Always (Spiral of Bliss #5)

by Nina Lane

  I struggle to drive safely, tearing through a couple of red lights at the last minute and speeding down the highway to Forest Grove. By the time I pull into the parking lot of the doctor’s office, my heart is hammering and I’m almost out of breath. I hurry into the front door and veer toward the waiting room.

  I stop. Liv is sitting near the windows, her head bent as she leafs through a magazine. For a second, I let the sight of her calm my fear. She’s wearing a plaid wool skirt and white shirt, with the length of her hair pulled back by a headband.

  As if sensing my presence, she lifts her head and looks in my direction. Our gazes meet with a tangible force. She smiles—nervous but relieved. I approach her, reaching out to brush my fingers through the thick length of her hair.

  “Hey, beauty.”

  She squeezes my hand, twining her fingers through mine as I sit beside her. The scent of peaches fills the air.

  “I’m glad you made it.” Liv rests her head against my shoulder. “I know you have a lecture, so I wasn’t going to call, but… well, I don’t think I can walk in there without you.”

  I’m not sure I can walk in there at all.

  We sit in silence. A few dust motes swim in a river of sunlight coming through the windows. The receptionist stands from behind her desk and turns to the filing cabinet behind her. There’s a framed photo of a Greek island on the opposite wall.

  “Olivia?” The nurse appears at the doorway leading to the exam rooms and Dr. Nolan’s office. “Dr. Nolan is ready for you.”

  For an instant, Liv doesn’t move. Then she tightens her fingers around mine and stands. Because she does, I manage to stand too.

  As we walk into the doctor’s office together, the terror, anger, and uncertainty fall away. And all that’s left is the feeling of my wife’s heart beating against the palm of my hand.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DEAN

  November 21

  WHEN ARCHER AND I WERE KIDS, The Castle tree house was our fortress against everything bad. Pirates, monsters, evil aliens, robbers, comic-book villains. Most of the time we won the epic battles. Sometimes we didn’t.

  Sometimes Archer got sucked into the lava pit encroaching from an exploding volcano. Sometimes I fell into a swamp of hungry crocodiles, or we both went down from laser gun blasts. Sometimes we fought against each other, but mostly we fought on the same side. Sometimes I saved him, or he saved me. Other times we couldn’t save each other.

  But we always knew what the threat was. We could see it. Godzilla, a horde of zombies, stormtroopers, a mutated kraken, fire-breathing dragons. We knew how to defend ourselves, and we were always armed. We were always ready.

  Always.

  After the doctor’s appointment, Liv and I stop at the grocery store before picking Bella up from preschool and Nicholas from kindergarten. They’re both happy to see us, and Nicholas immediately launches into a recitation of everything he did that day, from having cupcakes for a fellow student’s birthday to mastering the monkey bars at recess. We return to the Butterfly House for the afternoon.

  “Let’s have a picnic for dinner,” Liv says impulsively, after Nicholas has finished his homework. “It’s warm enough, and I’ll bet they’re serving hot chocolate at the park.”

  “Awesome.” Nicholas does a victory jump and rushes to find his shoes.

  Liv packs a picnic dinner, I load up the sports bag of balls and Frisbees, and we drive to Wizard’s Park to take advantage of the unseasonable warmth.

  It’s a chilly but perfect evening—reddish clouds spreading over the sky, people dotting the grass, a soccer game in progress, wind drifting across the water. There’s a line of children in front of the hot chocolate stand.

  We have a favorite spot near a bear topiary that overlooks the busy playground and the glistening expanse of the lake. I spread out the picnic blanket, while Liv takes the kids to the swings and jungle gym.

  I watch them from a distance, keeping my gaze on Nicholas’s green sweatshirt and Bella’s purple coat amidst the crowd of children as they navigate the wooden bridge on the play structure and speed down the slide.

  A sudden memory pushes forward of a time when Nicholas got so sick from the flu that he ended up in the emergency room. I’d thought at the time it would be the greatest terror I’d ever face.

