complicates things,” Harge said, voice as measured as he could make it. “She complicates everything, in fact, and her choices…” He couldn’t begin to understand some of those, even now. “She…I worry she’ll hurt Rindy someday, with her choices. I worry every day that I’m doing the wrong thing here.”

“Do you?”

“Of course I do. But it’s not… Rindy loves her mother.” That sweater of Carol’s was still lying in the next room somewhere, Rindy’s room. The sweater that she sometimes cuddled with at night in place of one of her many stuffed toys. “Carol is, is Carol, but she loves Rindy too. So yes, I would need a good reason.”

Lilah was silent a moment. “You still haven’t told me what ‘a good reason’ would be.”

He exhaled. “Having Carol in her life would need to be more harmful than not having her. I would need to be sure. If you’re looking for something more specific, I can’t give it to you, I’m sorry.”

Lilah closed her eyes, leaned into him as much as the baby would allow. “Oh, Gott sei Dank.”

Harge, who didn’t know nearly enough German, patted her back. “Excuse me?”

“Thank God.”

“Excuse me?”

She pulled away enough to look at him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but I had to know.”

Lilah was blinking back tears and Harge was reaching new levels of confusion and alarm. “Know what?”

“A man who would keep a baby from one mother for selfish reasons would do the same to another. I had to know.”

Harge returned Lilah’s hug, continued to pet at her awkwardly. He’d forgotten how terrifying pregnancy could be. “I wouldn’t take your—our—child, Lilah. You’ll be an amazing mother; I’d never keep a child from that.”

“Thank God,” she repeated.

She kissed his cheek, wetting it with her tears in the process. The shower stopped, signaling Rindy’s imminent arrival. “I love you?” Harge said, uncertain. Not because he doubted the truth in it, he simply had no idea if this was the correct response.

“I love you too.”

“So…is everything okay?” he asked as Lilah continued to cry.

“Yes. No. No!” She grabbed hold of one of his hands, checking his watch. “Damn it, we’re terribly late. Go on, get out of here, now, leave, while we still have time.”

She kissed him, quick and light, and Harge felt dizzy. “You sure?” He missed Gerhard, in that moment. Abby was an absolute nightmare of a woman, but she’d borne the brunt of most of Carol’s pregnancy meltdowns with far more grace than he ever could.

“Yes, yes, get out,” said Lilah, laughing and crying as she gave Harge a light shove, urging him away from her. “Go. We’ll see you later. I’m so happy, I love you.”

“I’m happy too,” Harge said as Lilah continued to cry.

He was especially happy to leave.

Given the conversation he’d survived minutes earlier, the very last thing Harge wanted to do was to talk about Carol. He’d done it with Lilah because Lilah was about to be his wife, because it was necessary. He did not wish to do so again anytime soon, with anyone else.

And so, it made perfect sense that Steve goddamned Rogers was in the lobby of his hotel, occupying a sofa by the fireplace as if he was part of the décor, had every right to be there.

“Hey, Harge.”

The bastard folded the newspaper he’d been reading, stood up. Had the audacity to give a little wave.

Harge sighed. He was starting to miss his mother screaming at the caterer, and all the other small miseries that came with his wedding to Carol.

He continued his walk toward the bar in long, silent strides. Rogers was at his side in seconds, matching him, the newspaper tucked under his arm. They entered the bar together. It was near-empty this time of day. Harge took the nearest stool. Rogers sat next to him, put the paper aside.

“Old fashioned,” Harge said the moment the bartender looked in their direction. “Put it on his tab.” He jerked his chin at Steve.

“Make it two. Thanks.” Steve smiled at the man, seemingly untroubled by Harge’s direction. “Harge.”

“Rogers.”

They didn’t speak again until the drinks came. Harge was quick to start in on his.

“So,” Harge said after the whiskey had him feeling slightly better, “was it my ex-wife who sent you here, or your…whatever you have?”

“I had other business in the area. Thought I’d stop in on my way, because yes, Rindy’s mother is concerned about her.”

“What other business would that be?”

“None of yours,” Steve replied, taking his own drink.

“So, you’re here to intimidate me.”

“God no. If intimidation was the point, Peggy would be here. Or Angie. Or Angie’s mother.”

