Perfectly Unpredictable (14 page)

He sighed. Who was he kidding? Angie was an
idiot. She would have been a horrible parent.

But goddamn it, he would have made a good
dad. He really wanted a child. He would have had to figure out how to balance
the whole touring shit, but he would have tried. He could have done it, worked
something out. But he hadn’t been told, or asked, or even given a chance to try.
And it really burned.

Mack drank his beer and brooded. He was
still angry.

And Kalia would have done the same thing,
he ranted to himself.

Except she had the baby. Didn’t tell the
guy, but had the baby. Well, good for her. But what about the father? Shouldn’t
he be told? Didn’t he have that right?

Mack finished his beer and looked at the
empty bottle. He didn’t really feel any better. He sighed and thought he should
do what he always did when he was frustrated and unhappy.

Drown it in music.

Kalia got up the next morning and went into
Mani’s room after listening to him babble and chirp for a few minutes.

“Good morning, little one.” She smiled as
she lifted him out of his crib.

She changed his diaper, carried him down to
the kitchen, and set him in his high chair. After putting a few Cheerios on his
tray to keep him occupied, she opened the curtains, brewed her coffee, and made
up his cereal.

She would go about her daily routine with
Mani and hope she didn’t run into Mack.

Would she be a chicken if she ignored him? Pretend
not to see him out on his deck or sitting on the front porch?

No, she didn’t think so. He obviously
didn’t think much of her, and staying out of his way would be healthy for both
of them. She was still raw over his words and needed time to heal the wounds he
opened.

At about three a.m., she had figured out that
she needed to forgive herself. Her intentions had been good. Maybe misguided,
but at the time, it had felt right. She put everything she had into raising
Mani and being a good mom. She wasn’t perfect, and it seemed there was always
something to learn, but she was trying.

Alex would be proud, she thought. Proud of
her for trying and of their beautiful son. She felt sure he knew. He was her
guardian angel, wrapping her and Mani in comfort and support.

So if Mack couldn’t see beyond his
shortsighted, pigheaded point of view, if he didn’t have the courtesy to hear
her out and listen to her story, then he could just go to hell. His loss. Creep.

She’d had enough of the negative and from
now on vowed to look for the positive. For her sake and Mani’s, she needed to
move forward and leave the regrets behind. She wasn’t going to get her heart
broken again. “Focus on the positive” would be her new mantra.

So if she ran into Mack, she would smile
her brightest smile and let there be no regrets.

Well, except one, a small corner of her
brain argued. They hadn’t opened the chocolate fudge sauce.

A week later, Kalia still stewed over Mack.
She was sitting at her computer trying to do some work while Mani napped but
was having trouble finding the focus she needed to get the job done. She
refused to have regrets, but it still irked her that he thought so poorly of
her.

She needed to set him straight. Make him
see what a jackass he was. Because
then
she wouldn’t have any regrets, and her heart could heal. She could move on. She
felt judged without a fair trial, and it pissed her off. Who did he think he
was? Coming over, having mind-blowing sex, going on some rant about not telling
Alex about the baby – what the hell was that all about anyway? –
and breaking her heart. What was wrong with him?

She covered her ears when the music started.
She hadn’t seen him, but she’d heard him. It was the same heart-wrenching
melody all week. It was a complete one hundred and eighty degrees from the
normally upbeat, snappy music he played.

She looked out the window and saw him
sitting on his back porch playing the guitar. Her heart ached at the dark
circles under his eyes and his unshaven face.

She stiffened her spine. He deserved it. Self-righteous
nincompoop. She should just march over there and set him straight.

Before she could talk herself out of it,
she yanked open the back door and walked stiffly over to his deck. “He died,”
she said bluntly, without a word of greeting.

Mack looked up, startled, and stared. “What?”

“He died. That’s why I didn’t tell him. He
died before I had the chance,” Kalia said stiffly, and she turned away.

“I’m sorry,” Mack said quietly.

“You should be,” Kalia said. Without
turning back, she marched to her kitchen and sat down at her computer. “There. Chapter’s
over. Start a new book,” she told herself, and she laid her head on the desk
and cried.

Mack watched her walk away, feeling crappy.
He had been moody and angry for the better part of a week. Man, it had hit him
harder than he’d expected. Writing a song, struggling with the music, and adding
lyrics had helped. He felt the tension and ache shadowing him start to ease. Until
she came over and dealt the second blow.

The deal with Angie had happened over a
year ago, and he’d thought he was over it. Apparently not. The night with Kalia
set it off, and it pissed him off to realize why.

He’d fallen for her, damn it. He craved
Kalia like he craved music, and he didn’t like it one bit. That kept the anger
fueled for three more days until eventually it burned down to a simmer. Now he
was resigned and tired, just bone-weary tired. And he felt like an ass.

So the guy who knocked her up was dead. Great.
Kick ’em when they’re down. Now he had to apologize, and grovel, and hope she’d
take him back. Well, she’d better. He couldn’t live without her. And the
thought that she could live without him, be better off without him, scared him even
more.

He rubbed his hand over his face and
realized he needed a shave. And a shower. He thought about a plan. Clean up,
number one. Then maybe ask her out for dinner or to a movie. No, she wouldn’t
leave Mani. Could invite her over for dinner. She could bring Mani with her. Or
bring take-out and a movie and stay in. Definitely needed to talk and explain. Apologize.
Have make-up sex. He sighed. Maybe he should bring flowers or chocolates.

