Forgotten Honeymoon (18 page)

“I never said that --”

“And what is your excuse? I’m such a femme
fatal, you couldn’t stop yourself?”

He took a deep breath. “I love you, Kelly.
I’ve loved you for a long time.”

“There’s no need to perjure yourself.” She
threw a pair of shoes on top of her folded clothes. “You’re only
saying that because you feel like you have to. If there’s one thing
I admire about you it’s your honesty.”

“I told you I love you.”

“One measly time, and only because I had you
cornered. I had to drag the words out of you.”

“I meant it.”

“Then why haven’t you said it since then?
I’ve given you dozens of opportunities.”

“I’m not glib like Nigel. Words are
hard.”

“I need words, Lars.”

He knew that, but it was easier to say
nothing than to say the wrong thing.

“On our wedding night, every time I said I
loved you, you kissed me, keeping me distracted. And the next
morning when I asked you -- I specifically asked you why you
married me -- you said nothing.” She slammed the suitcase shut and
locked it. “Is it just sex with us?”

“A lot of happy marriages have started with
less.”

Her green eyes flashed. “I don’t want a
marriage based on duty and obligation.”

Neither did he. But he’d already told her he
loved her and she didn’t believe him. What more could he say?

“And I don’t want to stay, knowing that any
minute you could file for a divorce.”

Lars felt as if she’d struck him. “What are
you talking about?”

“The papers. I saw the divorce papers at your
office.”

“I have no intention of filing for a
divorce.”

“Then why are you holding onto them?”

“Because I thought you might want to divorce
me.”

“I see. Because I asked for a divorce
before.” She shook her head. “What about you, Lars? What do you
want from me, from our marriage? Because I’m in the dark, here. I
have no clue why you do what you do. What do you want?”

He wanted so much, it was impossible to put
into words. “I want you to be happy, Kelly.”

“Fine. Then get out of my way.” She pulled
the suitcase off the bed.

He felt as if someone had turned the calendar
back five months. “Where are you going?” he asked finally.

“I’m not sure. But trust me, I can handle
this. I don’t need some knight in shining armor riding to the
rescue.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Kelly slapped a ball of clay on the base of
her wheel. She didn’t want Lars’ pity or kindness, and that’s all
he felt for her.

For weeks now, she’d been telling herself
everything would work out. She could compromise, she could wait.
But how could she stay married to a man who didn’t love her and
never had?

They were back where they were in March,
except now there was a baby to consider.

She wet her hands and the clay, and centered
the clay, using her hands and the motorized motion of the wheel to
form a cone. She started at the base of the cone, and pressed the
heel of her hand into it, gently coaxing it into shape.

“Kelly?”

It was her mother. Kelly left the wheel,
wiped her wet hands on her maternity jeans, and walked over to
unlock the front door. “Hi, Mom,” she said, as she opened the door.
“Come on in.” This was a surprise. She could count on one hand the
number of times her mother had made the half hour drive over to her
studio. “What brings you here?” she asked, wondering if her mother
would tell her the truth.

Margaret walked in, her high heeled shoes
clicking on the cement floor. “We need to plan a baby shower,” she
said bluntly.

“Couldn’t it wait until morning? It’s a
little late for you to be driving around.” It was already dark
outside, and she knew her mother didn’t have the best night
vision.

Her mother glanced at the mattress on the
work room floor. “It’s late for you, too,” she said pointedly. “Are
you planning to spend the night here?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Hmmm.”

From the sound, she knew her mother didn’t
approve.

“I talked to Lars tonight,” Margaret
continued. “He said you might be here.”

Kelly asked, “How did he sound?”

“Not happy.”

Kelly drew her breath in sharply. She knew
she was making everyone miserable, but there didn’t seem to be a
good solution to her problems. Should she let Lars sacrifice
himself for her? Ultimately, wouldn’t he grow to resent her?

Her mother looked around. “Don’t you have any
chairs, yet?”

“Oh, sorry.” Kelly quickly offered her the
one chair in the house, and her mother sat down. Kelly sat cross
legged on the floor.