Harge drank again. “Angie’s mother. Would this be the one who was supposed to be watching my daughter when she was lost and buried?”

Rogers gave him a look. “During the same accident my daughter was in? Yes, that would be her. Is that why you’re keeping Rindy from Carol?”

Rogers didn’t sound angry, mostly curious. That might’ve annoyed Harge more, he couldn’t decide. “I’m not keeping Rindy from Carol.”

“The calendar would say different.”

“I am not keeping my daughter from my ex, and if I were, it would be no concern of yours.”

“Your daughter is best friends with my daughter, who hasn’t seen her since they both endured something awful together. Who doesn’t understand why she hasn’t seen her, and is very heartbroken and very good at making everyone around her feel her misery. So, it is my concern.”

Harge took another drink. “I am not keeping her away from Carol.”

“How many weeks has it been?”

“Three. The first, I absolutely was keeping her home, with me. Because she was terrified and so was I. I almost lost my little girl because Carol left her with someone else, someone I don’t know.”

Rogers looked at Harge. “Rindy has a home with Carol, too. But I am sorry for what happened to her, Harge. I pulled her out of that snow and carried her back in my jacket, instead of taking my own daughter, so don’t think I’m not sorry. That everyone who was and wasn’t there that day isn’t sorry.”

Rogers stopped talking. It took nearly a minute before Harge could fill the silence. He lifted a finger. “Three weeks. Week one, I was pissed. Week two,” he raised another finger, “Rindy was sick. She had a cough and a fever, and I could barely get her out of bed for a bath. I wasn’t going to drive her out there so Carol could alleviate her guilt by taking care of her. Week three,” he raised a third finger, “we had this trip. A trip planned out weeks in advance”

“Which you told Carol nothing about.”

“I would have. I gave her to Carol during that business trip so that Carol wouldn’t throw a fit when I told her about this, that I was taking Rindy during one of her weekends.”

“Except you never told her about this.”

“I planned to. After I got home. I had to leave early, because of that mess in the snow. When I saw Carol again, I wasn’t interested in asking permission to go on vacation with my daughter. I would’ve told her, if she hadn’t screwed things up so badly.”

“That’s convenient.”

“You think I care whether or not you believe me?” Harge’s stomach turned, like it did whenever he thought of what almost happened. “You’re nothing to me, Rogers. Just the man who somehow, ‘accidentally’ claimed my daughter as his own., in front of the whole country.”

Harge finished his drink. Rogers signaled the bartender for a refill.

“That genuinely was an accident,” Rogers said after the bartender left, after he’d finished his own drink and refilled it. “I’m sorry for that, too.”

He looked it, Harge thought, and that was just frustrating as hell. “That’s it? You’re sorry?”

“I wanted to annoy you.”

Harge could’ve laughed, or punched him. It was hard to pick. “That’s it?”

“I didn’t want to be at that party. I wanted to be home with my family for the holiday. I was already in a shit mood. I saw Rindy there, I knew she wasn’t supposed to be there that day, that my friends would be upset because of it. I said a stupid thing, without thinking through the consequences, and I apologize.”

Harge stared at him. “So, America’s favorite soldier actually swears.”

Rogers scoffed in reply. “America’s favorite soldier was a soldier.”

Harge held the cool glass in his fingers. The burning anger over the snowstorm faded as quickly as it came. “Your ‘friends.’ You heard Carol say what a terrible person I am, decided to have a laugh at my expense.”

“In fairness, I would’ve taken any laugh at that lousy excuse for a party you dragged Rindy to. And the laugh wasn’t supposed to be shared with everyone else. But you’re right, I shouldn’t have taken Carol’s word on everything. I should’ve waited, confirmed the kind of man you are for myself.”

Harge heard a barb in there, but couldn’t bring himself to care. “If you were any sort of man, you’d give me a public apology,” he said, sipping the whiskey.

“I’m apologizing to you now, privately, and I promise it’s more sincere than half the shit I’m forced to say publicly, in stars and stripes. Carol wasn’t there that day, she had nothing to do with what I said. There’s no reason to hold that one against her.”

