CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
DEAN
April 26
I TAKE A FEW BOOKS FROM the desk in my tower office and put them on the shelf by the wall. For months, my desk has been covered with cancer-related books that have buried my papers about the Knights Templar and concepts of chivalry.
I pick up a paperback that had gotten pushed behind my computer. Pride and Prejudice. I flip through the pages, past the place where I’d abandoned reading after Liv’s diagnosis.
“I believe I thought only of you.”
I set the book aside, not too interested anymore in finishing a novel about the marital issues of the nineteenth-century British gentry, even if it is one of Liv’s favorite books.
I clean off my desk and review a report about an archeological dig in Russia. I hear Liv’s car come up the drive as I’m typing an email.
Because I have no classes on Wednesdays, I like working from home so I can be around if Liv needs something. It’s also heartening when she has the energy to take the kids to school and run errands.
A soft knock sounds at my office door, and Liv pushes it open. I look up from the computer.
“Hi,” I say. “Everything okay?”
Liv nods and comes into the tower, closing the door behind her and setting a notebook on a table. She’s wearing a green sweater with little pearl buttons up the front, and a gray wool skirt and tights, with a matching forest-green scarf around her head.
Everything in me loves everything in her. Every day, she dresses with care and attention, putting on jewelry and makeup, refusing to let cancer take away her femininity.
“Very pretty,” I say, gesturing to her outfit.
“Thanks.” She smoothes her skirt down. Her hands are trembling slightly.
Wariness flares inside me. I glance at the notebook, remembering that she’d brought it home from the hospital.
“Am I interrupting you?” Liv asks.
“No.” I push away from my desk and turn to face her. “What’s going on?”
She hesitates, her teeth coming down on her full lower lip. I want to wrap her up, fold myself around her, take her to an island, a fairy forest, a secret garden. Away from doctors, hospitals, surgery, drugs.
She comes closer, reaching out to pick up a loop of string from my desk. She twists it around her fingers, something bittersweet appearing in her eyes.
“I never did learn how to make string figures,” she remarks, making a cat’s cradle before unlooping the string.
“I can still teach you.”
“One day.” Liv drops the string back on my desk and glances at me. “Dean, I need to talk to you about something.”
My heart starts beating too fast. “Okay.”
“I read about this in a lot of the breast-cancer books.” She paces a few feet away, her features shadowed. “And when I was in the hospital, I couldn’t help thinking about our estate planning, the next-of-kin paperwork… I’ve actually been thinking about it for a while now and… well, we have to discuss this.”
Liv pulls a chair closer and sits down in front of me, reaching out to put her hand on my knee. “I want you to try not to get upset.”
Oh, no. Fear claws at my chest. I grip the arms of my desk chair and nod.
“Okay.”
Liv takes a breath, seeming to steel herself as her hand tightens on my knee.
“Dean,” she says. “I know everyone feels positive and hopeful about my treatment, and I do too. So this isn’t meant to be morbid or anything, but since we know the cancer has spread and that it’s an aggressive type… and we won’t know until the scans if it’s taken root somewhere else in my body… I think it’s important for us to talk about what could happen if things take a turn for the worse.”
Terror floods me like black oil, thick and impenetrable. I look past Liv’s shoulder at the opposite wall and shake my head.
“No.”
“Dean.”
“No.” The word snaps out of me, and I reflexively shove her hand away. “No fucking way.”
“Dean, please.” Her voice trembles. “It’s been impossible for me not to think about this. It’s the first thing I thought of when I heard the word malignant, and then the surgery and being in the hospital for the infection… I’ve spent the past week writing everything down and working up the courage to talk to you. It’s not easy, but we need to talk. Please don’t shut me out.”
Holy fucking shit.
I rest my elbows on my knees and grip the sides of my head, inhaling a few deep breaths, trying not to think about what she’s telling me. Black spots swim in front of my eyes.
The chair scrapes against the floor as Liv moves closer to me. Her warm hand slides around to the back of my neck, her knees touch mine, and then she presses her forehead against the top of my head.
“I need you to know this,” she says. “It’s more than just making sure our wills are up to date and that we have all our health care plans in place. The fact is that we don’t know what’s going to happen. We don’t know yet if the cancer is in my lungs or my bones. And even if I didn’t have cancer, this is something you have to know.”
