Just For Kicks. Susan Andersen
but at least he’d had his mother’s steady presence to anchor him. The only thing he could think to say to alleviate her obvious concern was “I’ll get your bags.” And that was pretty damn weak.
She turned to him. “No, Liebling, leave them. We’re staying at a hotel.”
“Don’t be silly, Mom. I’ve got room, if Niklaus doesn’t mind bunking down on the couch.”
“I told him we’d stay at Circus Circus,” she said, and gave a helpless little shrug that wasn’t at all like her. “I thought it might…help this latest upheaval when we tell him….” She trailed off, then straightened her shoulders and handed him the carry-on case she’d had with her. “I made you a kuchen.”
“Aw, Mom.” It was so quintessentially Maria. No bakeries for his mother. She made her cakes from scratch, and she provided one for every occasion—even if that meant packing it from one continent to another. Carrying the case with the same care she’d no doubt given it the past three thousand miles, he escorted her up to his condo.
Once inside the foyer, he paused to glance over his shoulder at his father, who was bringing up the rear. “So you’re going into business as a beer garden proprietor, huh?” He carefully kept his voice neutral. “That seems appropriate.”
Maria, who had already disappeared into the depths of his apartment, stepped back around the foyer wall and gave him a warning glance. “I’ll not have you sassing your father, Wolfgang,” she warned him austerely, then took the carry-on bag from his hands and disappeared behind the wall again, no doubt to give his kitchen a thorough inspection.
“I’m not, I’m stating a fact. It strikes me as a good fit.” And it did. His dad was a party animal and always had been. Wolf’s earliest truths growing up had been that when Mom said nein, she meant nein, that the army was superior to any other branch of the United States military and that if Rick wasn’t out of the country on active duty, then he could usually be found at the NCO club with his fellow brothers-in-arms. After his dad’s retirement from the service, the only thing that had changed about the latter was the name of the establishment and the fact that his new cronies weren’t necessarily military. Every time Rick had moved the family to a new embassy, the first thing he’d done was locate a local watering hole where he could go knock back a few and socialize.
“Leave the boy alone, Maria,” Rick said. “He’s right, this will be the perfect fit for me.” He turned to Wolf, all enthusiasm and charm. “Let me dig out my photos while your mom puts on the coffee, cub, and I’ll show you what we’re getting. Rothenburg is a fantastic town, and the Donisl is the prettiest little establishment you’ve ever seen.”
“I’d like to see those, Dad,” Wolf said. “But first we need to discuss Niklaus.”
“Yeah, sure,” Rick agreed. But he headed for the door with a brisk stride. “I’ll just leave you to talk that over with your mother.” And he walked out of the apartment, closing the door behind him.
Wolf swallowed the bitterness that surged up his throat as he strode into the living room. “Well, that’s typical,” he said with what he considered admirable mildness.
His mother, who had located his coffeemaker and was busy scooping grounds into the basket, gave him a level look. “It is well past time, Wolfgang Richard, for you to—how do the Americans put it?—cut your father some slack.”
“Why?” he demanded. “Has he ever stuck around for the tough discussions? No,” he answered without awaiting her input. “He goes out and he has fun. Hell, even at work, he turned it into one big party, instead of applying himself to—” He cut himself off.
Too late, as it turned out, for Maria’s eyes narrowed and she pointed an autocratic finger at one of the stools bellied-up to the breakfast bar.
Wolf sat.
She stood across the counter from him. “I am tired of you looking down your nose at your father because he wasn’t some big, important executive. We’re both sorry that you felt such pain over being on the wrong side of the social divisions that run rampant in so many of the embassies. But there is no shame in hard work, and that’s what your father put into being a supply clerk. He was good at it, and God bless him if he had fun with it at the same time.”
“Yeah, God bless him.” Wolf swallowed the snort he felt crowding his throat. “He had fun. But what about you, Mom? Where were you in all this? Besides left behind all the time to be the disciplinarian and taskmaster.”
“Has it never occurred to you, Wolfgang, that a woman doesn’t stay with a man for thirty-eight years without knowing what she’s getting into? I liked being in charge. It’s my nature to be the disciplinarian and taskmaster.”
“But when do you get to have a good time?”
“What makes you think I don’t? More important, when do you ever have fun?” Her eyes held a deep sadness as she gazed at him. “You have beautiful suits and an important career. But you’re thirty-four years old and you have no wife, no kinders. You don’t even have a pet. This course you’ve set for yourself doesn’t seem to be making you particularly happy.”
He leaned forward. “But I will be, Mom. I’ve got a plan, and I’m getting close to accomplishing it. It’s just a matter of putting everything together. When that’s done, then I’ll be happy.”
“Aw, Liebling. Happiness isn’t a goal for the future. It’s what should be sustaining you while you’re working toward your objectives. You’re half American, for the good Lord’s sake. The pursuit of happiness is one of your inalienable rights.”
She was wrong. Happiness was what he’d be rewarded with down the road for all the hard work he was putting in now. It was what he’d attain once he got everything right.
But Maria was his mother, and one didn’t tell one’s mother that she was wrong. Instead, thinking about his nephew and the insane idea she had come up with for the teen’s care, he changed the subject.
“You do know that this plan of yours to have Niklaus stay with me is impossible, don’t you?” he demanded gently. All right, perhaps that equated to telling her she was wrong. Still, the idea was crazy, a crippled jet fore-ordained to crash and burn. “I work nights, Mom—long nights. Nik’s not going to be any better off in Sin City with no one to supervise him.”
“He’ll be much better off having the influence of a stable man in his life, even if the situation isn’t ideal. Katarina can’t continue shuttling him aside whenever she has a new man or some other enthusiasm-of-the-moment in her life, only to come swooping back to interrupt the new routine he’s managed to make for himself once she remembers again that she is a mother. And I have no doubt that our offer for the biergarten in Rothenburg will be accepted. That means dragging him to Germany, Wolf. He’s headed for trouble already and I’m scared to death another move—this time to a foreign country—will be the final nudge to push him right into the thick of it. We have to head that off before it’s too late.”
“How is he headed for trouble?”
“By—how do you say it?—suspending out with some undesirable young people.”
He had to think that through for a moment. “Hanging out, you mean?”
“Yes, that is the expression. Niklaus is a good boy, but how much longer will he remain one without a strong man to help guide his life? He needs you, Wolfgang. He desperately needs a home that doesn’t get uprooted every nine or ten months.” Reaching across the table, she laid her manicure-free, work-worn hand over his and looked beseechingly into his eyes. “Please.”
Aw, hell. His mother had provided him with the only security he’d ever known, and she had never before asked a thing from him in return. “Fine,” he agreed less than graciously. “But I’m probably not going to be in Las Vegas much longer myself, so his routine is still going to be shot to kingdom come.”
“But you’ve been in this job for two