Harge laughed a little. “Twice in five minutes? Careful, don’t waste your quota for the year on me.”

Rogers sipped the drink, tapped the newspaper he’d set next to him on the bar. “If you want me to take out an ad in the Times, I will—”

“Not the Times, no.” Not when Carol’s shopgirl worked there.

“--but all it’ll do is bring everything up again. It’s been a year. Almost everyone’s forgotten, and those who haven’t wouldn’t be convinced by an apology. People have moved on. They're all interested in that nightmare down in Montgomery these days, and the Olympics. Acting like they care about events in a country that takes a week to get to if you're rich, a few weeks if you're not. The rest are fixated on that Presley clown.”

Harge made a face, drank. “Rindy likes him. It’s terrible.”

“So does Lizzie. And Angie. I’m not supposed to get headaches, and yet.”

Harge hummed.

They looked at each other, then away.

“They’ve moved on,” said Rogers. “You should too. You’re obviously capable of it.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t see a ring, but—”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Congratulations.”

“How the hell do you know about that?” Harge asked, though he wasn’t all that surprised. Not

after the Carter woman brought up little strangers on the phone.

"I'm Captain America. You filed a marriage license. Most clerks aren’t that hard to bribe.”

“And you came here knowing what you were interfering with.”

“I came here to see about Rindy, not pipe up during the ‘does anyone object’ part.”

“You and Carter, you have no right to dig into my private life.”

“Yeah, I can see how that would get uncomfortable. A man you don’t know tracking your movements, checking up on the woman you choose to spend your time with, using that information against you? Can only imagine how horrible that must feel.”

Harge scowled. “The situations were entirely different.”

“True. When Carol left town without warning, she didn’t take Rindy with her. If she had, I’d guess you’d have called the police instead of some sleazeball PI.”

“She’s my daughter. I have custody. I can take her wherever I want, whenever I want. I don’t owe any explanations.”

“See, it’s when you say things like that. That’s when people get worried, and I get sent out here, where neither of us want me to be.”

“So sorry that crashing my wedding has inconvenienced you.” A thought hit him, made him lift his glass again. “Did you tell Carol?”

“I didn’t plan on telling her anything until after I knew what was going on here. If you’re not keeping Rindy away, does that mean you’re not moving her off to Texas?”

None of that last sentence made any sense, to Harge, and Rogers was looking as him like it should. “What?”

“You were looking at real estate in Texas. Because Ms. Braun’s family lives there?”

Harge’s first instinct was to tell him not to call her Ms. Braun, because Lilah hated that. But he didn’t want Rogers calling her Lilah either, because he had no right. In the midst of this internal struggle, Harge finally realized just what the hell Rogers was talking about. “Oh hell.”

Rogers looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“Fucking Haversham.”

Rogers kept staring.

“He’s a fucking mole, that’s all Texas ever was.”

“I don’t usually say this to anyone besides my four-year-old, but can you use your words, please?”

Harge sort of felt like breaking his whiskey glass over Rogers’s unbreakable head. It would only make a mess though. He might cut himself, making the ring exchange awkward. He’d have to change suits, which would mean going back upstairs, which Lilah definitely would not like. And Lilah might start crying again. She might not have stopped since he left. No, not worth it, especially when there was perfectly good whiskey left over. Harge drank some now.

“Bob Haversham. That’s where you heard about Texas, right?”

“Texas came from Abby.”

“And Gerhard got it from Bob Haversham. He works for me, he’s one of those idiots who find Gerhard charming. He spies for her. I couldn’t prove it, but now I know. I put out some nonsense about Texas to get back at the both of them, if they were listening, if they found out.”

Rogers stared, then sighed, then drank. “Well, they were listening, they found out, and Carol panicked because she thinks you’ve taken Rindy much farther than New Jersey. Good job.”

“That wasn’t supposed to come out now,” Harge said.

“Well, it did. You see why I’ve crashed your wedding?”

“I was just trying to annoy her,” Harge said pointedly. He wasn’t even sure if he meant Carol or Gerhard at this point.

“And now you see how easily that can backfire.”

“Go to hell, poster boy.”

“Been there. We called it Eastern Europe at the time.”