“Liv—” Her name breaks in my throat.
“Dean.” She takes a breath, tightening her hand on the back of my neck. “If something happens to me, whenever it happens, my half of the café goes to Allie. I don’t want a funeral, but maybe there could be a little memorial at the café. No flowers, but donations to the Historical Society in Nicholas and Bella’s names. Kelsey already knows she’s in line to help Bella with girl-related stuff, and if the chemo doesn’t work or we find out the cancer has spread even more, I have ideas to make photo books and journals for the kids.”
I can’t speak. I can’t even move. If I do, I’ll shatter.
“And for you,” Liv whispers, tightening her grip on me, “I want you to be happy again. Please. That’s what I desperately want for you. Happiness.”
I shut my eyes. I try to pull air into my tight lungs.
“Dean, I’m planning to live a long, full life and to see our children grow up,” Liv continues. “We’re going to travel again and grow old together and play with our grandchildren. We still have so much we’re going to do. But life is life, and I need you to know everything.”
Somehow, I manage to nod. It’s all I can do. I can’t lift my head, can’t look at my wife.
“It’s you and me, professor.”
Liv puts her hands under my jaw and lifts my face. I look into the warm, golden brown of her eyes.
“We have so much light, Dean,” she says, leaning her forehead against mine. “So much great fortune. You’ve always had all of me. You always will. But this is part of me, too.”
And this is the part that could take her away from me.
I force myself to straighten, taking her hands in mine and squeezing them tightly. She’s watching me, her eyes serious and gentle, her lovely face framed by her green scarf and little silver earrings. My wife. My forest fairy. My beauty.
“Okay.” The word lodges in my throat.
“Okay.” Liv squeezes my hands in return and pushes her chair back. “I’m going to make a quick trip to the grocery store. I thought we’d have spaghetti and meatballs tonight, and maybe we can all go to the Chocolate Tree afterward for dessert.”
I nod and get to my feet. I want to grab her, pull her against me and hold her tight, but I’m scared I won’t be able to let her go. Instead I brush my lips across her cheek, breathing in her scent of peaches and vanilla.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you, Dean. I’ll be back soon.” She slides her hand down my cheek and turns to the door. “Call me if you need me.”
I always need you.
I need her forever.
I listen to the sound of her footsteps on the stairs, then stare at the notebook she’d left on a table. I can’t pick it up. Can’t see her words in writing.
I go to the window and watch my wife walk out to the front porch, her bag slung over her shoulder. A breeze ripples her scarf as she opens the car door and gets into the driver’s seat.
After a minute, she reverses and turns the car around. I watch her disappear down the drive, the car engine echoing in the distance. Then there’s silence.
I miss her. I’ve missed her. My healthy, vibrant, full-of-life Liv.
I stand at the window for a second or for hours. I don’t know. This time, the rage builds slowly, insidious, a hot flow encroaching on my mind, my consciousness, my heart.
I take a few breaths, my fists clenching. I try to smother the poisonous, helpless anger, but Liv’s words have shattered me beyond repair, and I have no strength left.
Before I can stop it, something explodes in my chest. A howl of raw pain and rage fills my ears. Then another. Another. The sound is coming from me.
Fury scorches my blood. Blindly, I turn and grab a table piled with papers. In one movement, I send it crashing against the opposite wall. The wood cracks and splinters.
Another animal-like roar bursts from my throat. My muscles stiffen. I seize the edges of a bookshelf and overturn it, suddenly wanting to destroy everything. I pick up a lamp and crash it against the door, broken ceramic raining to the floor.
I sweep my arm across my desk, sending useless papers and books flying, and smash my fist against the stupid framed pictures of illuminated manuscript pages and historical paintings. When they’re all broken, I hit the walls until my knuckles bleed, unable to stop the rage detonating from the center of my soul.
When I slam my fist into the window, the glass shatters. Pain shoots through my arm, penetrating my black fury. Blood swells on my hands. Sweat drips down my temples. I sink back against the wall and slide to the floor. Through the darkness, a pure, crystalline image of Liv rises.
My face is wet. I swipe a hand across my eyes. My vision blurs again. Tears spill over, hot and fast. I start to shake, grief boiling through me as uncontrollable sobs and terror rip me into a thousand pieces.