Over clams and soft-shell crabs, she told Charles all about Mae and the wedding. “It’s a week from this coming Thursday,” she said as she wiped her hands on a linen napkin. “With such short notice, they were lucky to get a small nondenominational church in Kirkland and a banquet hall in Redmond for the reception afterward. Lexie is the flower girl and I’m the maid of honor.” Georgeanne picked up her fork and shook her head. “I still haven’t found a dress to wear. Thank goodness this will all be over soon, and I won’t have to go through it again until Lexie gets married.”
“Don’t you plan to get married someday?”
Georgeanne shrugged and looked away. When she thought of getting married, she always pictured John as he’d looked in that formal tuxedo the day of the GQ photo shoot. “I haven’t really thought about it much.”
“Well, why don’t you think about it?”
Georgeanne looked back at Charles and smiled. “Are you proposing?”
“I would if I thought you’d accept.”
Her smile slowly fell.
“Don’t worry,” he said, and tossed a clamshell onto a pile on his plate. “I won’t embarrass you right now by asking, and I won’t subject myself to your rejection. I know you’re not ready.”
She stared at him, this wonderful man who meant a lot to her, but whom she didn’t love as a wife should love a husband. Her head wanted to love him, but her heart loved someone else.
“Don’t reject the idea out of hand. Just think about it,” he said, and she did. She thought about how marriage to Charles would solve some of her problems.
He could provide a comfortable life for her and Lexie, and together they would be a family. She didn’t love him as she should, but given more time, maybe she could. Maybe her head could convince her heart.
John tossed his T-shirt on the heap of socks and running shoes on the bathroom floor. Dressed only in a pair of jogging shorts, he covered his lower face with shave cream. As he reached for his razor, he looked up into the mirror in front of him and smiled. “You can come in and talk to me if you want to,” he told Lexie, who stood behind him, peeking into the bathroom.
“What are you doing?”
“Shaving.” He placed the razor beneath his left side-burn and scraped it down.
“My mom shaves her legs and her pits,” she mentioned as she moved to stand next to him. She wore her pink and white striped nightgown, and her hair was messy from sleep. Last night was the first time she’d stayed with him alone, and after he’d killed the spider in her bedroom for her, everything had gone real smooth. After he’d smashed the insect with a book, she’d looked at him as if he walked on water.
“I get to shave when I’m in the seventh grade,” she continued. “I’ll probably be really hairy by then.” She peered up at him through the mirror. “Do you think Pongo will ever get hairy?”
John rinsed his blade and shook his head. “Nope. He’ll never get much hair.” When he’d picked up Lexie the night before, that poor little dog had been wearing a new red sweater with jewels glued all over it and a matching stocking cap. When he’d entered the house, the dog looked at him and ran into another room to hide. Georgeanne had speculated that he might be afraid of John’s height, but John figured that poor Pongo hadn’t wanted another male to see him looking like such a sissy.
“How did you get that big ouchie in your eyebrow?”
“This little thing?” He pointed to his old scar. “When I was about nineteen, a guy shot a puck at my head and I didn’t duck in time.”
“Did it hurt?”
It had hurt like a son of a bitch. “Nah.” John raised his chin toward the ceiling and shaved beneath his jaw. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Lexie watch him. “Maybe you should get dressed now. Your grandma and great-grandpa Ernie will be here in about a half hour.”
“Will you do my hair?” She held up one hand and showed him a hairbrush.
“I don’t know how to do little girls’ hair.”
“You could put it in a ponytail. That’s real easy. Or maybe a side pony. Just make sure it’s high, ‘cause I don’t like low ponies.”
“I’ll try,” he said, rinsed shave cream and stubble from the razor, then went to work on his other cheek. “But if you look like a wild child, don’t blame me.”
Lexie laughed and laid her head against his side. Her fine hair brushed his skin. “If my mommy marries Charles, will my name still be Kowalsky like yours?”
The razor came to an abrupt halt at the corner of John’s mouth. His gaze slid down the mirror to Lexie’s upturned face. Slowly he lowered the blade away from his face and held it under the hot water. “Is your mother planning on marrying Charles?”
Lexie shrugged. “Maybe. She’s thinking about it.”
John hadn’t really given serious thought to Georgeanne marrying. The thought of it now, of another man touching her, tied his stomach up in a twist knot. He quickly finished shaving and turned the faucet off. “Did she tell you that?”
“Yep, but since you’re my daddy, I told her to think about marrying you.”
He reached for a towel and dabbed at the white cream beneath his left ear. “What did she say?”
“She laughed and said it wouldn’t happen, but you could still ask her, couldn’t you?”
Marry Georgeanne? He couldn’t marry Georgeanne. Even though they’d gotten along fairly well after the Pongo incident, he wasn’t convinced she would ever like him.
He could honestly say that he liked her. Maybe too much. Every time he went to pick up Lexie, he envisioned her without clothes, but lust wasn’t enough to support a lifetime commitment. He respected her, too, but respect wasn’t enough either. He loved Lexie and wanted to give her everything she needed to be happy, but he’d learned years ago not to marry a woman because of a child.
“Couldn’t you just ask? Then we could have a baby.”
She gazed up with the same pleading look she’d used to get her puppy, but this time he wasn’t about to give in. If, and when, he ever married again, it would be because living without the woman was hell. “I don’t think your mommy likes me,” he said, and tossed the towel on the counter next to the sink. “How are we going to do that ponytail?”
Lexie handed him the brush. “You comb out the tangles first.”
John got down on one knee and carefully ran the bristles through the back of Lexie’s hair. “Am I hurting you?”
She shook her head. “My mommy likes you.”
“Did she tell you she does?”
“She thinks you’re handsome and nice, too.”
John chuckled. “I know she didn’t tell you that.”
Lexie shrugged. “If you kiss her, she’ll think you’re handsome. Then you can have a baby.”
Although the idea of kissing Georgeanne had always been one hell of a temptation for him, he doubted one kiss would work like magic and solve their problems. He didn’t even want to think about making a baby.
He turned Lexie to the side and lightly brushed a tangle beneath her left ear. “It looks like you have food stuck in your hair,” he said, careful not to pull too hard.
“Probably pizza,” Lexie told him unconcerned, then they sat in silence while John combed the fine strands, fearing he was doing more harm than good. Lexie remained quiet, and John was relieved that the subject of Georgeanne and kissing and babies was over.
“If you kiss her, she’ll like you more than Charles,” Lexie whispered.
John pushed aside the drapes and gazed out at the Detroit night. From his room at the Omni Hotel, he could see the river looking like a long oil slick. He felt restless and edgy, but that was nothing new. It usually took him several hours to come back down after a game, especially after a match with the Red Wings. Last year the team from Motown had barely edged the Chinooks out of the play-offs with a one-goal backhanded fake by Sergei Fedorov. This year the Chinooks started the long season with a 4-2 victory over their rivals. The win had been a nice way to start the season.