CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Dean
November 28
SNOW FALLS OUTSIDE MY OFFICE WINDOW. The history and art history departments are housed in a classical old building, and I’m fortunate to have an office that overlooks the lake. The light snow gathers onshore and caps the mountains.
I finish filing some papers and collect a few books to return to the library. I have a lecture in an hour, then a meeting about the conference we’re hosting. So far we have an impressive roster of attendees, including several scholars from Germany, Italy, and Spain. And possibly my ex-wife.
I don’t want to see Helen again, not even at a conference, but it’s been… what? Almost fifteen years? We made some bad mistakes, had some rough times. At least we ended it before we managed to bring any kids into the world and risk screwing them up through our own horrible marriage.
I stop that thought before it goes any farther. I don’t want to think about it, to relive any part of it. Don’t want the guilt to stain my current life more than it already has.
I get through the lecture and meeting, then grab a duffle bag from my office and head to the campus gym. After changing clothes, I run the indoor track, forcing the thoughts to disappear into the pounding of my heart.
Still it’s not enough and I lift weights until my muscles burn, then work the rowing machine as the light outside the windows fades.
“Good Lord. Take a break, why don’t you?” Kelsey strides into the gym, a duffle over her shoulder and her coat dusted with snow. “How long have you been here?”
I stop rowing and grab a towel to wipe the sweat off. My blood hammers, my muscles ache. “Don’t know. What time is it?”
“Almost six. I stopped by your office to see if you wanted to play racquetball, but you were already gone.”
“Yeah. I should get home. Liv’s probably trying to cook lasagna or something.” I swipe down the machine and loop the towel around the back of my neck.
I don’t like the way Kelsey is looking at me. Too sharp, too penetrating.
“Racquetball tomorrow, okay?” I say. At least if we’re playing racquetball, she can’t interrogate me. “I’ll meet you here.”
“Sure.”
To my irritation, she falls into step beside me as I head to the locker room.
“You and Liv want to catch a movie or something this weekend?” she asks.
“I don’t know what she has planned, but I’ll check.”
“There’s also the holiday art fair,” Kelsey suggests, “if you can stand Christmas wreaths and wooden Santas and enough goodwill to make you want to throw up.”
That makes me grin. “Sounds great.”
“Okay, then.” She stops before the door of the women’s locker room. “Racquetball tomorrow at four?”
“Be ready to get creamed.”
“You know I don’t mind being creamed by you, Dean.” With a wink, she heads into the locker room and lets the door swing shut behind her.
I head toward the men’s locker room. At least my relationship with Kelsey is the same. If I’d ever tell anyone what Liv and I went through, what we’re still going through, it would be Kelsey. The fact that I won’t underscores just how shitty it all is.
I shower and dress, then drive home. By now, I’ve come to expect the smells of cooking drifting from the kitchen, but there’s nothing except the scents of pine and holly.
Liv’s curled on the sofa watching the news. She turns to watch me enter.
I drop my duffle and briefcase on the table. “Hey. How was your day?”
“Okay.”
Her eyes are all puffy. She’s been crying.
Shit.
I sit beside her and pull her against me, brushing my mouth across her temple.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
She lets out a shaky sigh. “Me too. How are we going to fix this?”
The only thing I can think of is that I need to get the hell over it, but I don’t know how. All I know is that I drove her toward another man and… anger floods my throat.
“Will you come with me to counseling again?” Liv asks.
I want to say yes. I should say yes.
But I can’t stand the idea of a counselor gnawing at my problems. Expecting me to talk about more than I want to. Making Liv go through it all again. Telling me this is all my fucking fault.
“Maybe,” I finally say.
I pick up Liv’s hand and rub my fingers across the scar on her palm. Guilt punches me in the stomach. If I hadn’t stalked into her cooking class like a barbarian out for revenge, she wouldn’t have lost her concentration, wouldn’t have sliced her hand open with a knife.
Thank God there was no permanent damage, but she’ll always have the scar.
