Always (Spiral of Bliss #5)

by Nina Lane

  Sheryl brings me a cup of tea, and I sit at the counter, feeling like I’m in the middle of a celebration as word spreads of my arrival and the staff comes by to greet me with hugs and warm wishes. Everyone is happy to hear I’m finished with chemo, and they all ask when I plan to come back to work.

  I hedge my answer with a “Hopefully soon” comment, but I need to talk to one person before I do anything else.

  “Is Allie here yet?” I ask Sheryl, after the wait and kitchen staffs have returned to their duties.

  “Yeah, she’s in the office.” Sheryl turns to pour a fresh pot of coffee into a silver carafe. “She and Brent have been great, though I’m sure she’s missed having you around too.”

  Though I’m not so sure about that, I climb off the stool and head through the kitchen to the office. The door is half-open, and I knock before pushing it open farther.

  Allie is working at the desk, her head bent and her long red ponytail falling over her shoulder. She glances up. Her eyes widen.

  “Liv.”

  “Hi, Allie. Can I come in?”

  “Um, sure.” She stands, running her hands over the front of her purple apron. “I mean, of course. Come in.”

  She waves for me to sit down. I close the door and lower myself onto the sofa.

  “I didn’t know you were planning to stop by today,” she admits, her gaze touching briefly on the blue scarf wrapped around my head before she glances away.

  “I didn’t either.” I twine my fingers together, my earlier anxiety returning full-force. “I… I saw the posters out in front. Operation Butterfly?”

  “You found out.” Allie gives me a tentative smile. “I hadn’t yet figured out the big reveal, but I was thinking maybe we’d hang a bunch of paper butterflies from the ceiling and have a surprise party when you were done with the treatments.”

  “You did all of that?” I ask. “Operation Butterfly was your idea?”

  Allie nods, though a flash of shame passes across her face. “I wanted to do something for you, and I knew a lot of people had plans to bring you meals and were offering to help with the kids and stuff. But so many of our customers and other business owners were asking me what they could do to help, so I thought I’d recruit everyone to send you some happiness.”

  A knot of emotion tightens in my throat. “So the butterfly gifts are…”

  “From everyone.” Allie sits in the chair opposite me. “I had people sign up for delivery on certain days, so that you’d get the butterflies throughout the week. The only rule was that the gifts had to be anonymous to make the mystery of it fun for you and the kids. But I have been keeping track of who gave what, since I knew you’d want to send out thank-you cards once it was all over.”

  I manage to smile through a sudden blur of tears. “Allie, I don’t know what to say. The butterfly gifts have been incredible. They’ve been such a bright spot in our week… Nicholas and Bella couldn’t wait to get home from school to see if one had been delivered. They’re all over the house now. It’s like being surrounded by love.”

  “Good.” Allie looks pleased. “If it made things a little easier for you, then that’s the only thing that matters.”

  “But it’s not the only thing that matters to me,” I tell her. “I love the gifts. I love what you’ve done, what everyone has done for us. But I also love you. And while I’ve missed so much about working at the café, I’ve missed you most of all.”

  Intense sorrow fills Allie’s blue eyes. She pushes to her feet and turns away from me. When she speaks, her voice is choked with emotion.

  “I’m sorry, Liv.”

  “When I was first diagnosed, Brent told me you were having a tough time with it, but—”

  “It’s not just that.” Allie turns to take a tissue from the box on the desk and wipes her eyes. “I mean, yes, I was in shock too. I couldn’t believe it when you told me. I still can’t, and yet, here you are, having gone through surgery and chemo and… oh, goddammit, Liv, why did it have to be you?”

  An uncontrolled sob bursts from her, and then suddenly she’s crying so hard that tears stream in rivers down her face. She takes off her glasses and buries her face in her hands, huge sobs wrenching her with such force she can hardly catch her breath.

  I bolt off the sofa and wrap my arms around her. Her body is shaking, her sobs ripping through her and into me. I manage to get us both onto the sofa, still holding her as tightly as I can as she presses her face into my shoulder and cries and cries.

