by Nina Lane
Marianne and several of the former Matilda’s Teapot staff bustle around seating people and recommending things from our tea menu, while Allie and I help expedite the food, and Brent ensures everything is running smoothly.
The place looks incredible with Allie’s detailed murals covering the walls, a painted yellow-brick staircase, new light fixtures and bright, airy colors. Greenery adorns the front door, and guests are offered the choice of sitting in one of the Oz rooms upstairs or Wonderland downstairs.
It’s everything I’d hoped it would be, everything Allie and I had envisioned.
“One Wicked Witch’s Hat, made to order.” I place a dish in front of a pigtailed little girl. She grins at the chocolate-dipped sugar cone upside down on a scoop of ice cream.
“Are you booking for your birthday party packages yet?” her mother asks me. “This would be a great place to have a party, especially in winter.”
“We certainly are. I’ll get you a copy of our party brochure so you can see all the options.”
I get her one of the brochures, then check on a couple of other customers before going outside, where a crowd is enjoying the festivities. I shade my eyes from the sun as I see Ben Stafford by the face-painting booth with his daughters. Crystal is there too, wandering around with a man whom I don’t recognize.
I approach Kelsey at the ring-toss booth, amused to see that she has a daisy painted on her cheek.
“It’s fantastic, Liv,” she says, after we exchange a hug. “You and Allie have done amazing work.”
I smile, both pleased and proud. “We couldn’t have done it without your help.”
“Yeah, you could have.” Kelsey nudges me with her elbow. “Where’s Dean?”
“On his way. The guy who was supposed to drop off some bubble-blowing machines had a problem with his car, so Dean went to pick them up.”
“Can I get a picture, ladies?” Rita Johnson, the magazine reporter who wrote the article about the transformation of Matilda’s Teapot to the Wonderland Café, stops beside us.
Kelsey and I both smile into her camera as she snaps a few pictures.
“I’ve talked to a few of the parents, and they’re thrilled to have a place like this in town,” Rita says, studying the photo in the LCD window. “Looks like you’re going to be a big success.”
“I hope so. Did you try the Red Queen cake?”
“I’ve tried everything.” Rita shoots me a grin and heads toward one of the food stations. “It’s delicious. Think I’ll try it all a second time too.”
After doing a quick check to ensure all the servers have enough samples, I turn to go back inside.
A sense of alarm, of impending danger, hits me suddenly. My gaze lands on a big, gray-haired man who is coming toward the café. His face is set with anger, his stride long. My chest constricts. I know to my bones that this is Edward Hamilton. I start for the steps, wanting to prevent him from getting near the café, but he reaches the porch and stops.
“Olivia West?” he asks.
Cold prickles my skin, and a black tendril of dread begins to snake around my heart. I force myself to approach him.
“I’m Olivia West. May I help you?”
He looks down at me. I dig my fingernails into my palms and meet his steely gaze.
“Where’s your husband?” he asks.
Oh God.
“Mr. Hamilton, if you’d like to talk, we can go…”
“You can go to hell,” he snaps.
Anxiety spears me. My breathing is getting too fast.
“This is not the—” I stop.
Behind Edward Hamilton, standing on the sidewalk, is his daughter Maggie. A bubble of rage bursts inside me. Our gazes clash across the space.
“You need to leave, Mr. Hamilton,” I say. “Both of you.”
“What the fuck gives you the right to slander my daughter?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The hell you don’t.” He moves closer, a vein throbbing in his forehead. “My daughter and I both got an anonymous email with some crap about Maggie and another professor. That’s bullshit. West is the one guilty of that, as you well know. And he can’t hide behind anonymity like a fucking coward.”
I’m starting to shake. I retreat to get him out of my field of vision, but my back hits the side of the porch. I’m half-aware of people starting to look in our direction. I pray the music is loud enough to drown out Edward Hamilton’s voice.
“If you don’t leave right now,” I tell him, “I’ll call the police.”
“You do that, little girl. Get the police involved on your opening day, all these kids around. What a great story, huh?”
My fear is turning into outright horror as I realize Edward Hamilton has figured out that I have no way to defend myself, not here. Not now.
“What… what do you want?” I stammer.
“Where is that fucker husband of yours?”
“He’s—”
“Right here.”
Dean’s deep, measured voice floods me with relief. I draw in a breath and shift my gaze to where he’s standing a short distance away. His body is lined with tension, his eyes burning as he looks at Hamilton.
“Get away from my wife,” he orders.
Hamilton turns to glare at him. “You want to take this up, West? You couldn’t leave it alone?”
“We ended it.” Dean steps closer, his fists clenching. “It’s over. Now get the hell out of here.”
“You trash my daughter, you’re dead.” Hamilton strides toward him, extending his finger. “Who else has that email?”
“I didn’t send you any email.”
“Liar.”
Dean holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender, though he’s gotten between me and Hamilton. “Look, you want to talk? Let’s go. We’ll take this somewhere else.”
“The fuck we will.” Hamilton’s voice booms over the crowd.
Behind him, a few parents are pulling their children away from the café. Kelsey strides toward us, frowning. The music dies as more people turn toward the commotion.
