Margot Early - Mr. Family

Kal’s bare feet moved over the polished hardwood until he stood beside her. He, too, examined the quilt, which his mother had brought over. It had been packed away in a box during the remodeling of his parents’ home twenty years before, and he’d forgotten it existed. His mother hadn’t. You know, I looked and looked for this when you and Maka were married. You know where I found it? In the shed behind the kennels. Your dad and I were clearing it out the other day to make the new whelping room …

Erika studied the quilt, wanting to soak up its history—and Kal’s. “Which of your grandmothers?”

“My dad’s mom. She grew up here. Hiialo is the sixth generation of my dad’s family to be born and raised in Hawaii.”

“I remember.”

There were four doors in the room, one that opened to the outside, toward the mountains. Kal opened the nearest, the original door to the porch, and went into his room.

Hiialo scooted in front of Erika into her father’s bedroom, then huddled close to Kal. Erika followed more slowly.

Inside, her eyes were drawn toward the light from the open window. The quilt on his bed was purple and lavender and well-worn. It was folded over double, and it took a moment for Erika to realize why.

He slept in a single bed.

Erika looked away from the piece of furniture, as though she’d caught him there naked. He really didn’t want a lover.

On one wall was a stereo and a rack of tapes and CDs that stretched to the ceiling. Bookshelves and two guitars hung nearby. One instrument was chrome, etched with Hawaiian designs, the other an old archtop. On the floor beneath them were an amplifier and two cases Erika suspected held electric guitars.

She was startled. Kal had never mentioned music to her. “You play?”

He nodded, without humble disclaimers.

“You never said anything.”

Kal touched the Gibson, drawing sound from the strings. “No.”

Erika decided he wasn’t as simple an equation as she’d first thought.

The bathroom was across the hall. Thin strips of black mold grew on the tub caulking—difficult to prevent in watery climates. For a single father who worked six days a week and cared for a rental property as well, he kept a clean house. You do good, Kal, she thought.

“There’s a gecko, Daddy,” said Hiialo.

An orange lizard scaled the wall above the towel rack.

“Oh, cool!” Erika peered closer.

The lizard scurried away.

“They eat cockroaches,” Hiialo told her.

Erika glanced at Kal.

He shrugged. “It’s Hawaii. We get some.” He stepped out into the hall, Hiialo one pace behind him. “You probably want to unpack, relax.”

“Actually I brought some gifts for you.”

Hiialo’s eyes grew large.

In her own room, Erika crouched beside the bed, opened her tote and removed a gift bag. “This is for you, Hiialo.”

As Kal entered the room, bearing Erika’s other luggage and a large flat box containing watercolor paper, Hiialo peeked in the bag. “Oh, look! Oh, Daddy, he’s cute! He looks like an Akita puppy.”

Erika’s gift was a small stuffed roly-poly dog. It was cinnamon-colored with a black muzzle and fluffy curled-up tail.

Smiling, Kal squatted beside Hiialo to look at the stuffed animal. “Sure does. Hiialo—”

Erika watched him mouth, What do you say?

“Thank you, Erika.” Her grin was toothy, dimply.

Erika said, “There’s something else in the bag.”

Hiialo reached down to the bottom and pulled out a tin of felt-tip pens. Her face fell. She met Erika’s eyes. “I already have these.”

A blush burned Kal’s face. “But some of yours are drying out.”

Erika wished she’d chosen something Hiialo didn’t have.

Hiialo put the pens back in the gift bag and hugged her stuffed puppy. “Thank you, anyhow, Erika.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie. I hope you enjoy them.”

“I’m going to go make a little bed for my dog.” A moment later she disappeared into her room.

Kal shrugged, an apology. “She’s only four.”

“She’s darling,” Erika replied politely. She lifted out another gift sack, this one heavier and decorated with suns and moons, and handed it to Kal. When he took it, she saw the veins in his sun-browned forearms and the calluses on his hands. He had nice hands.

Kal opened the. bag and pulled out a thick navy blue T-shirt with a primitive design in black, white and rust on the front. The figure of a whale was circled by a field of white dots.

“It’s a design of the Chumash Indians of Santa Barbara,” said Erika.

“Thanks. I’ll wear it now.”

He set the bag, not yet empty, on the bed and started to unbutton his aloha shirt with the eagerness of a man who hated to dress up.

As he took it off, Erika had an impression of a lean muscular chest and roped abdominal muscles. Trying to ignore him, she memorized the colors in the flowers outside the window. When she sensed that he’d put on the new shirt, she glanced back at him.

He was holding out the hem, checking the fit, which was good. “Thanks,” he said again.

“There’s more.”

Kal picked up the sack and withdrew a quart of beer from a micro-brewery in Santa Barbara. She saw him hesitate before he said, “Thank you. We’ll have to share it tonight.”

“Thank you, Kal. This bed…” It was bigger than his.

Wide enough for two.

“The drawers came off an old dresser. The rest was easy.” He edged toward the window, touching the frame.

His legs, Erika noticed, were long. Even covered by the loose twill of his drawstring-waist pants, they suggested muscle. Though his skin was golden brown from the sun, it was also smooth, the kind of skin that made her want to touch the area around his lips and his mouth, touch that tiny scar. And the bare abdomen, the chest, the shoulders she had glimpsed when he changed his shirt. He was powerfully built. Six years younger than me.

The thought was not unappealing. He was certainly a grown man.

But her observation was distant. Uninvolved. She assessed him as she thought another woman might.

When he turned from the window, Kal found her staring. Shot by a feeling he hadn’t expected—something sexual—he hurried to end the moment. “You probably want to rest. Are you hungry?”

“The food on the plane was good. I’d just as soon spend some time with Hiialo.”

“Look, I don’t expect you to baby-sit. That wasn’t the idea.” Not exactly.

Good. Maybe he wouldn’t mind if she had to get a job. “Well, she’s why I came,” she said, suddenly needing to make that clear. He could have changed his shirt in the other room.

“Mmm,” Kal agreed. Hiialo’s door was opened just a crack, but he could hear her playing in her room, talking make-believe with her stuffed friends. He leaned against the wall he had framed. “So…you probably want to make sure you like us before we go any further with this.”

Erika felt the quilt beneath her—and the bed. Things had gone pretty far. “I don’t see anything likely to make me run away.”

You haven’t seen my daughter throw a tantrum.

But Erika Blade struck him as a woman who wouldn’t flee difficulty.

“We can give ourselves as much time as we need,” he said. “I was thinking of about six weeks.”

Panic stricken, Erika thought she might break into hysterical laughter. Six weeks to decide if she wanted to spend the rest of her life in a celibate marriage to a man with more sex appeal than Brad Pitt?

But even making contributions to household expenses, she should be able to make her money last six weeks. And surely she could produce some marketable art in that length of time. “Six weeks sounds reasonable.”