Mr. Imperfect

by Karina Bliss

  Kezia bit her lip to stop herself calling him back. Better to let tempers cool before she offered another apology. Yeah, for telling the truth.

  Slowly her irritation abated. She showered and put on a summer-green dress she knew Christian liked and stripped the tea-stained sheet off the bed. His cell phone fell to the floor and she stood in an agony of indecision. What if he’s right? At last, with trembling hands she dialed the number she knew by heart and asked to be put through to Marion.

  “Hello?” A man’s voice.

  She let out the breath she’d been holding.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve been put through to the wrong room.”

  “Kezia, it’s me, Joe.”

  “Oh. Joe…hello.” There was an awkward silence.

  “Thank you for looking after my family,” he said simply. “I’m sorry you needed to and I swear you won’t need to again.”

  “Christian told me what he did when you came back. Why didn’t you tell Marion?”

  “How can I squeal on a man who was trying to look out for my son? Plus I owe you. You still love this guy?”

  She closed her eyes. “Yes.”

  “That’s what I figured. Marion’s getting physio, so I’ll put you on speaker phone.”

  “No, don’t bother, I’ll call la—”

  “Kezia!” Marion sounded bright and breezy. “How’s my boy?”

  “He’s visiting Bernice May and probably baking inedible cookies. I rang for a private chat but…”

  “You want to call back?”

  Kezia sat on the bed. Did she? Took a deep breath. “Christian said I shouldn’t put this call off any longer.”

  “Does that mean you’ve accepted his proposal?”

  “No! How’d you know about that? Look, never mind. We won’t be getting married.”

  “You know, if I can forgive him for the stairs, you can forgive him for leaving you.”

  “I do, I have! It’s not Christian I can’t forgive, it’s me.” Hadn’t he said that? “I—I have something to tell you.”

  “You could never have held on to me. Don’t you know that?”

  Marion knew she let go? “Do you also remember,” she said slowly, “that I grabbed you with my good hand?”

  “No, but it makes no difference. If you hadn’t let go when you overbalanced, we would both have fallen down those stairs and taken out John Jason. All three of us would have been injured.”

  “There’s more.” Kezia made a full confession before she lost her courage. “I—I heard you calling me and I ignored you. If I’d answered, the accident would never have happened.”

  Marion laughed. “I was such a cling-on after Joe left, wasn’t I? It’s a wonder you didn’t hide more often.”

  Kezia persisted. “You’re my friend. I should have been there for you.” Maybe Marion was high on painkillers?

  “You know, you forgive other people anything—yourself nothing.” Marion sounded annoyed. “Have you ever thought how condescending it is that my forgiveness counts for less than yours?”

  Kezia froze. “Christian said I have double standards.”

  “You let us all get away with murder, except for Christian.” Marion’s tone grew thoughtful. “I guess it’s a measure of how much you love him that he has to meet your standards.”

  “And a measure of how much he loves you,” Joe added, “that he tries.” For a moment there was silence.

  “Oh, God.” Kezia dropped her head into her hands. “I’ve been such a fool.”

  “Welcome to my world,” said Joe, and she knew Marion had been right to give her husband a second chance.

  “I’ve got to see a man about a proposal,” she blurted. “I’ll call you back later.” She dropped the phone and ran.

  Christian wasn’t in the office, the kitchen or the garden. The garage was open; light filtering between the torn boards. Empty. She forced back the rising panic. He’d gone for a drive to burn off some anger. He’d come back. Act normal, she told herself, do some chores.

  Instead she found herself wandering out to the front veranda and staring down the main street, which was bustling with market-goers. What if she’d pushed him too far this time? Distracted, she only half noticed Don’s jalopy pull into the hotel’s car park. What was the last thing Christian had said? I’ve had enough. Suddenly the words sounded ominous.

  “Hail the victor.” Don commanded her attention, dressed impeccably for golf, a Panama hat pulled low on his brow.

  Kezia tried to think. “You won the tournament!”

  “No, just my match with Bob. The old cheapskate has to buy drinks. Showed up yet?”

  “Who? Oh, Bob. No, I haven’t seen him.” Kezia gazed down the road, but there was no sign of Consolation.

  Don rubbed his hands together. “Excellent, I’ll have time to put a few on his tab. Damn shame Christian’s left. I’d have asked him to join us, just to rub old Bob’s nose in it.”

  Kezia’s attention snapped back. “You’ve seen Christian?”

  “Passed him on the highway north, driving too fast, as usual. Business dragged him back to the city, has it?”

  Kezia’s heart skipped a beat, then kicked in fast and hard. “He’s gone for good.” She stumbled, near fainting.

  Don grabbed her arm, shepherded her to a seat and fanned her with his Panama. “What’s all this about?”

  “I deliberately drove him away…I don’t know why…it’s all my fault.”

  “That makes the solution easy then, doesn’t it?” Kezia looked at Don uncomprehending and he said patiently, “What does an honorable person do when they’ve made a mistake?”

  “Fix it.”

  “Well then.” Don tilted his hat to a jaunty angle. “Off you go.”

