by Nina Lane
I browse a few boutiques and shops, buying some new barrettes for Bella in the shape of honeybees, and a Lego knight keychain for Nicholas to hang on his backpack.
Close to two, I walk to Java Works, where Dean is waiting for me at a table by the window. He gets to his feet as I approach, reaching out to enfold me in a warm embrace before pulling a chair out for me.
He returns to the counter to place our orders. While he’s gone, I watch the passers-by and listen to the hum of mostly college-aged conversation around me.
“So then he said…”
“Did you see last night’s episode?”
“I was, like, really?”
“He didn’t even hold the door open for me. Can you believe that?”
“She just gives us so much work. Does she think we have no other classes?”
I’m feeling so good about being part of the world that at first I don’t even notice the glances in my direction, which multiply when Dean sits back down.
I lean toward him and whisper, “We’re attracting attention.”
“As well we should,” he replies, running a hand over his shorn head. “Hot couple like us? I’m surprised we haven’t been recruited by a movie producer yet.”
I smile, enveloped in the warmth that comes from the two of us just being together. Us against the world. While we have our coffee, I ask Dean about the progress of the World Heritage Studies department and get caught up on everything that’s going on at King’s.
It’s astonishingly beautiful sitting there with my husband, the hum of the coffee-house rising around us, classical music filtering from hidden speakers. The mug holding my café mocha is thick and warm in my hands, the coffee hot and richly sweet. I love this moment, this time, this life.
And Dean—for the first time in a long time, he is relaxed too, his pride evident as he tells me about the different courses the World Heritage program will offer, the opportunities for students, the collaboration with other departments. Though he’s been working without fail throughout this whole ordeal, I’m grateful for the reminder that his goal of merging the King’s history department with the World Heritage Center is coming to fruition.
As I take another sip of coffee, the door opens, bringing a rush of cooler air. I glance idly toward it. Two women enter Java Works, a blonde and a redhead.
My heart jumps.
Allie.
I haven’t seen her in almost four months. We’ve exchanged emails, but aside from her asking me how I’m doing and me responding that I’m getting through it okay, we limit our messages to business-related issues.
She unwinds a scarf from her neck, still talking to her friend, whom I don’t recognize.
Dean follows my gaze to the two women. I sit uncertainly, not sure what to do. I have a rush of longing for the Wonderland Café. I miss everything about it—serving customers, working with the staff, decorating cakes, planning birthday parties. Allie.
They start to approach the counter when she turns and glances in our direction, as if she senses my gaze. I tighten my fingers on my cup, painfully aware of how I look—thinner, a scarf wrapped around my bald head, obviously sick. I feel Dean tense, his protective instincts sharpening.
Allie pales at the sight of us. She turns and says something to her friend, who glances in my direction and nods.
Then Allie is coming toward me, and my heart beats faster with anxiety and the desperate wish that cancer won’t destroy our friendship more than it already has.
Allie stops beside my table and gives Dean and me a strained smile. “Hi.”
“Hi, Allie.”
Dean nods a greeting. “Allie.”
“You look good, Liv,” she says, her gaze sweeping over me and lingering on my scarf. “Glad you’re out and about.”
“I’m still part of the world,” I reply. “How are you doing?”
“Fine, fine. Just thought I’d say hi.” She glances over her shoulder at her friend. “I should get back to Emily. I haven’t seen her in a while, and she’s on her lunch break, so we’re… um, we’re going to catch up.”
“Okay. Well, it was good seeing you.”
“You too, Liv. Take care.” She waves at Dean, gives my shoulder an awkward pat, then returns to Emily.
They hover in conversation for a second before turning and leaving Java Works. I watch through the window as they cross the street toward another coffee-house. All my pleasure in sitting there with Dean and my café mocha evaporates in a rush of cold.
I turn away from the window, catching his gaze on me, his expression set with irritation and a resurgence of anger. My heart sinks. I reach across the table to put my hand over his.
“It’s okay,” I assure him, trying to keep the pain from my voice. “She must have her reasons for—”
Before I can finish, he pushes his chair back and strides to the door. Alarm jolts through me as he goes after Allie and her friend.
He calls Allie’s name from across the street, his voice sharp. She stops, turning as Dean approaches—every line of his body edged with aggression and anger.
I get to my feet and fumble to put my coat back on. Dean spreads his arms out, and even from a distance I can see his features hardening as he scorches Allie with an admonishment.
Though I know the exact reason for his lashing out—he can’t stand the thought of anyone not giving me the same constancy of love and loyalty that, for him, is like breathing—I also know this seems like an unprovoked attack.
I run outside, the sudden rush of adrenaline spinning through my head as I cross to the other sidewalk. Dean’s voice hits my ears before I’m halfway to him.
“…and if you think you’re any kind of friend to her, much less a partner—”
“Dean.” I hurry to grab the sleeve of his coat. “It’s okay. Let it go.”
He glowers at me, yanking his arm from my grip. “It’s not fucking okay that one of your best friends is treating you like a goddamned leper.”