  We sit for so long that I don’t even realize my own face is streaked with tears until we finally separate. I wipe my eyes on my sleeve and go to get the box of tissues from the desk. We mop up and catch our breath until we’re both able to speak again.

  “I didn’t want to tell you this,” Allie says with a hiccup. “I couldn’t. I don’t talk about it much anyway, but especially… my mother died of breast cancer.”

  My blood goes cold. While I’ve known Allie’s mother died when she was young, I’ve never known how she died.

  “Allie, I’m sorry.”

  “I was fourteen.” Allie stares at her hands, ripping the damp tissue into little pieces. “She’d been diagnosed six years before.”

  “Six years?”

  “First in her right breast, then they found a tumor in her left. She had a mastectomy, but a year later it spread to her spine. I can’t even remember how many times she went through chemo. Five maybe? Six? And surgery, drugs, radiation… but the cancer spread to her brain. Finally there was nothing anyone could do and… oh my God, this is exactly the problem, Liv. How can I be telling you this? It’s the last thing you need to hear.”

  She presses her hand to her mouth. A heavy silence falls between us. I know—I have known, since the beginning, since Dean found the lump—the cancer inside me could spread even more.

  It could also go away.

  “You… you can tell me anything, Allie. Anything.”

  “But not this.” She wipes at a stray tear. “I hated it when my mother was sick and people would tell us all these horror stories about other people who had died of cancer. I just wanted them to tell us something good, you know?

  “And my mom… sometimes I can hardly remember her before the cancer. I mean, I remember the days when she was well, the times when she even felt good enough to take a trip with me and my dad, but then the doctors kept finding the fucking tumors and another course of treatment would begin.

  “And I was so damned selfish because I was a teenager and I needed her to be well, to be able to do all the things the other girls’ mothers did, but she couldn’t. The chemo made her so sick she couldn’t get out of bed, and she lost her hair so many times…”

  Allie shakes her head and rests her hands against her eyes.

  “I couldn’t stand the thought of that happening to you,” she says. “I couldn’t… couldn’t watch it happen. Not again.”

  I press my forehead against her temple. “It’s not happening to me, Allie.”

  “I know. I know all the rational stuff. But I couldn’t tell you. And I was so scared that if you came to work, especially during chemo, I’d either lose it completely or make things worse for you.

  “I couldn’t come to visit you for the same reason. I was afraid I’d just sit there sobbing uncontrollably and make you feel horrible or scare you more than you already were. And I didn’t want Brent or anyone else telling you because I knew I had to be the one to explain. So the only thing I could think of was just to try and stay away from you until you got better, and then pray you’d still want to be friends when it was all over.”

  “Oh, Allie. I’d never not want to be friends. But I wish you’d told me so I wouldn’t have been so confused.”

  “Telling you about my mother’s metastatic cancer right before you were about to start treatment…” Allie shakes her head again. “I can still
barely talk about it when everything is normal. There was no way I could have told you when your world had just shattered. And I know how rough chemo is. You didn’t need to hear about my mother’s fight when you were in the middle of your own. Unfortunately, it was the only explanation I had.”

  She reaches for my hand. We wind our fingers together and sit quietly, the only sound that of our breathing and the occasional hiccup.

  “But I really wanted to do something for you,” Allie says, squeezing my hand. “And so did so many other people, but a lot of them didn’t know what to do or how to do it. So I came up with Operation Butterfly.”

  She gives me a shaky smile. “I tell you, Liv, within a day of putting the poster up, enough people signed up to fill the first three weeks. I started off with three times a week deliveries, but so many people wanted to participate that we had to make it four times a week, with a few weekends thrown in too.”

  “I can’t even measure how much the butterflies did for all of us,” I tell her. “Nicholas, Bella, Dean… me. Those gifts have been the brightest spot in a pretty dark time.”