Harge's response to that was probably flatter in the vowels than it should have been, the words a little rusty and not nearly as musical as they’d been when shouted by Jap POWs, but given the way Rogers snorted it probably got his point across.

“You could’ve let Rindy talk to her for more than fifteen minutes in the last three weeks,” Rogers said. “You could’ve told her about this trip.”

“I was angry. I didn’t want an argument with her.”

“You prefer an argument with me?”

“Honestly, if it’s between her or you coming here on my wedding day, then yes.”

Rogers chuckled. “You’re going to have to tell her about this. Whether you believe it or not, you owe her that much.”

“I know,” Harge said. Maybe it was the whiskey and bitters, but all of his feelings toward Carol were dulled in that moment. The rage over the storm, the same rage that initially drove him to plant evidence of Texas (as if he’d ever live in that overheated hellhole, near Lilah’s unforgiving family) was mostly gone. He could call it up if he wanted, but thinking of that day brought more fear than anger. Fear of losing the only unequivocally perfect thing that came out of his relationship with Carol.

He didn’t want to be angry at Carol over what happened in the snow, or talk to this soldier frozen in ice. He just wanted to take the best thing that ever came from his marriage, and go start another one that wasn’t doomed to failure.

“Meaning that you’re going to tell her?” Rogers asked.

“Yes.”

“When?

Harge sighed. He hadn’t let himself think that far ahead, it gave him a migraine.

“Because if you don’t tell her, I will.”

“Oh, you shooting your mouth off about my family? There’s a shocker.”

Rogers only sipped more of his drink.

“I will tell her when we’re back.”

“When, when you’re back?”

“Do you want an exact minute and second so we can synchronize watches?”

“Ideally. Yours is two minutes off, by the way.”

Harge lifted his wrist from where it’d been resting on the bar. “Slow, or fast?”

“Slow.”

He definitely wouldn’t tell Lilah that. She was stressed enough about their timetable. “I will speak to Carol when I get back next week. Is that acceptable to you? Can I have my honeymoon first, before things blow up?”

“If they blow up, it’ll be because you set the fuses. Tell her, or I’ll have to.”

“Noted.”

Rogers lifted his glass. “Enjoy your honeymoon.”

Harge clinked glasses with him. They drained their second drinks. “Thanks. Go away.”

“Tell Rindy I say hi?”

“Absolutely not.”

Rogers scoffed, got up from the stool. He pulled out a wallet, left bills on the mahogany of the bar. “Next time you take your kid out of state? Call her mother. It’ll be so much easier.”

“It barely qualifies as out of state.”

“You going to fire Haversham?”

“Haversham?”

“Now you know he’s a spy.”

"Haversham bats his eyes like one of your USO girls. He sashays if he's not concentrating, and knows all the gossip. Why do you think he and Gerhard get on so well?”

"Is that a yes?"

"No. Because if I fire him, he'll bat his eyes at clients and sashay and smile at them for my competition, and share my gossip with them. I don't need that in my life. Keep your friends close, and your gossip mongering employees closer."

“Fair enough,” Rogers replied, turning to leave.

“Finished with the paper?” Harge asked, because Rogers had left that on the bar too, with the cash.

“Yeah, that’s yours, actually. Thought you might like to show Rindy. Therese has some photos in there. Rindy hasn’t seen her in awhile, and I know she likes to keep up.”

“Not very subtle, are you?”

“I’m a poster boy. Not supposed to be subtle.”

“And another hamburger,” said Rindy, standing on tiptoes in front of the counter. “With everything except onions. Please.”

Harge smiled at the last second addition, happy he hadn’t needed to remind her. They were grabbing dinner to bring back to the room, since Lilah was tired more often than not lately. He got distracted by his own wedding ring as he pulled cash from his wallet, still not used to its presence.

“And another shake,” Rindy continued. “The big one, strawberry. Please.”

The diner employee smiled as Rindy finished giving Lilah’s order, something she’d insisted on doing herself. “That’s a lot of ice cream for such a little girl,” said the woman.

“She only wishes it was all for her,” said Harge. “My wife awaits.”

“Oh, I see.” The woman kept smiling at Rindy. “Well, you tell your Mommy that she has a very sweet little girl, who definitely deserves that ice cream.