“What’s going on?” Kelsey stops near me, her sharp gaze scanning all of us.
“Nothing.” Dean shakes his head at her, his voice tight with warning. “Mr. Hamilton is leaving.”
Hamilton backs up a few steps, and for a second I think he really is leaving. Then he turns to Maggie.
“Tell them,” he orders. “Tell them all what this guy did to you. Intimidation, harassment, trying to force you to sleep with him.”
“No!” I can’t stop the denial, anger flooding me. “Maggie is the liar! She was failing, and instead of actually working, she accused—”
“Your husband is a goddamned pervert who preys on students, Mrs. West,” Hamilton shouts at me.
“Shut up, Hamilton.” Dean’s voice is dangerously low.
Allie comes out onto the porch, her forehead creased with confusion, with Brent right behind her. Kelsey taps at her smartphone and holds it to her ear.
“I will take you down further than I already have.” Hamilton heaves in a breath, his eyes blazing as he stabs his forefinger into Dean’s chest. “You think you can accuse my daughter of wrongdoing when you’re the one fucking with your students?”
Gasps rise from the crowd. Panic fills my chest. More people take their children’s hands and hurry them away. I rush forward to get to Dean. Kelsey grabs my arm and yanks me to a halt. My breath burns my throat. I struggle to twist my arm from her grip.
“Let me go.”
“Careful, Liv.” She’s watching Dean, her eyes narrowed.
“It’s about time everyone knows what a scumbag you are,” Hamilton snaps at Dean.
“Leave. Now.” Dean’s muscles bunch with anger as he closes in on Hamilton, forcing him to the sidewalk.
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Hamilton stops near Maggie, who is standing with her arms closed around her body. Her expression is set as she scans the crowd, her gaze landing on me. A wave of anger passes between us. Hamilton gets in front of Dean again, and then they’re close enough that the air pulls tight with hatred.
“You did it with her, didn’t you?” Hamilton gives Dean a shove, then points his finger at me. “Poor girl had a nervous breakdown after some college scandal, and you knew you could fuck her into—”
No!
Dean’s rage explodes like a supernova. His body is a blur as he attacks Hamilton, tackling him and crashing them both to the ground. Maggie screams. Hamilton hits the sidewalk, a curse erupting from him.
Dean straddles him and lashes out, rage firing every muscle as he grabs Hamilton’s neck with one hand and slams his face with the other. Blood spurts. I yank my arm from Kelsey and run forward, my heart pounding. Brent pushes past me and races toward the two enraged men.
“Dean, stop!” I scream.
A flood of horrified gasps rise from the crowd. People rush away. Children twist toward their parents, some of them starting to cry. Other customers come out onto the porch, faces wide-eyed with curiosity and shock.
Brent and a couple of other men try to grab Dean and yank him off Hamilton. Before they can, Hamilton rises and lands a few punches. Dean pulls himself away from Brent and lunges at Hamilton. They go down shouting, fists flying. Dean gets the upper hand and hits Hamilton again and again.
The wail of a police siren pierces the air. The crowd scatters as the car slows and comes to an abrupt halt. Two officers leap out, hands on their guns.
“Break it up!” one of them yells.
It takes three men to haul Dean off Edward Hamilton. Blazing with rage, Dean fights them off and breaks free, going for Hamilton again. One of the officers tackles him, forcing him to the ground. A second police car comes to a stop at the curb.
I watch in horror as Dean struggles to free himself, his eyes black with fury. The officer yanks his arms back and slaps handcuffs on him.
“Well, shit,” Kelsey mutters beside me.
My face is hot, damp with tears, my chest aching. Panic encroaches again, the black cloud spreading over my whole body. I grope for Kelsey’s arm to have something to hold on to and count to five as I breathe.
When my vision clears, I see Dean standing beside the police car, sweaty and angry, his face set hard as he nods abruptly in response to the officer’s questions. Edward Hamilton is talking to two other officers, gesticulating wildly and pointing accusing fingers at Dean.
I can’t look at Kelsey. I can’t turn around to see Allie and Brent or Ben Stafford or my mother. I don’t want to see the few people still lingering, watching my husband get handcuffed and arrested.
I wipe my face on my sleeve and walk toward Dean. I feel Maggie Hamilton watching me, feel the triumph radiating from her.
Dean lifts his head. At first, he just looks at me, as if he’d forgotten I was there. Then his gaze scans the café, the abandoned grounds, the people still staring.
I stop in front of him and put my hand on his chest. His heartbeat races against my palm, his anger still burning.
“You’re Mrs. West?” the officer asks.
I nod, my eyes still locked with Dean’s. “Olivia West. I’m Dean’s wife.”
“We need to take him to the station, Mrs. West. Officer Randall will need your statement as well, and those of other witnesses.”
A shout comes from near the other police car. I turn to see Edward Hamilton bolting toward Dean again. The only thought that registers in my brain is that Dean is handcuffed and Hamilton is barreling toward him like a battering ram.
I step forward into the space between them, shouts of warning ringing in my ears, Dean a blur in the corner of my vision. Hamilton slams into me. I hit the ground, my skull cracking against the sidewalk, pain shooting through me.