  Allie’s eyes are still red from crying, but her expression is more at ease now, more like her usual self.

  “So you’re… you’re finished with treatment now?” she asks.

  “I’m finished with chemo. I still have six weeks of radiation, but I’m expecting to breeze right through it… or sleep through it, given what I’ve read about fatigue.” I decide to spare her the details of chemo and gesture to my scarf. “Can’t wait to have my hair back too.”

  She smiles again. “So I have to see how you look bald.”

  I sigh dramatically. “Go ahead.”

  Allie takes my scarf off and studies me, then reaches up to rub her hand over my scalp. “Wow, it’s smooth. And you have a really well-shaped head.”

  I laugh. “That’s what I said to Dean.”

  “Is he keeping his head shaved?”

  “No, I told him to let his hair start growing back. I have to say, I miss his hair almost as much as I miss mine.” I run my hand over my head. “Almost.”

  “Well, you look great. I’m really happy you’re almost done.”

  “Me too.”

  “When can you come back to work?” Allie asks.

  My heart gives a happy little leap. Back to work.

  Back to the staff—my second family. Back to young mothers with their chubby babies and rambunctious toddlers, to birthday parties and balloons. Back to raspberry tea, rainbow cake pops, and Home, Heart, and Courage cookies. Back to Allie.

  “You’re ready for me to come back?” I ask.

  “I never wanted you to leave,” Allie says. “But this whole town is ready for you to come back.”

  We reach for each other at the same time. It’s our tightest hug ever.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  OLIVIA

  June 8

  LITTLE WHITE LIGHTS AND COLORFUL PAPER lanterns hang from the trees in the back garden of the Butterfly House, illuminating the dawning twilight. The sliding glass door is open, the kitchen table laden with kid-friendly foods like pizza and mac and cheese. The sound of laughter drifts in the early evening air, as Archer and Dean engage a dozen children in a game of Red Rover.

  I watch them through the picture window, absently rubbing the side of my breast. For the rest of June and into July, I need to have radiation treatments every day but compared to chemo, this treatment is almost easy.

  Aside from fatigue, the permanent blue dot tattoos, and a sunburn-like redness on my breast that I treat with various lotions, I don’t experience any difficult side effects. I wear Dean’s T-shirts often, partly because they’re the most comfortable on my burned skin, but also because I like feeling him so close to me all the time.

  My hair has finally started to grow back, a soft peachy fuzz that comes in lighter than my original hair. I’m back working part-time at the Wonderland Café, easing into helping the wait staff, working in the kitchen, planning birthday parties, and decorating cakes.

  By midsummer, I’ll be finished with treatment. I envision the July days we had last year. Swimming in the lake, hot sun blazing across the water, sticky ice cream cones, evening picnics at Wizard’s Park, rollerblading, trips to the zoo and amusement parks, and a two-week adventure in Italy.

  I suspect we won’t make any overseas trips this summer, but the possibilities stretch in front of us like uncharted territory. I never imagined a day would come when I’d look forward to Nicholas’s groans of “Mom, I’m bored” on a sweltering August afternoon.

  A wet nose nudges at my leg. I look down at the dog Patch, who has had free and happy reign over the Butterfly House during the “end of the school year” party Dean and Archer organized.

  “Sorry.” Kelsey sits next to me on the sofa, tugging Patch away from me by the collar.

  “No, it’s fine. I like dogs.” I reach out to scratch Patch behind the ears. “I guess he won you over, huh?”

  “Well, he’s an okay dog,” Kelsey admits gruffly. “I’ve gotten used to having him around, but I wouldn’t say he won me over.”

  Patch rests his head on her thigh and gazes at her adoringly. I smile, thinking that the “winning over” is right around the corner if Patch is now worshipping Kelsey. She does take well to being worshipped.

  The screen door opens and Archer stomps into the house, trailed like the Pied Piper by a crowd of children.

  “We’re hungry,” he announces. “Is the food ready?”

  “Help yourself,” Kelsey replies, gesturing to the table.