  But now there are countless terrors clawing through me.

  “Hot chocolate after dinner,” Liv announces, approaching from the playground behind Bella and Nicholas. “My treat.”

  She flops down beside me. A few strands of hair have escaped her ponytail and fall around her face.

  I look away and rummage in the picnic basket for a chicken sandwich. I hand it to Liv, then unwrap peanut-butter sandwiches for the kids. We pass around grapes and potato chips, watching the activity of the park as we eat.

  “Come on, Nick-Nack.” Liv rises to her feet and picks up the Frisbee. “If you win, you can have extra whipped cream on your hot chocolate.”

  “Sweet!” Nicholas jumps to his feet and follows her a short distance away, where they start tossing the Frisbee back and forth.

  Bella busies herself meticulously plucking grapes off the stem and arranging them into a pile. I watch her, struck anew by how much she looks like Liv, right down to the shape of her eyes. She’s like Liv in her strength too, her pursuit in getting what she wants, only Bella is more vocal and stubborn. Liv’s strength is quieter, but no less profound.

  I turn my attention from my daughter to my wife. Liv is laughing, her ponytail flying behind her as she runs after the Frisbee.

  She jumps to catch it, her beautiful body arching like a rainbow. She’s wearing yoga pants and a faded King’s University shirt that clings to her torso, outlining every curve. Her hips. Her rear. Her waist. Her breasts.

  Her breasts. Her full, perfect, gorgeous breasts.

  Pain and terror seize my chest, so hard that for a second I can’t breathe. The world darkens. Liv vanishes from my line of sight.

  There’s a soft touch on my arm. My daughter’s voice filters through the dull roar in my ears. I inhale and focus on her. She’s holding out a fistful of grapes.

  “Gapes, Daddy,” she announces.

  “Thanks, honey.” I take a few grapes and rest my hand on her hair, trying to calm the sudden racing of my heart.

  “He won.” Liv returns to us, her cheeks flushed with exertion and her eyes bright. “Extra whipped cream for Nicholas.”

  “Me too,” Bella shouts.

  “Of course.” Liv bends to pick Bella up and looks at me. “You, professor?”

  “I’ll have some of yours.”

  “Then I’d better get extra whipped cream too,” she says with a smile. “C’mon, kids. Order up.”

  The three of them head for the hot chocolate stand. It’s so ordinary—a family of four having a picnic and hot chocolate in the park. How can something so normal feel so menacing?

  “Hey, man.”

  I glance up, lifting a hand to shade my eyes from the glare of the setting sun. Archer is standing in a shadow, his hands loosely on his hips.

  “Saw you from the parking lot,” he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m meeting Kelsey for dinner at Azteca.”

  “Good food there.”

  “You just hanging out?”

  “Yeah. Not a bad night for a picnic.” I nod to where Liv and the kids are standing in line. “And hot chocolate.”

  “I’ll wait and say hi.” Archer glances at his watch. “I’m early anyway.”

  He sits beside me. I fight the urge to move away. Archer and I have been on good terms the past few years, but we still don’t hang out much. And right now I don’t want him around.

  I especially don’t want to talk to him. I can’t stand the thought that I might hint something is wrong. And if I give voice to this horror… even acciden
tally… then it’s out in the world. Then it’s real.

  “How’s the fan club?” I ask, figuring that’s safe territory. “Kelsey up in arms about the groupies?”

  “Nah, I think she likes the publicity it’s bringing to the show.” Archer helps himself to a few potato chips. “The marriage proposals are weird though.”

  “You’re getting marriage proposals?”

  “Yeah, from random women.” He shakes his head with a laugh. “Ironic that women I’ve never met want to marry me, but I still can’t get Kelsey to say yes.”

  “You asked her again?”

  “Not yet. I’ve been waiting all these years for her to bring it up, but she hasn’t.”

  “Maybe she’ll come around now that you’re in such high demand.”