“Kelly, you can tell me, whatever the problem
is,” her mother said quietly. “I know you and your father have some
idea that I’m too weak to handle real life, but so far, I’m doing
fine.”

Kelly felt a twinge of guilt. She hadn’t
realized that her mother noticed. “I’m sorry, Mom. I guess we
wanted to protect you.” Just as Lars wanted to protect her.

But she didn’t want protection from life. She
wanted the truth, and someone willing to work along side her.
Belatedly she realized that’s what her mother deserved, too.
So
much for good intentions.

She took a deep breath. “It’s hard to know
where to start, but I’ll begin with the car accident.”

Her mother’s eyes widened with fear. “A car
accident? Were you hurt?”

“Not much, but I forgot nearly three weeks of
my life ....”

Her mother listened patiently while Kelly
explained the situation, then asked, “So what’s the problem? You’re
married to a man you love, and you have a baby on the way. It
sounds good to me.”

“Isn’t it obvious? Lars felt sorry for me. He
was only with me because Dad sent him after me to rescue me. I was
part of his job.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, but he doesn’t love me. I’ve given him
dozens of chances to tell me, and he didn’t.” Until today, she
mentally added, but she didn’t believe him. He was just telling her
what he thought she wanted to hear.

“The words aren’t as important as the
actions. Does he act like he loves you?”

She thought of the night she’d gone dancing,
their dinner party, buying the crib together. Making love.
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “But other times, he’s so distant. I
worry that he’s only staying with me out of obligation.”

“You love him so desperately and it kills you
to have him feel anything less.”

Kelly tucked her hair behind her ears. She
nodded. “Pretty pathetic, isn’t it?”

“No, pretty normal.” Her mother smiled. She
gave her daughter a kiss. “You’re two intelligent, capable people.
I’m sure you’ll work it out. We can talk about the baby shower
another day. Brenda wants to host it.”

She gave her Mom another hug. “Thanks,
Mom.”

#

A few hours later, Lars knocked on the door.
“Can I come in?” He stood on her doorstep, uncertain of his
welcome.

Her heart ached at the sight. No matter what
had happened between them, no matter how they’d resolve their
problems, she wanted to remain his friend, if possible. “Go ahead.”
She sat down at the wheel. When throwing a pot, it was best to keep
working. If she stopped, the clay would dry out. But that wasn’t
the real reason she kept the wheel spinning.

The clay gave her something to do with her
hands, to keep her from running to Lars, hugging him, and crying
all over him. For once, they needed to talk rationally, without
letting their passions take over.

He stood for a moment, watching her as she
guided the clay into a large round disc. “What are you making?”

“A serving bowl.” She worked, bringing up the
sides gradually, molding the clay between her thumb on the inside
of the bowl and her middle finger on the outside. “You’ll be
pleased to know that Sarah Crosby has commissioned thirty big bowls
and fifty little lidded canisters.” She was proud of herself for
speaking so calmly.

“That’s wonderful.”

She nodded. “Thanks.” Two days ago, she’d
been so happy at the prospect of surprising Lars with the news, but
now it didn’t seem very important. What did she care if KPots
became successful, and her marriage died?

She relaxed the pressure between her fingers
creating a rounded lip for the bowl. Then she finished the edge,
smoothing off any rough spots.

“Very nice,” Lars said admiringly. He sat on
the floor, watching her.

It was okay, she thought critically, but not
one of her best pieces. She wanted more rounded sides, but it was
difficult to concentrate with Lars sitting so close. “Sarah also
thinks I should be making the bases for lamps.”

“If you’re going to do that, you need to talk
to Rawlins’ Product Development and the Marketing Department
first.”

She’d known he’d say something like that. She
said wryly, “Don’t worry. If I do go into the lamp business, I’ll
give you first right of refusal.”

“Good.”

She washed her hands, then separated the bowl
from the wheel, by cutting it with a taut wire. She carefully
carried the bowl into the back room to dry.

When she came back to the wheel, he asked,
“When are you coming home?”

Apparently he wasn’t interested in watching
her make pots all evening. She stared at the lump of clay in her
hands, avoiding his steady gaze. “I don’t know. Right now, our
house isn’t much of a home.”