My mother’s face appears in front of me. Noise fills my head.
A bright red balloon, broken from its anchor, floats above the street.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Olivia
“AM I WHAT?” I FEEL LIKE the nurse is speaking a foreign language.
“Pregnant,” she replies, a touch impatiently. “Or is there a possibility that you are pregnant?”
“Uh… well, I guess… I mean, yes. There is a possibility. That I am. Pregnant.”
The realization is a shock to my system.
“We’ll do a blood test to find out,” the nurse says.
She asks me more questions before telling me they’ll have a bed for me shortly. After I register, a phlebotomist draws blood from my arm, I change into a hospital gown, and am directed to a bed.
I press a hand to my belly and take a deep breath. I’d had visions of discovering a pregnancy the usual way—by peeing on a stick in the privacy of my own bathroom—then telling Dean over a romantic, candlelit dinner.
Instead I’m in the ER with a splitting headache, fluorescent lights glaring from overhead, no-nonsense nurses firing questions at me, and a husband who is currently in a holding cell at the Mirror Lake police station.
Which, admittedly, is more like the police station in The Andy Griffith Show than NYPD Blue, but still…
Before the doctor arrives, I fumble for the phone to call Kelsey.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Liv, he’s like a caged tiger in there,” she tells me. “He’s furious that they wouldn’t let him go with you to the hospital. The officer said he won’t release him until Dean calms down, but you know what a stubborn ass he is. Dean, not the officer.”
“Can I talk to him?” I ask.
“They’re not letting him talk to anyone,” Kelsey says. “What about you? Are you okay?”
“They’re running more tests, but everything looks good. Where are the Hamiltons?”
“No idea about the girl. They held Hamilton for a while, but let him go.”
“How much longer before Dean is released?”
“He’s been processed, and they’re willing to release him on his own recognizance since they verified all his info, but first they want him to dial it down a notch. Or ten. I’m just sitting here waiting for him. I’ll bring him over as soon as I can.”
I end the call as the doctor returns and conducts a thorough exam. He tells me I don’t appear to have a concussion, but he’ll do an MRI to make certain. As he’s telling me about the MRI procedure, the nurse returns with the lab report.
“Your hCG levels indicate that you’re pregnant, Mrs. West,” the doctor tells me, studying the papers. “You didn’t know?”
Since I can’t speak past the constriction in my throat, I just shake my head.
“Though chances are your accident didn’t harm the fetus, we’ll do an ultrasound and connect you to a fetal monitor to assess the viability of the pregnancy,” the doctor says, and the businesslike tone of his voice as well as the words viability of the pregnancy bring up a wave of old fear.
A bustle of activity follows. Allie, Crystal, and Marianne come in from the waiting room to see how I’m doing. The nurse shoos them out before bringing in the ultrasound machine and setting up for the exam.
When she turns to the machine, I grab my phone again. “Kelsey, you need to get him over here.”
“They’re letting him go since they need the cell for a couple of drunk college kids,” she tells me. “He’s getting his wallet and phone returned to him right now. He still has steam coming out of his ears. We should be there in about fifteen minutes. I told him you’re okay.”
“Kelsey. Hurry.”
“On our way.”
After getting off the phone, I sit back and watch the clock. Minutes pass. I’m not about to tell the doctor to hold off on the ultrasound, but the nurse tells me I need to drink more water before they can conduct
the exam.
I down another glass of water, my stomach zinging with nerves. I wait. I look at the clock again. The second hand ticks. Hurry, hurry…
“Liv?” Dean’s voice breaks through my anxiety.
My heart leaps as he runs into the room, his eyes burning with concern, a bruise marring his unshaven jaw, his shirt torn and stained with blood. He careens to a halt beside my bed, his chest heaving.
“You’re okay?” He grabs my shoulders, looking me over, his voice tight. “Are you okay? Goddammit, I almost lost my mind when they wouldn’t let me come with you, and then they stuck me in a damn cell—”
“Because you were disturbing the peace.” Kelsey hurries into the room after him. “And if you don’t calm down here, they’ll throw you out again. Is that what you want?”
Dean inhales and makes a visible effort to regain control of himself. He tightens his hands on my shoulders.
“Liv, are you okay?”
“Yes. Take another breath.”
He does. Behind him, Kelsey scans the room, her sharp gaze stopping on the ultrasound machine. Her eyes widen a little behind her glasses. She gives me a questioning does he know? look. I shake my head.
Kelsey gets a chair and shoves it behind Dean.
“You’ll want to sit down for this one, Professor Marvel.” She backs away, shooting me a smile. “Aunt Kelsey’s orders.”
She turns and leaves the room. I squeeze Dean’s arm.
“She’s right,” I tell him. “Sit down.”
He sits, dragging a hand through his hair. “Liv, I’m so sorry I—”
“Hey. Be quiet. I have something to tell you.”
“What?” Concern darkens his eyes again.
“Last February, I stopped at a baby boutique downtown,” I explain.
He blinks. “Oh.”
“I bought two cotton baby hats, one pink and one blue. They’re wrapped in a box under our bed.”
Dean searches my gaze. I grip his arm harder.