Allie is so pale her skin appears bloodless, her eyes huge pools of despair behind her purple-framed glasses. Behind her, Emily looks like she’s in shock. A few passers-by glance in our direction.
“Dean.” I manage to get my hand on his arm again. Dizziness washes through my head. “Let’s go.”
Allie’s gaze swerves to me. Her face crumples, tears filling her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Liv,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”
“She’s needed you,” Dean snaps.
“Dean, stop it.” My voice sounds oddly far away.
I tighten my grip on his arm the exact instant he steps forward. My boot slips on an icy patch on the sidewalk, and I feel myself tilt horribly off-balance.
I grab for Dean again, but he’s not there. My fist closes on air. My legs crumple underneath me. Dean’s voice resounds in my ears. I put out my hand to break the fall, my wrist twisting the instant before pain shoots up my arm.
CHAPTER THIRTY
DEAN
“DEAN, IT WAS AN ACCIDENT.”
Liv’s skin is yellowish in the overhead fluorescent lights of the hospital emergency room, her eyes downcast.
Sure. I pull my gaze from her and stare at the floor, gripping my hands together. The burn inside me is back—eating away at everything, leaving a path of hot, dusty ashes.
If I hadn’t asked her to meet me at Java Works.
If I hadn’t gone after Allie.
If I hadn’t let go of Liv.
“Dean.” Liv settles her good hand on my arm, her expression somber. “I don’t blame you, but I’m going to tell you that you’re starting to hurt us. You’ve been more like yourself these past few weeks, but you have to find a way to deal with your anger. I’m having a hard enough time getting through these treatments without worrying about you too.”
I know she’s
right. I just don’t know how the hell to change. The only times I feel okay, even good, are the days when Nicholas, Archer, and I work on the tree house. But even then, simmering underneath everything like a river of fire, is the horror of what Liv is still enduring. And the fear of what the scans will reveal once she’s finished with chemo.
The curtain flips open, and the emergency room doctor enters, followed by a nurse. They both glance from me to Liv. Tension grips my neck suddenly.
“Looks like a moderate sprain, but no fracture.” The doctor turns an X-ray on the computer screen toward us. “A compression bandage and ice will help.”
He takes an elastic bandage from a cart and unrolls it. “Mr. West, will you step out for a moment, please?”
“He doesn’t have to—” Liv begins, but the nurse is holding the curtain open for me.
I walk a short distance away, trying to breathe past the tightness in my chest. If they overheard what Liv said…
The questions they must be asking her stab through my mind.
Did your husband hurt you? Does he have trouble managing his anger? Do you feel safe with him?
Holy fucking Christ.
An eternity passes. When the nurse calls me back in, I can’t look at Liv. Not even the brush of her hand against mine eases my sense that if I don’t get my shit together soon, I’ll end up destroying some fundamental part of our relationship.
If I haven’t already.
“Ice it twice a day, keep it elevated,” the doctor says, wrapping an elastic bandage around Liv’s wrist. “Ibuprofen for the pain, but double check that with your oncologist. When is your next appointment with him?”
“This Friday.”
The doctor looks at Liv’s chart on the computer screen. “And your last chemo?”
“Five days ago,” Liv says. “I have a few rough days right after the infusion, but then I start to feel better.”
“And you’ve been feeling okay the past twenty-four hours?” the doctor asks.
Liv nods. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“You have a slight fever. Did the nurse mention that to you?”
Liv shakes her head, glancing at me. A knot tightens in my stomach.
“What’s my temperature?” she asks.
“100.4. What instructions did your oncologist give you regarding fevers?”
“He said to come in if I had a temperature of over 100.5 since that could be the sign of an infection,” Liv says. “But I feel fine. No chills or anything.”
“Muscle weakness?” the doctor asks.
“No… well, I mean, I guess my legs went weak when I lost my balance, but other than that…” Liv’s voice trails off.
The doctor turns away from the computer, his forehead furrowed. “I’ll give your oncologist a call.”
I let out my breath slowly. Infection. It’s a word I’ve dreaded since hearing that Liv had to have chemotherapy, my head filling with nightmares of a caustic virus coursing through her body, her blood, her bones.
After phone calls and consultations, Dr. Anderson admits Liv for overnight observation and comes to meet us at the hospital. I text Claire that I’ll be home later than expected.
Liv is put into isolation and started on antibiotics. A blood draw reveals her white blood cell counts are dangerously low. Dr. Anderson tells us she needs to stay hospitalized until she’s stable again.
“How long will that be?” Liv asks.
Her voice is steady, but her eyes simmer with frustration and distress. I put my hand on the scarf wrapped around her head.
“Hopefully not more than a few days,” Dr. Anderson replies. “We’ll get the test results back soon and see if we need to start you on a different course of antibiotics. I want your white cell count to be in normal range before I release you.”
Liv touches my arm. She’s struggling not to cry. I almost go down to my knees in… what? Prayer? Pain? Begging?