He drew his breath in sharply. “Are you going
back to Nigel?”

It angered her that he could even ask that
after their past few months together. Hadn’t she told him that she
loved him and not Nigel? But then, she remembered, she’d waffled
before, asking for the divorce the day after they got married. She
was paying the price for her rashness.

She said, “No, I’m not going back to Nigel.
Even if I wanted to, he’s with Tiffany now.”

“He’d leave her for you.”

“For my money, you mean. He never loved
me.”

“He is a fool.”

She smiled at that. “Thanks for the
compliment, but I don’t care about Nigel any more.”

He stood, silent, watching her, waiting. Was
that the only reason he’d come, to find out if she was going back
to Nigel? Was this all about pride?

“Could I do that?” he asked after a minute.
“Could I learn to throw a pot?”

She was surprised. In all the times he’d been
to her studio, he’d never asked. “Sure, if you want to,” she said.
“Have a seat.” She held up her muddy hands. “It’s pretty messy,
though.”

He smiled. “I’m not afraid of a little
dirt.”

She thought of how he’d saved her from the
falling tree. No, she didn’t think he was afraid of anything.

She knelt beside him, showing him how to turn
on the motorized wheel with his foot and how to guide the clay with
his hands. It was a little awkward, trying to work around him and
her baby bulge, but he shifted, she drew closer, enjoying the feel
of him and his clean male scent, and somehow they made it work.

He pressed his thumb into the rotating disc
of clay to open it, but then he didn’t hold his hands steady and
the walls of the makeshift bowl wobbled unevenly. He lifted up his
hands. “This is harder than it looks.”

Kelly reached around him and placed his hands
back on the clay, guiding them with her own. “I’ve had years of
practice,” she said. “And I still make mistakes. The secret is to
be patient and work with the clay instead of forcing it.”

“Like us.” The words were quietly spoken.

Kelly’s hands faltered, and the sides of the
bowl ripped. What a mess. She’d added too much water to mold it
into another pot without making it structurally weak. “Let’s start
over,” she said clearly. She scraped the old clay off the wheel and
left it on the kitchen counter to dry out. She came back with a new
lump. “Here we go,” she said cheerfully as she dried the wheel with
a towel. “This time, we’ll work slower.”

“No running off to Reno?” he asked.

She bit her lip. “I’m afraid I’m better at
pots than I am at marriage,” she said finally.

Lars’ gaze met hers. “Then we’ll both learn
as we go,” he said.

She wished it could be that easy. “Let’s make
the pot first, okay?”

They worked together quietly, with her
showing him how to hold his hands, then leaning back and letting
him work. Lars was a little stiff at first, but gradually he
relaxed, and the bowl emerged like a phoenix from the clay base. No
matter how many times she threw pots, it always felt like some
magic was involved.

“There.” She wiped the excess water out with
a sponge. “Now you have a nice big bowl for your cereal.”

“This is fun,” he said with surprise.

She smiled. He had a streak of mud across his
forehead, where he’d wiped a hand, and there was a splotch on his
white shirt. “Yes, it is. That’s why I enjoy it. To me, it really
isn’t work.”

“Are you willing to take on an apprentice at
KPots?”

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t really want
to leave Rawlins, would you?”

“No,” he said honestly. “I enjoy it, as much
as you enjoy this.” He smiled and held up his muddy hands, like a
surgeon who was prepped for surgery. “Now what do we do?”

She carefully removed the raw clay bowl from
the wheel. “I’ll let this dry and then fire it. Then I apply the
glaze and fire it again. What color do you want it?”

“You made a blue and white striped plate I
like. I’d like it to match that.”

She nodded. “Can do.” She carried his bowl to
the back room.

Later, they stood at the kitchen sink,
washing their hands and drying them on towels. Kelly handed him a
damp cloth and pointed to her forehead, letting him know he had a
spot.

Lars wiped his face, then laid the cloth out
smooth on the counter. He said carefully, “Today you asked me what
I want from you and our marriage. Do you still want to know?”