Rindy frowned. “Lilah’s Daddy’s wife, not my Mommy.”

Harge swore to himself at the change in the woman’s expression. He was quick to hand over the money. “Thank you,” he said with polite finality.

She took the hint, handed him his change. “That will be ready in a few minutes, sir.”

“We’ll be here,” he said before thanking her again and steering Rindy away from the counter, towards the booths in back.

A pattern was emerging. A similar scene had played out at the gift shop earlier in the day. Harge had left it then, been able to keep Rindy from causing the kind of look they’d just received. He’d forgotten about it, mostly, because it was a small thing and he was happy.

He’d learned that small things liked to become larger, especially when he ignored the patterns. Ignoring the patterns had brought him the greatest unhappiness of his life.

“Rindy,” he said, sitting across from her in the booth as Rindy played with a ketchup bottle on the table. Diner food was hardly on the menu during his last honeymoon, but everything was different this time. He leaned in closer to her. “Does it bother you when people call Lilah your Mommy?”

“Yes,” Rindy said easily, her voice louder than his.

Harge fought the urge to look away, check the people around them.“But you like Lilah, right?”

“I love Lilah.” The reply came quick again. “But she’s not Mommy. Mommy’s Mommy, and Lilah’s Lilah.”

“I know, sunshine, I know that. But other people, they don’t.”

“So tell them,” Rindy said with a shrug. Then she jumped, giggled as she squeezed the ketchup too hard, almost got hit with a torrent of red.

Harge took the bottle from her gently, returned it to its place. “Mommy and Lilah both would yell at me if I brought you back a mess, wouldn’t they?”

Rindy grinned at the idea. “Yes.”

Resting his hands on the table, Harge fiddled with his wedding ring. “Rindy, honey. Some people, they don’t understand, about Lilah and Mommy and, all that.” He made a vague hand gesture, already frustrated with himself. “It’s complicated.”

Rindy looked at him. “No, it isn’t.”

He guessed it wouldn’t be, to her, wondered if she even remembered the time her parents sat her down to talk about divorce. “It isn’t to us, but it is for a lot of other people. And correcting them like you did before, sometimes it makes people feel bad. Makes them feel silly.”

“Sometimes it makes me feel silly when the teacher corrects us in school, but she does it anyway.”

“Because that’s her job. Making sure you have the right answers in things like math and spelling, that’s important.”

“Mommy’s important too.”

Harge ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, she is. But sometimes, sometimes you have to pick your battles.”

“What’s that? Like Aunt Peggy and Uncle Steve?”

Harge made a conscious effort not to roll his eyes. “Sort of. Mommy’s important, but those people who don’t understand, they aren’t, really. They’re people you won’t see again, and they’re not trying to be mean, they’re just confused.”

“But why can’t I just tell them?” Rindy repeated. “Un-confuse them? It’s not my fault they don’t understand.”

Harge almost laughed at her defiance. “No, it’s not, but nobody likes to feel silly, right? You don’t like it in school. We should only make others feel that way if we have to. If they’re just making an honest mistake, and they’re not all that important, not like Mommy or Lilah—”

“Or Mama?”

A small part of Harge still railed against that, always. “Or Mama,” he said. This time he did glance around to make sure they weren’t being observed too closely. “If someone isn’t all that important in your life, and you’re only going to see them for a minute or two and probably never again…” He paused, had to regroup. “If they’re a stranger, and not being mean to you, sometimes it’s better to just be nice to them, and be on your way, because nobody likes feeling silly over an honest mistake.”

“So, nobody likes a smartass?”

He blinked at her, let out a heavy breath. “Peggy and Steve teach you that, too? Or was that Aunt Abby?”

“All of them. And Aunt Angie.”

Harge vowed to drink something stronger than a vanilla milkshake when they got back to the room. “Well, a broken clock still works twice a day.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means don’t say those words, and don’t be one either.”

“Don’t be a broken clock?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “What you’re being right now. Okay?”

“Okay. Am I in trouble?”

She was preemptively giving him the look, wide eyes, wobbly lip. “No. We’re just talking.”

