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"I think it's nice," Lars says, "that the baby will be born in the spring." His smile is strained and his hands wring the dish towel.
Karin hands him the last plate to be dried, waits while he finishes the task. He puts the plate in the cabinet, looks around without fixing his eyes on any place in particular. "I'll take that," Karin says, and gently draws the towel out from his hands. He jerks his head in a nod, shrugs one shoulder and then the other. Karin leaves the towel on the counter. She'll ask Gus to run a load later. She's actually more hesitant to touch Lars now than she was before. She reaches her hand out slowly and when he doesn't recoil she lets it rest against his arm. "I'm going to lie down for a bit," she says. "Keep me company." He follows her into the living room, helps her get comfortable on the couch.
"Are you warm enough? Do you want a blanket?"
"I'm fine. Sit down." He sits in a chair across from her. She wishes for a moment to have Dagmar's patience. Patience must be such close kin to faith. Those who know good is coming can wait for it forever. She has to keep herself from asking him what's bothering him. She knows he will talk when he's ready, but doesn't he know she wants to help him now? Doesn't he know he doesn't have to worry or grieve for one moment more? Give it to me, she wants to say, give me any burden you have. I will bear it.
"You're staring at me."
"What?"
"It makes me nervous."
"I'm sorry. You just look so nice in your new sweater."
He smiles, blushes. "Margo gave it to me." He looks at her now and she smiles back, perfectly happy. And then he presses his lips together and his eyes water.
"Honey, no! What is it?"
He shakes his head, holds up a hand as he wipes away his tears with the other. "It's ok," he says. "I'm ok. I'm just scared."
"Of what?"
"I'm scared that you might die and the baby will be all alone."
"The baby won't be alone. It will have you and Gus. It will have a father and an uncle who will love it and always make sure it's happy."
"But it won't have a mom and it will always feel like something's missing."
"Do you feel like that?"
He smoothes his hair off his forehead, sits a little taller. "Yes," he says, clearly. "Sometimes. Not like before."
Karin strokes a hand over her belly. "I love my mother very much, Lars, and I know she loves me. But sometimes I still feel like something's missing."
"Really?"
"Really. I think that's a feeling everyone has even if their mother is still with them."
"A feeling everyone has," Lars says, slowly, carefully considering. "But only sometimes," he adds, looking at her for confirmation.
"Only sometimes," she echoes and he nods in agreement, sighs with relief. "Baby's moving."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Come feel." He moves to her side, bends down to his knees and places a hand beside her own. "Can you feel?"
He nods, his eyes tightly shut like a baby when it's first born and can't bear the light.