He was an ass. He’d probably need both.

Mack showered and shaved and pulled on
jeans and a navy blue T-shirt. First, the apology, he thought. The thing about
living next door was that he’d have to do it face to face, although he
fleetingly wished he could send a quick text or email.

Mack picked some daisies from his garden on
his way to Kalia’s house. He took a deep breath and knocked on the front door.

Kalia opened the door. She looked at him
with narrowed eyes and moved to shut the door.

“Kalia, wait. I want to say I’m sorry.” He
ran his hands through his hair. “I know I said some things that hurt you. I’m
very sorry. I’d like a chance to explain.”

Kalia slumped her shoulders and sighed. “I
don’t know, Mack.”

“Please,” he said quietly. “Listen, why
don’t you come to my place for dinner tonight? You can bring Mani, and we can
talk.”

“I’m sorry, Mack. I can’t tonight. I have
plans.”

He blinked in surprise. “How about tomorrow
night or Saturday? Would that work?”

Kalia looked at him. “Yes. Saturday would
be fine.”

Mack smiled for the first time in a week
and felt the pressure ease in his chest. “Great. That’s great.”

“Why don’t I feed Mani at home and then
come over after? Say around six?”

“That’d be perfect.” He smiled and handed
Kalia the flowers. Kalia’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned in and gently
kissed her cheek.

“See you Saturday, Kalia.”

Early the next morning, Kalia scooped Mani
up and smiled, giving him a quick hug. Sunlight streamed into his bedroom. “Good
morning, little one,” she crooned, and she set him down gently on the change
table to change his diaper.

“You’ll need a bath later, but let’s go get
some breakfast. Qu’est-ce que tu veux pour le petit déjeuner?” she asked him as
she carried him down to the kitchen and lowered him into his high chair.

Kalia knew the one gift she could give to
Mani effortlessly was the gift of languages. She’d read that baby’s brains were
like sponges for languages. So she tried to add French and German to the
English she used when she spoke to him. She had purchased some children’s books
in both French and German and alternated them when she read to him. She’d found
a television station with French children’s programs, and they listened to
French and German children’s songs. He seemed to respond with equal
understanding to whichever language she used, but sometimes she wondered if he
would end up trying to speak a complicated mixture of all three. Like their own
pig Latin – Frengman, she laughed to herself.

Maybe she should speak French on Tuesdays
and German on Thursdays.

Maybe she should do a bit more research.

Kalia mixed together Mani’s cereal and fed
him. Or, at least, spooned the cereal in his general direction. It seemed like
an awful lot ended up all over his face, on the tray of his high chair, on his
hands, and in his hair. But he babbled and gurgled and pumped up and down in
his seat with a grin.

Kalia laughed. “Definitely a bath for you. But
let me have my coffee first,” she said as she set him on the floor to play. He
crawled around, chasing a ball and finding a rattle to play with. Kalia put on a
French song and watched Mani bounce to the beat.

As she sipped her coffee, she wandered over
to her computer to scan her emails.

Junk. Delete. Junk. Delete.

Her heart skipped, then started pounding,
when she saw the third.

A. Sinclair.

Alex? she thought, her mind racing. No. No.
Her chest tightened and her breath caught. She struggled to stay calm. She was
almost afraid to open it. Was it some cruel joke?

She read the subject line:
A response is requested.

With a shaking hand, she clicked on it.

Dear
Ms. Beck,

I
know we have never met and I apologize for contacting you this way. Maurice
Bastille was kind enough to pass along your email address to me.

I am
Alain Sinclair, Alexandre’s father.

Kalia let out a shaky breath and read on.

I
understand you were a friend of Alexandre. I hope you’ve heard of Alexandre’s
passing – otherwise I will be deeply saddened that I informed you
this way.

In
the last few days of Alexandre’s life, he asked a favor of his mother and me. Alexandre
had four very special friends to whom he requested a specific bequeath. The
other three were very close childhood friends and we were delighted to meet
with them and honor Alexandre’s request. You are the fourth and we are very
much hoping to do the same.

I
know this is a bit unorthodox, but we would appreciate it if you would contact
us.

Thank
you very much.

Alain
Sinclair

Kalia sat completely still as she read it
through again. She glanced over to check on Mani, but he was quietly playing
with a stuffed dog.

She got up and turned off the music. Her
brain screamed for silence, to think.

It was like opening a Pandora’s box of
questions. Why did he leave her something? Tears slowly gathered. Why would he
do that? Maybe he loved her.

Did they know about Mani? No, of course not.
How could they? What if they found out? Could they take him away from her? Fear
coursed through her. No, of course not. Of course not. They couldn’t, right? God,
could they?

Did she want to meet them? She could meet
them, some place. Any place but here. And not mention Mani.

Did they even know she was in Canada? And
where were they? In France, presumably. Maybe they could just send whatever it
was. Maybe they wouldn’t have to meet at all, and the issue with Mani wouldn’t
have to be raised.

She sighed sadly. But now that the lid was
off Pandora’s box, she would have to think about whether they should know they
had a grandchild. She watched Mani as he grabbed the stuffed dog’s ear and made
it squeak. She thought of her mom and dad and how they would feel if her
brother had a child. They would want to know. Probably. Likely. Maybe not. No,
they would.

She rested her head in her hands. What to
do? She needed to do some more research. And this time, it may be more than Google
could handle.