“Tell the kids I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodnight to them,” she says. “If they’re not sleeping, have them call me when you get home, okay?”
I nod, unable to speak past the constriction in my throat. “I will. I love you.”
But like everything else I’m doing now, the words are not enough.
After hours at the hospital, I return to the Butterfly House late at night. There’s a package on the doorstep. I bring it inside, drop my keys on the kitchen counter, and tug at the knot of my tie.
I open the package to reveal a little round box embroidered with a butterfly design. I’ll bring it to Liv tomorrow. Another butterfly gift will lift her spirits.
My eyes burn. Footsteps sound on the stairs. I turn as Claire comes into the kitchen, looking concerned.
“Hi,” she whispers. “Kids are asleep. How’s Liv?”
“Her fever isn’t bad, but they’re worried about her blood count.” I drag my hands over my face. “Everything okay here?”
“Fine. I let the kids watch a movie so they would be a bit distracted. Do you want anything to eat?”
“No.”
“How long do they have to keep Liv in the hospital?”
“They don’t know yet.”
“I can stay the night,” Claire offers. “If you want to get to the hospital early tomorrow, I mean. I have extra clothes in my gym bag, and I can get the kids ready and off to school in the morning.”
Though I know she means well, I don’t want her staying overnight or getting the kids to school. Liv is the one who should be doing that.
But she’s not here.
“Uh… okay.” I have no idea if my greater responsibility is to get my children ready for school or to be at the hospital with my wife. “Do you need…”
“I’ll sleep in the guest room,” Claire says. “Don’t worry about me. You should probably get some sleep yourself.”
“Yeah.” I thank her and trudge up the stairs, stopping in Bella’s room to kiss her goodnight, and then in Nicholas’s room.
He’s sound asleep, but he stirs when I lie down on the bed beside him. I pull him against me, absorbing the weight of him, the sound of his breath. A cracked, jagged ache pushes at my chest. I fight it down, refusing to let it anywhere near my son.
I don’t think I can sleep, but I’m lulled into a shallow doze that breaks only when dawn light seeps through the windows. I detach myself from Nicholas and check my phone for messages about Liv—nothing—before going to shower and change.
Downstairs, I make coffee, text Frances to tell her I might not make it to campus later, and start making breakfast for the kids.
“Morning.”
Startled, I turn. Claire is standing in the doorway. It takes me a second to remember she stayed the night.
“Sorry.” She grimaces at my reaction. “This must be so awful for you.”
My automatic response is that it’s not as awful for me as it is for Liv—but it’s a useless comparison. I’m not the one who’s sick.
Instead I shrug and gesture to the coffeepot. “Coffee?”
“Sure.”
I pour her a cup and leave it on the counter while I go back upstairs to wake the kids. I call the hospital, and the nurse tells me Liv is asleep and “stable,” whatever that really means.
I want to hear that she’s fine. I want that more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
“Claire is going to take you to school,” I tell the kids as they sit at the table eating cereal. “I’m going to see Mom in the hospital.”
“I want to go,” Nicholas says, frowning down at his Cheerios.
“Me too,” Bella chimes in.
“I’ll pick you up after school and take you to see her,” I say, though I’m not at all sure the nurses will let them into her room. “Or she might even be home by then.”
“I want to see her now.” Nicholas drops his
spoon with a clatter, his chin setting with stubbornness.
“You can’t see her now, but—”
“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy,” Bella chants, pumping her fists in the air.
Faint desperation rises in my chest. “Come on, both of you finish your breakfast and get dressed. I need your help.”
“No!” Nicholas pushes his cereal bowl off the table. The plastic bounces off the tile floor, spilling milk and a few Cheerios.
“Uh oh,” Bella remarks, leaning over to examine the mess.
“Nicholas.” My voice sharpens along with my irritation. “Enough. Upstairs now.”
Though he usually obeys when I use that tone, this time he shakes his head mutinously.
“Maybe we could call your mom and you can talk to her,” Claire suggests as she grabs a roll of paper towels and cleans up the mess. “But you don’t want to have to tell her you’re not dressed and ready for school.”
“Daddy.” Bella turns to me, lifting her arms.
I pick her up. “Come on, Nicholas. Remember when we talked about all of us having jobs to do? One of your jobs is to go to school and do your best work.”
Claire rises to throw away the wet paper towels. She takes Nicholas’s hand and guides him off the chair.
“Get dressed quickly and we’ll call your mom,” she says. “I’ll bet she can’t wait to talk to you, but she needs to hear your happy voice. That will make her feel much better, and then maybe she’ll be able to come home sooner.”
Nicholas doesn’t look convinced, but he follows her upstairs. The heavy stomp of his feet is the only evidence of his resistance. After both kids are dressed, I call Liv’s cell phone, which goes to voicemail, and then I dial the hospital. The nurse tells me Liv is still sleeping and they’ll have her call me when she wakes.
This news almost sets Nicholas off again, but Claire hustles him and Bella to the car, saying something about having pizza for dinner.