I need to stop punishing her. As much as I hate the thought of her kissing another man, this whole mess has been my fault.
I want to protect Liv from everything, but I can’t protect her from the truth. No matter how ugly it is. I know that now. I just need to remember it.
I run a hand down Liv’s back. “Hey, Kelsey wants to catch a movie or something this weekend. She also mentioned the holiday art fair.”
“The art fair’s this weekend?” Liv’s eyes light up. “I love the art fair. I’ve been wanting a new wreath for the front door. Oh, maybe we can meet Kelsey for breakfast first. The tearoom down on Poppy Street has a Saturday special with free cinnamon lattes. I’ll send Kels an email to set it up.”
She scrambles off the sofa and heads for her laptop. Her excitement eases some of my apprehension. For now.
Matilda’s Teapot is a nightmare of chintz tablecloths, china cups, frilly curtains and at least five tables filled with pink-cheeked grandmas. A plump woman in a floral dress and lace apron—quite possibly Matilda herself—guides us to a table.
As we sit down on the curved Victorian-style chairs, Kelsey shoots me a look. I shrug in defense and tilt my head toward Liv to indicate this was her idea.
“I heard they’re closing this place soon because the owner is retiring and there’s no one to take over,” Liv says. “It’s a shame because it’s such an institution.”
Kelsey rolls her eyes and opens the pink menu. “Do they have steak and eggs here?”
“Try the crepes,” Liv suggests. “With homemade berry preserves. They’re delicious.”
“I need something more substantial if I’m going to wade through piles of cheesy reindeer ornaments,” Kelsey says.
Liv looks a little crestfallen. “I thought you wanted to go to the art fair. Dean said you were the one who suggested it.”
Kelsey has the grace to appear contrite. “I know, I know. You’re right, it’ll be fun. They always have someone selling great fudge.”
The waitress brings our free lattes—both Kelsey and I also ask for black coffee—and we place our orders. Crepes for Liv, eggs and toast for me, quiche for Kelsey. Liv orders a side of scones and cream and a selection of tea.
I look at her. She’s leaning across the table, telling Kelsey about the holiday exhibition at the Historical Museum. The sight of her hits me in the chest. So pretty with her long hair and bright eyes. And so pure and damaged at the same time, like a priceless vase threaded with cracks.
No wonder I couldn’t stay away from her. No wonder I wanted to be her hero. No wonder another guy—
“Dean?” Liv nudges me with her elbow. She and Kelsey are looking at me expectantly.
“Sorry.” I swallow some coffee, fighting the anger. “What?”
“Kelsey has tickets to Handel’s Messiah next weekend,” Liv says. “Do you want to go?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Kelsey frowns. “Why are you so spacey these days? Liv, did he tell you I beat him at racquetball twice this week? Mr. Competitive hardly tried to get off an offensive shot.”
Liv shoots me a glance. “He has a lot on his mind with the conference next year and his book.”
Kelsey’s frown deepens as she looks from Liv to me. I smother a rush of shame and turn to my food. Liv and Kelsey chatter on all through breakfast before I pay the bill and we head to the art fair.
Every year it’s held in a huge room at the convention center, with tables of arts and crafts for sale. The place smells like pine and cinnamon. Christmas music wafts from overhead speakers. We leave our coats in the coatroom and wait in a short line to buy tickets.
“I want to look at the wreaths first.” Liv grabs a basket at the entrance and heads into the crowd.
Kelsey and I follow. She tucks her arm through mine. “It’s still the baby thing, isn’t it?”
I haven’t even thought about the baby thing in weeks. “No.”
She doesn’t look as if she believes me. I watch Liv as she examines a table filled with Christmas wreaths. Her hair is pulled back in a messy knot, her cheeks flushed from the outside cold and inside warmth. She’s talking with one of the vendors, gesturing to a wreath, smelling some sort of flower.
“She’d be an amazing mother,” Kelsey remarks.
“Yeah.”
I feel her looking at me. “And you would be an amazing father.”