  The kids—and Archer—descend on the food like a flock of hungry birds, piling their plates before returning to the garden to eat. After everyone is full, Archer picks up a toy trumpet and blows a “dah dah dah dah” fanfare.

  “Hear ye, hear ye!” he calls. “Now we begin the procession to the pirate headquarters. Ladies and germs, please fall into order as we make our way through the treacherous woods. Onward, led by Captain West.”

  Nicholas salutes him and takes up the lead position. Giggling and laughing, the kids all line up behind him and Archer for the march into the woods. Dean takes up the rear, waving for Kelsey and me to come along.

  We go outside to join them for the walk into the woods, following a pathway lit with dozens of battery-powered lanterns that provide a soft, lovely light.

  Kelsey gives me a puzzled look, but all I can do is shrug. Dean had told me he and Archer were planning this party “for fun,” so I’ve left all the details up to them.

  “Maybe we’re playing hide and seek?” I suggest.

  A sudden silence falls over the woods as the group in front of us disappears into an illuminated clearing. Kelsey and I come up behind the children, who have stopped in apparent surprise over something.

  Kelsey gasps. Then I see it.

  A flood of awe and shock hits me first, before pure, undiluted happiness begins to buoy my heart. Twelve feet above us, embellished by tiny white lights draped over the frame, balcony, and nearby branches, is a big, beautiful, and utterly perfect tree house.

  “Welcome, me hearties,” Nicholas shouts, brandishing his pirate sword.

  “A house in the tree!” Bella claps her hands with excitement. “Is it ours? Do we keep it?”

  A flurry of exclamations rises from the other kids, and they all rush forward to climb the rope ladder descending from the balcony. Dean steps in front of them, reestablishing order and giving them a lecture about safety before they climb up.

  Kelsey and I just stare at the tree house that looks like something out of a fairy tale with its gabled roof and rounded balcony that mirrors the curves of the tree.

  Windows perforate the house on all sides, and the roof extends over the balcony that has a trapdoor for the rope ladder and another entrance for a bridge that spans across the clearing to a sep
arate, round deck perched on posts. A star-shaped window faces the balcony. The front door has been re-created to resemble an old piece of crate siding with the words Mr. Moo’s Chocolate Milk stenciled on the front.

  And a carved wooden sign above the front door reads The Castle Two.

  “I can’t believe it,” Kelsey says.

  I can, I think.

  I look across the clearing at Dean, who is holding the rope ladder steady while Archer helps the kids clamber up the rungs one by one.

  In that moment, I realize what I’ve missed—or at least, what this fight for my health has blocked from my sight. After the diagnosis, I’d thought, knowing Dean as I do and knowing how he has dealt with difficulties in the past, that his scholarly work would be the place where he found solace.

  But when I’d realized intensive medical research had stifled even his dedication to medieval history, I hadn’t known how to figure out what else he needed. I only knew he needed something different. Something more.

  And Archer—the brother who’d fought battles of his own, who had estranged himself from his family for so long—had known exactly what more Dean needed.

  Gratitude wells up inside me, the red-gold colors of a sunrise. Shrieks of delight fill the air as the kids clamber around the tree house and cross the bridge to the deck. They spend the rest of the evening engaged in sword fights, sea battles, storm navigation, searches for buried treasure, and plots to steal gold and jewels.

  “It’s incredible,” I tell Dean and Archer as we stand together watching the flurry of joy. “How long did it take you to build?”

  Archer and Dean exchange glances.

  “About thirty years,” Dean says.

  Archer smiles.

  “Uncle Archer, walk the plank!” Bella calls, waving at the rope bridge.

  Archer goes to meet his fate. By the time we traipse back to the house, the other parents are starting to arrive to collect their grubby, well-fed, happy, tired children.

  Dean and I don’t even bother trying to get Bella and Nicholas into the bathtub, letting them do a cursory brushing of their teeth and quick pajama change before they fall into bed.