Her expression instantly transformed. “Okay,” she said happily. “Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“Lilah can’t be Mommy or Mama, but am I still supposed to call her Lilah, if we’re a family now?”

“Do you want to call her that?”

Rindy shrugged. “I mean, it’s her name, but she’s not just Lilah anymore, is she?”

“No,” Harge said, fighting a grin. “No, she’s not.”

“She can’t be Mommy or Mama,” Rindy said definitively. “But maybe she shouldn’t just be Lilah, either?”

“Maybe not.” Harge let the smile form. “Why don’t we talk to Lilah when we get back? The three of us can probably figure something out. Deal?”

“Deal. Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“Can I have pie to go with my milkshake?”

“Don’t wake him. He loves his after-dinner naps, as so do I.”

Quiet as Lilah’s voice was, it startled Harge. His eyes flew open, and he grumbled to himself over getting so lost in thought that he hadn’t heard her. “I won’t wake him,” he said, after having nearly jumped out of his skin and done just that.

Lilah shook her head, wore the knowing smile of someone who had learned too much. “You and Carol didn’t wake him either. Should I be impressed?”

“I don’t know why that should impress you, but if it does…”

Lilah crossed the room in a bathrobe and slippers. “According to prior history—and Rindy—that’s very impressive indeed.”

“Rindy tattles.”

“She’s the family historian.” Lilah perched on the edge of the recliner, careful not to move it as she did.

“Doesn’t mean she’s not a tattler.”

Lilah hummed. "When she tattles on Carol, she’s providing valuable information. When she tattles on you—”

“Why did I think you were happy with me when you came in here?”

“Because I am. Ecstatic. The beautiful little tattletale upstairs and I would be elated to hear of an official cease fire.”

“Cease fire,” Harge repeated, very low under his breath. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“I have it on good authority that it often was.”

“Not today.”

“Not today.” Lilah reached over, stroked his hair. “Should I be worried?”

She didn’t sound it, but Harge suddenly was. She didn’t need to know. It would only upset her, realizing the information Carol had. “Of course not. Why?”

Lilah’s hand drifted lower, to Harge’s temple. Her index finger rubbed circles there. “Your head gets wrinkly when you worry. Or lie. Or both. So does Rindy’s, poor girl.”

Harge huffed out a breath. “It’s not enough that I’m a divorcee, now I’ve got a wrinkly head, too?”

“You’ve always had a wrinkly head, so far as I can tell. Did Carol not tell you that?”

“Carol didn’t tell me a lot of things.”

Lilah squeezed his shoulder, an exaggerated show of sympathy. “But she knows, doesn’t she?”

Harge stared at her.

“Sweetheart, you may have a thing for blondes—”

“I don’t—”

“—but not dumb blondes. I am very smart,” she added factually, “and I hail from a very tiny town in Texas. Tell the girls who work the beauty parlor anything and they'll know it in Dallas by supper. New York isn’t all that different, there are just more people to spread the word.”

Harge let out a huff of a noise again. “We don’t need more people. Gerhard spreads everything, quicker than a Navy boy on shore leave.”

“Don’t be vulgar, Navy boy. I am smart and so is Carol. She’s had your child, and she was studying him. He’s too squishy and blond. Softer than desert air,” said Lilah, gently touching Sascha’s hair, the light wisps in question.

“He’s not squishy,” Harge said, half-hearted.

“He is, and if he’s lucky, he’ll get that wrinkly forehead by osmosis, and be just as bad a liar as his Daddy.”

Harge sighed. “All right, Carol knows.”

“You still say as if it’s some sort of revelation. Don’t worry so much. I like her.”

Harge gave Lilah a look. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

“And I wish you wouldn’t come in here at all hours waking the baby, but here we both are.”

With what he could muster of a scowl, Harge stood himself up. He went to Sascha’s crib and, every move measured, laid the baby back down. He covered Sascha with a blanket, lightly, then walked back to Lilah.

“I never wake him,” he said, proud of himself.

There was a small noise from the corner of the room, then a piercing wail.

Lilah sighed, then smirked. “You have fun, I’m going to make sure Rindy’s school things are organized.

Harge closed his eyes, shoulders sagging. As Lilah passed him on her way out, he felt her finger poke against his forehead.