I don’t reply. She pulls me to a halt and turns to face me.
“You would, Dean,” she insists. “I know it.”
“No one knows that.”
“Liv does. She wouldn’t have thought about children if she didn’t know that about you.”
That has never occurred to me before.
“What do you think of this one?” Liv comes toward us, holding up a wreath about the size of a tire. “It’s made of noble fir, cedar, juniper, and I just love these little frosted pinecones.”
“Looks great,” I say.
Liv beams. “She’ll throw in a snowman ornament and a garland too. I’ll pay now and she’ll hold it for us to pick up later.”
She heads back to the wreath table. Kelsey and I look around at some of the other arts and crafts, and before we’ve gone halfway through the room Kelsey has a basket full of star-shaped glass ornaments, Christmas cards, handmade earrings, nutcracker stocking holders, and scented candles.
“For gifts,” she tells me defensively when she catches me grinning.
“Uh huh.”
“Come on, I’m hungry. That quiche wasn’t enough for me.” Kelsey hooks her basket over her arm. “Let’s find the fudge. Where’s Liv?”
We wind through the crowd to the section where vendors sell gourmet food items and gift baskets. I catch sight of Liv and point her out to Kelsey. We head toward her.
Then I stop.
He’s there. The chef who taught Liv’s cooking class. The man who kissed her.
He’s standing behind a vendor’s table. And he’s looking at my wife. Liv is a short distance away, her expression guarded but polite as she talks to him.
Rage boils so fast, so hard, that it propels me forward. I shove Kelsey aside and plow through the crowd to get to Liv. The other guy jerks his gaze to me, alarmed.
“Dean!” Sensing danger, Liv whirls around before I reach her. Her eyes widen. She holds out a hand to prevent me from crashing over the table and strangling the chef.
Which I’m this close to doing.
“Dean.” Liv spreads her hands across my chest and tries to push me away from the table. “It’s okay. Dean, it’s nothing.”
The chef—whatever the hell his name is—stares at me, his face white. Good. Let the little bastard be scared.
“What were you saying to him?” I’m half-aware that people are glancing in our direction, but I don’t care.
“Nothing. Just hello. He’s selling spice mixes.” Her fingers tighten on my shirt. “Dean, please.”
“Really… really, man, it was nothing,” the chef stammers.
I point a finger at him. “Stay the fuck away from her.”
Another hand closes on my arm. Kelsey. She yanks hard enough to catch me off-guard. “Come on, Rambo. Take a seat.”
She manages to pull me to an eating area and shoves me onto a bench. Liv stays where she is, watching me warily. The crowd resumes its normal movement.
Kelsey bends to look me in the eye. She looks pissed. “What the hell was that?”
I pull in a breath, my anger still hot. “She kissed him.”
“What?” Kelsey steps back, blinking in confusion.
“That asshole was her cooking teacher. He walked her to her car one night and kissed her. She kissed back.”
Kelsey shakes her head. “I don’t get it. Liv kissed him?”
“That’s what I said.”
“But why…” She glances back at Liv in disbelief. “You’re kidding me.”
“I’m not. Ask her. Then ask her if it was good.”
“Oh, Dean.”
“Fuck, Kelsey.” I drag a hand down my face. “I can’t get rid of it.”
She doesn’t say anything. I’m grateful. There’s nothing she can say that would make it any easier.
“Dean?” Liv’s voice is tentative as she appears behind Kelsey. She glances from me to Kelsey and back again. “Please don’t be mad.”
I exhale hard. “I’m not mad.”
“You look mad.”
“I’m not mad at you.”
She doesn’t seem convinced. I’m not either.
“Okay.” Kelsey takes Liv’s arm and backs her up a few steps. “Dean, Liv and I are going to finish looking around. You stay here and chill out. We’ll come back when we’re ready to leave.”
I watch them disappear into the crowd. Liv turns once to look at me, and then she’s gone. I wait all of ten seconds before I leave the center and walk back out into the cold.