CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
OLIVIA
April 17
AS THE DAYS GET LONGER AND warmer, I sense a subtle change in Dean that is, for once, unrelated to my illness. There’s less tension in his shoulders, and he’s not fighting anger all the time. Maybe it’s because he’s getting outside more, or is close to finishing his book on medieval castle architecture, or he sees the light at the end of the tunnel. If the weather is good, he and Nicholas spend afternoons and weekends in the garden, or they go up to the tower to “work on something.”
Whatever the “something,” is, it’s doing both father and son a great deal of good.
DEAN: Meet me for coffee?
The text message pings on my phone as I sit at the kitchen table, drawing the outline of a vine curling over a terrace. My artist’s notebook is filled with “things that make me happy,” like flowers and hedgehogs.
In the bad days following a chemo infusion, I think not even hedgehogs can cheer me up, but then Bella sees the drawings and shrieks over how cute they are and could I please draw a hedgehog family, and before I know it, I’m reaching for my pencils again.
I pick up my phone, pleased and surprised at my husband’s invitation. Although Dean and I spend a lot of time together, it’s most often in the context of our daily routines or because of chemo. We haven’t just had coffee together in ages.
LIV: I would love to. Java Works at 2:00?
DEAN: I’ll be waiting for you.
Of course he will.
With a smile, I put the phone down and go upstairs to pick out something nice to wear. I dress in black wool tights, a plaid skirt, and black sweater. I fasten a black-and-red scarf onto my head and study my reflection. Beneath my clothes, and bolstered by good bras, my breasts look the same as they always have. But they feel different, even the right one, and I still haven’t gained back much sensation after the surgery.
I leave the house early enough to give myself time to take a walk on Avalon Street, enjoying the cool, April air and the sense of spring’s arrival. A few patches of ice still line the sidewalks, but green shoots are starting to come up in the flower boxes, and the window displays are filled with decorative birds, butterflies, and garden scenes.
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.