  Confused, Kezia looked into the old man’s eyes, then she was running, up the stairs, scrambling in her handbag for her car keys. Except she couldn’t drive without John Jason shifting the gears. She flew downstairs and raced across the road to the doctor’s rooms where the nurse sat filing her nails. “Get your buzz saw and cut my hand free.”

  “I can’t do that…you’re not due.”

  “Please.” Even in her agitation, Kezia remembered her manners. “Just trim off enough to let me change gears. It’s life or death.” My life or your death.

  Ten minutes later she sat in her station wagon with a modified cast. The old girl started with the first turn of the ignition—a good sign surely—and with a squeal of wheels Kezia was on Main Street. And straight into market day. Calm down, she told herself, we’re meant to be.

  The numberplate on the vehicle in front bore the legend Bob4Me from Bob Harvey’s unsuccessful mayoral campaign five years earlier. Its taillights flashed red and it pulled to a stop, blocking the main street.

  Kezia slammed on her brakes as Bob’s wife climbed out, straightened her floral dress and exchanged a few words with Bob. C’mon! Kezia’s hand hovered over the horn, but manners prevailed. Instead she bounced out her frustration on the vinyl seat. Move it, woman! At last Bob put on his indicators and waited for an opening to perform an illegal U-turn. Toward the hotel.

  Kezia’s fist hit the horn. She wound down her window and screamed, “Move your bloody vehicle now!”

  The citizens of Waterview stopped to gawk; she didn’t care. Bob got out of his cab, moving slow and sure like a gunfighter at the OK Corral. Recognizing her, his jaw dropped.

  Kezia thrust her upper body through the window. “Now, godamn it, or I’ll ram this up the rear of your pride and joy!”

  Bob scrambled back in the driver’s seat and—possibly in shock from having obscenities shouted at him by Waterview’s sweetheart—stalled his car. There was a smattering of clapping and catcalls, led by his wife and Bernice May.

  “Oh, this is ridiculous.” Kezia pulled out and passed him on the wrong side, blaring her horn to warn approaching traffic. Fifty meters ahead the traffic light turned amber. She gunned the accelerator and blasted through it. The speedometer hit sixty kilometers,
labored to seventy-five. Who was she kidding? She’d never catch Christian. Kezia gritted her teeth. So, she’d die trying.

  On the long road heading north, she coaxed the engine to ninety even though the car shook so much she had to cling to the steering wheel with both hands. The arrow on the water gauge quivered into the red. Please let it be broken, like everything else on this heap. Still she eased her foot off the accelerator. The speed dropped to eighty.

  Wisps of steam seeped out from under the hood. Kezia thwacked the steering wheel. Shit. Shit! Abruptly she took her foot off the accelerator. Seventy, forty, ten. She swung onto the gravel.

  Kezia got out. There was no one to hear, nothing to stand between her and despair but desolate fields of harvested corn. Fists clenched by her sides, she screamed her frustration until her voice went hoarse. Now what? How many signs do you need that it wasn’t meant to be?

  “To hell with fate,” Kezia croaked into the blue sky. “You’ve screwed me around for the last time.”

  In the glove compartment she found a rag, wrapped it around her hand and pried open the blistering hood. The radiator hissed. It would have to cool before she could refill it. Kezia got the water can from the boot and gulped a couple of mouthfuls while she waited. It tasted sour and warm but was better than dehydration.

  With no shade on offer, she climbed back into the stinking hot car, staring along the ribbon of road to where it faded into the horizon. Christian would be miles away by now, probably thanking his stars for a lucky escape. Admit it, you’re as afraid of deep emotion as Christian is. He had been her baptism by fire—and he’d left her. Worse, she’d expected him to, maybe because she’d always fallen short of her parents’ expectations no matter how hard she tried.

  Kezia started laughing at a joke that was so not funny and covered her face with her hands. By demanding to know all Christian’s secrets, insisting he pass her tests before she trusted him, she had practiced the conditional love she despised. Why had he put up with her for so long?

  Opening her fingers, Kezia spotted a speck of red shimmering in the distance. Then heard the faint hum of an expensive car’s engine and knew exactly who was coming. And he’d find her here, doubting him yet again. Shame paralyzed her. How many times can I screw this up and keep him?

  The car materialized in a blur of speed and Kezia sat frozen as Consolation stopped alongside.

  “Aren’t you going the wrong way?” Christian asked.

  “Actually, I might finally be heading in the right direction.”

  “And that is?”

  She swallowed. “Toward you.”

  His teeth flashed white against his tan. “Is that so,” he drawled, and swung Consolation off the road.

  Kezia grabbed the oily rag and wiped her sweaty palms dry, then climbed out of the car, pulling at the creases in her dress and feeling eighteen again.

  Christian leaned one shoulder nonchalantly against the station wagon. “You thought I’d left, didn’t you?”

  “We had a fight and I said some terrible things and you were seen driving out of town and…” Her voice trailed off.

  “And?” he prompted. So, he wouldn’t make this easy.