  “Or maybe I need to fight for her instead of wait for her.” He scratches his head. “She’s a tough cookie. She does her best work when she’s challenged. Even provoked.”

  I watch Liv as she turns to hand Nicholas a paper cup of cocoa. Her ponytail swings like a long, thick ribbon behind her. She’s challenged herself in countless ways over the years, and she’s fought battles that gave her a core of steel beneath her warm gentleness.

  But this? Why the fuck would the universe put this on her? She doesn’t need another battle. She needs the life she’s created.

  “I think it’s time for me to throw down the gauntlet,” my brother continues. “The Archey gauntlet.”

  “Uncle Archer!” Nicholas hurries toward us, carefully balancing his cream-topped cup with one hand and waving at Archer with the other.

  “Hey, slugger.” Archer and Nicholas exchange an elaborate series of fist-bumps before Archer picks up Bella for a hug. “Where’s my hot chocolate?”

  With a generous sweep of her hand, Bella holds out her paper cup.

  Archer obligingly takes a sip and gives Liv a grin. “Hey, you still need me to come check out that water pipe at the café?”

  “Yes.” Liv groans dramatically and hands me a cup of hot chocolate. “It’s still leaking.”

  “I can swing by around four tomorrow afternoon,” Archer offers.

  “Great, I’ll be there. Just text me when you’re on the way.”

  Archer spends a few minutes wrestling Nicholas and tickling Bella before he heads off to meet Kelsey.

  Kelsey. We’ll have to tell her too. But I don’t want to tell anyone. I can’t even tell myself.

  The sun sinks slowly, and when cold begins to snake through the air, we pack up and head home. Our bedtime routine is reassuringly normal—Nicholas and Bella run around in their pajamas, leaping off the bed and pretending they’re superheroes, while Liv and I cajole, order firmly, and finally threaten them with no TV tomorrow unless they get into bed.

  I read to Nicholas while Liv reads to Bella, then we change places for a while before the kids finally drift off to sleep.

  After their lights are out, I find Liv in the bedroom, pulling off her pants and T-shirt to change into her nightgown. Any other time, I’d stop to admire the sight of my wife standing there in her bra and panties, all soft and sexy.

  But now I suddenly don’t know if it’s okay to watch her undress, to look at her body, to approach her for a kiss and fondle her breasts like I always have before.

  I don’t know if it’ll ever be okay again.

  Liv glances at me. A faint, unpleasant awkwardness crackles in the air. She picks up her nightgown and goes into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

  No. No fucking way will she shut me out. I won’t let her. I won’t let it put a wall between us.

  I change into a pair of pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, then sit on the bed and wait. The water runs in the bathroom. There’s a long stretch of silence before the door finally opens again.

  Liv stops and looks at me without surprise, as if she knew I’d be waiting for her. She wraps her arms around her midriff, hugging herself.

  “I can’t believe it,” she finally says.

  My throat tightens. “Neither can I.”

  “What am I going to do?”

  I stand and cross the room to her. I take hold of her shoulders and pull her toward me. She stiffens for an instant before relaxing into me, pressing her face against my chest. I fold my arms around her. Hard.

  “We are going to fight this together.” I lower my head close to her ear, breathing in her peaches-and-cream scent. “We are going to get you the best doctors, the best treatment, in the whole damned country. We are going to battle, and we are going to win.”

  I pull back to gaze at her, taking hold of the sides of her head. I lift her face so she has to look at me. And though the fear and disbelief burning in her brown eyes cuts me in half, I manage to keep my voice even.

  “We’re also going to bed together, just like we always do,” I tell her. “We’re going to wake up tomorrow morning, have breakfast with our children, get them off to school, and go to work. We’re going to kiss each other, laugh, complain, get stuff done, talk about our days, figure out what to do for dinner, watch TV, and read books.

  “I’m going to squeeze your ass when the kids aren’t looking. We’re going to build Lego towers with Nicholas and paint pictures with Bella. We’re going to live exactly the way we always do because nothing… nothing… will ever change the fact that we’re a family with an incredibly blessed life to live. And that’s what we are going to keep doing.”