  “And if you still want to get married, I’d like to.” His sunglasses reflected her hot and embarrassed face. “Or we could live in sin, it really doesn’t matter because I think I need to stop trying to change you and just…love you the way you are.” There was a catch in her voice. “I love you,” she said, and the words sounded like freedom. “I love you.”

  “About bloody time,” said Christian, and then she was in his arms and they were trying to kiss except he was laughing and she was crying and they made a pretty poor job of it.

  He took off his sunglasses and dropped to one knee on the hot sticky tarmac and Kezia bit her lip because she so nearly said, “You’ll ruin those pants.” And he looked up at her with those blue, blue eyes and said, “Did you seriously think you’d overtake a Ferrari in that heap of shit?”

  She looked at him blankly.

  “Babe, I’m really going to have to teach you about cars.”

  “Obviously I didn’t think I’d overtake you, but I was counting on you stopping for gas or chocolate.”

  He grinned at that—a crazy Christian Kelly grin. “You know if you marry me you’ll be strapping in for a wild ride, don’t you?”

  She got cocky then. “Is that your proposal?”

  “No.” His wicked gaze trailed up her body to her face. “The proposal comes after you say yes.”

  “Yes,” Kezia whispered, and found herself pinned against the vehicle, hot metal on one side, hot man on the other.

  “What if someone comes?” she protested, because even clothed, their bodies fitted sinfully close. Then she thought, to hell with it, and let his hot mouth burn her, as well.

  “By the way.” Christian came up for air and trailed a finger down the damp cotton of her dress to cup her bottom. Kezia tried to care that they were on a public highway, but couldn’t. “The business I had with Bob last night. I bought your land back,” he said casually. She gasped, then squeezed him so tight he started to wheeze. “I figure we’ll build a house there for our annual six months in Waterview…” he managed to say before she shoved him into the back of the station wagon and climbed on top of him.

  “That’s another thing about your fancy car.” She flicked open the snap on his pants. “No room.”

  Christian stopped her busy hands, intrigued. “What if someone comes?”

  Kezia gave him a killer smile. “Count on it.”

  WITH A SELF-SATISFIED SMILE Kezia locked her station wagon. I am such a loose woman and I like it. On the strength of that, she sashayed over to where Christian waited by the Ferrari. “Does this look like a sashay to you?” she asked, concentrating, then caught him looking at her with an intensity that stopped her in her tracks. “What?” she asked, suddenly shy.

  “Damned if I don’t love you, Kezia Rose,” he said, and she touched his mouth in an unconscious gesture of disbelief.

  “What’s more, I can prove it.”

  He bent to retrieve something through the open window of his car and handed her a loose bunch of purple flowers. Overcome with the heat, they drooped in her hand.

  “They’re lovely,” Kezia enthused to protect his feelings, then tears came to her eyes as she recognized them. They were the pansies she’d planted at Deborah Kelly’s grave.

  “I love you, Kezia,” Christian said again, and this time she believed him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  IT WAS A bloody good country wedding marred by only five instances of shameful behavior, Bob Harvey declared to Joe when it was all but over.

  Sipping whiskey, Bob ticked off a fat finger. “One. A telegram from a dead woman, which was a bloody stupid joke. More surprising that Don fell for it and read it out.” Bob scratched his head and quoted verbatim. “‘Once a gambler, always a gambler. All debts discharged. Be happy, my darlings. Muriel.’” He shook his head. “Bloody thing doesn’t make sense.”

  Joe gave a noncommittal shrug and took a sip of his ginger ale.

  “Two.” Bob held up another digit. “The junior bridesmaid, Bernice May ignored calls from younger competitors for a rethrow of the bridal bouquet.” He gestured to the dance floor in disgust. “Now she’s making a spectacle of herself with the two grooms-men, one of whom needs a bloody good haircut.”

  Joe watched Bernice May in her floral housedress twirl the Viking, Jordan, and suggested innocently, “Go tell him.”

  Bob pretended not to hear. “Three—Marion letting John Jason wear his Batman costume and bring three rats to the church.

  “Now, Bob,” Joe said reasonably, “how could I know Roland would be found alive and well in Christian’s Ferrari?” The two men looked at each other and began to roar. Okay, Christian was a friend now but hell, the look on his face. Weakly, Joe wiped tears from his eyes.

  “Four.” Sobering, Bob returned to his grievances. Kezia laughing
in church when she saw Christian waiting behind a makeshift picket fence. Understandable reaction—some bloody crazy city trend that no self-respecting countrywoman would buy into. But still, in church, Joe.”

  But Joe wasn’t listening; he was smiling at his wife who was dancing with their son.

  Bob yanked on his sleeve to regain his attention. “But the worst thing…the very worst…and you might not have noticed this, sitting at the back with the rats—” Bob lowered his voice and gestured for Joe to draw nearer. “—Kelly cried at his wedding. Worse,” he added darkly, “he didn’t care!”

  Joe hid a grin. For the sake of Bob’s sensibilities, he hoped the old farmer wasn’t around when the Kellys’ baby was born in seven months’ time.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-6268-7

  MR. IMPERFECT

  Copyright © 2006 by Karina Bliss.

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  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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