  Liv looks at me for a long minute. The tightness in my throat eases a little. I brush my thumb against her lips.

  “I love you,” she whispers.

  “I love you, beauty.” My voice cracks. “With everything I am. With so much more than I am.”

  Tears flood her eyes, a deluge she’s been fighting all day. A sob breaks from her throat—a strangled noise that scrapes me raw with pain. Liv grips my shirt, twisting the cotton in her fists. Her cheeks and neck dampen with an onslaught of tears that seems endless.

  I sink to the floor, pulling her against me. Rage trembles in my blood, the violent start of an earthquake. I smother it, focusing on my wife in my arms, the scent of her hair, the press of her cheek against my chest.

  I wrap myself around her, locking her against me with all my strength, as if I can stop this horror, protect her from it, make it go away. She’s shaking so hard. Tremors rack her body. Her anguished sobs twist inside me, cracking me apart.

  I don’t often ask for things. I know how much I’ve been given. I know how fortunate I am. I know I don’t deserve more.

  But she does.

  This is Liv. The woman whose heart is made of everything good. The woman who believes in the power of cupcakes and the importance of lists. The woman who has the purity of a snowflake and the strength of steel.

  Not her. Please not her. Not my beautiful, perfect Liv.

  Please.

  A sinister territory stretches in front of us. A land of monsters.

  How do I fight? What are my weapons? How do I protect her?

  I hold my wife tighter than I ever have before.

  CHAPTER NINE

  OLIVIA

  November 28

  I DON’T SAY THE WORD ALOUD, not even to Dean. It festers in my brain like an infection, something slimy, stinking, rotten. It’s puke-green and an ugly, yellowish brown like a fetid swamp.

  I try to block it, not to let it slither into all the other thoughts running through my mind—Should I make a peanut butter or turkey sandwich for Nicholas’s lunch? Should I put green or blue hair ties on Bella’s braids? I need to stop by the grocery store before work. Nicholas has soccer this afternoon.

  The mundane thoughts are soothing, welcome, but it still lingers in the background, watching me with cold, unblinking eyes. Waiting.

  I try to focus on practicality, the things that need to be done, both in our everyday lives and in this n
ew, freakishly horrifying world in which we’ve found ourselves.

  I get through the next few days by reminding myself to breathe and telling myself everything I’m doing. Now I need to pick out Bella’s clothes. Now I’m helping Nicholas brush his teeth. Now I’m taking orders for a Mad Hatter tea party. Now I’m boxing up a dozen chocolate cupcakes.

  Only once during my shift at the café do I have to lock myself in the office when an onslaught of tears hits me too fast to stop. At home, I’m able to keep my fear and pain suppressed until nighttime, when I fall against Dean and let myself cry until my throat is raw and I’m exhausted enough to sleep.

  I suspect mornings will continue to be especially awful, as I pull myself out of sleep with the vague sense that I’ve just had a dreadful nightmare… and then I remember the nightmare is real.

  The nightmare is inside my body.

  It’s such an insane thought. I don’t look sick. I certainly don’t feel sick. Just the opposite, in fact. Half the time, I think the diagnosis is some horrible mistake. The pathologist read the samples wrong. Any minute Dr. Nolan will call and tell me it’s really just a benign tumor, nothing to worry about, nothing at all.

  Except that she doesn’t.

  Instead she calls to tell me what my next “step” will be—surgery—and encourages me to meet with several doctors before choosing a surgeon and an oncologist. We’re forced to wait over the Thanksgiving holiday before scheduling appointments.

  Dean and I don’t talk much in the immediate aftermath of the diagnosis. Outwardly, he also focuses on getting things done, but anguish burns in his eyes, and he hovers around me as if he’s a hawk wanting to swoop in and save me.

  Just like he always has before.

  After spending a quiet Thanksgiving at home, our first meeting is with Dr. Holt, a highly regarded, experienced surgeon who extends his hand to Dean first.