by Nina Lane
“Okay. I’ll be asleep by the time you come to bed.”
I walk toward her, reaching out to grasp her shoulders. Whatever the hell is going on right now, I’m not giving up our good-night kiss. I lower my head and press my lips against hers, feeling her fingers curl around my arms as she leans into me. For an instant, the tightness in my chest eases, but then Liv pulls away.
“Good night,” she says, sliding her hand across my jaw. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Get a good night’s sleep.”
She settles into bed as I leave the bedroom. Though I’m not sure it’s a good idea, I go to my office and do some Internet searching about breast lumps. Some of what I read is reassuring—most lumps are not cause for concern—but the word cancer appears in every article.
I turn away from the screen, my chest tight. There’s no way. Liv is young, healthy, low risk. There’s just no fucking way she could—
I stop that thought. It’s a black, suffocating pit I can’t even look at.
I force my mind to my latest paper about the construction of medieval cathedrals. Work has always been a way for me to stop thinking about everything else, to focus on architectural plans and building structures.
But this time, the words on the screen swim in front of my eyes, and I can’t make my brain grasp a coherent idea. It seems so useless, so stupid, to be studying thousand-year-old cathedrals when my wife just spent the afternoon getting diagnostic testing done.
Fear cuts through me, so fast it almost catches me off guard. Like it’s been waiting to attack.
Nothing. It’s nothing. Liv is right—the doctors are doing the tests as a precaution. Not because they think something is wrong.
And I hate myself for thinking there is.
November 18
Two days ago, I was reviewing the new World Heritage departmental criteria as if it were important. The day before that, I’d chaired a meeting about the new curriculum, the admissions criteria, the field study programs. And the day before that, I’d turned in the final draft of an article for the Medieval Journal of Archeology. I’d talked to students, read their papers, lectured about Latin paleography.
Suddenly, forty-eight hours later, the only really important parts of my life are my wife and children. The only meeting that matters is the one with the doctor. The only research I care about is the report that will tell me Liv is fine. The only lecture I want to hear is the doctor telling us to have a good weekend as she walks us to the door.
Liv is in the kitchen the morning after the tests, her head bent as she checks her cell phone.
“Morning.” I brush my lips across her forehead. “Kids still sleeping?”
She nods, pushing a tumble of hair away from her face. “I’ve been up since three. Couldn’t sleep. I emailed Dr. Nolan twice about the biopsy, but she probably won’t get back to me until the office opens. She told me yesterday that even if this is a benign tumor, I should see a specialist anyway.”
Cold spreads through me. It takes me a second to realize why. Liv just said, “Even if this is a benign tumor…”
Which implies it might not be. I don’t want her admitting that. I don’t want her even knowing it.
“Liv.”
She looks up from her phone. Shadows smudge the area under her eyes. I put my hands on the sides of her warm neck. Her pulse beats against my palm.
“Don’t be…” I stop and start again. “Try not to be scared.”
Her lips compress. “How can I not be scared, Dean? One minute you’re fondling my breasts, and the next minute I’m getting them flattened between plates and scheduling a biopsy.”
She pulls away from me, tossing her phone onto the counter. Tension laces her shoulders.
“I’ve been wishing you hadn’t even found the damned thing,” she snaps. “How stupid is that? As if you not finding it would somehow make it not real.”
An irrational surge of guilt hits me. “I just wish it wasn’t there.”
She turns, lifting her hands. “But it is.”
There’s nothing I can say. It’s there. I felt it. I fucking found it. Something alien invading my wife.
Liv’s cell phone rings. She grabs it, her skin draining of color at the sight of the number. She lifts the phone to her ear. “Dr. Nolan?”
Apprehension grips me. I move closer and put my hand on Liv’s shoulder.
Her knuckles whiten as she clutches the phone. “Okay. Yes, I can. What time?” She pauses to listen. “No, I’d rather just get it over with. Thank you. I’ll be there.”
She ends the call and lets out a long, shuddering breath. “Biopsy at ten this morning. But Dr. Nolan said that because it’s Friday, we won’t get the results until Monday or Tuesday. She said I could wait until Monday for the biopsy, but I don’t want to. I have to… have to call Allie and tell her I can’t make my shift today.”
She’s shaking. I wrap my arms around her and pull her into me. She relaxes against me for a minute, pressing her face into my chest. I lower my head and press my lips against her ear.
“It’ll be okay,” I whisper roughly, but it’s the most inadequate and useless thing I’ve ever said to her.
The morning passes in a haze of unreality. We get through our morning routine and drop the kids off at school. I don’t have classes on Friday mornings, but I call the university to let them know I won’t be at my office.
We drive to Forest Grove. The sky is a robin’s-egg blue, the sun acting like it’s just another ordinary day.
Even though it’s anything but.
I stop at a red light.
“Dean.”
“Right here.”
“What if it’s not nothing?”
I look at my wife. She’s gazing out the window, her profile reflecting against the glass. Everything inside me tenses with the need to tell her not to think about that because no fucking way can something evil grow inside her.
Not her. Not Liv. It would be a massive cosmic fuck-up if this turned out to be something.
“We’re not going to think about that right now,” I say—again, so goddamned useless. “Or try not to.”
We can’t.
“But—”
“Liv, baby.” I swallow past the tightness in my throat as I turn toward the hospital. “If it’s not nothing, we’ll deal with it together. But we need to take this one step at a time.”
Needless to say, tension thickens the air as we walk to the radiology department. The radiologist explains the what, where, and why of the procedure—and the why is the part that scares me the most.
Because the lump in Liv’s breast is “suspicious.”
“It’s important for you to know that about eighty percent of breast lumps are benign,” the radiologist explains. “So keep that in mind.”
Liv glances at me. Neither one of us knows if that’s supposed to be a reassuring statistic. Because that means twenty percent of results are not benign.
I want to be with Liv while she’s getting the biopsy done, but because of “procedure,” I’m told to return to the waiting room. Before Liv goes in, I pull her into my arms.
“I love you like salt loves pepper,” I say.
She gives me a faint smile. “That’s why we’re so good and spicy together.”
She kisses my cheek and goes into the exam room. I return to the reception area to wait, twisting a loop of string around my fingers and trying not to think of what Liv is enduring alone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DEAN
THE WEEKEND STRETCHES IN FRONT OF us like a desert. There’s a persistent knot in my chest. A purplish black bruise stains Liv’s breast around the site of the needle puncture. I hate the sight of it—the ugly evidence of diagnostic testing and pain. I’m worried that if I hug her too close, I’ll hurt her.
“Should we tell anyone?
” Liv asks me on Sunday night, after we’ve gotten through a determinedly busy weekend of taking the kids to karate classes, swimming, an impromptu movie and dinner out, and a lot of time spent at Wizard’s Park.
“It’s your call,” I say. “Do you want Kelsey or Allie to know?”
“Kelsey’s not even home,” Liv says. “She and a few of her students drove down to Colorado for a conference. I think she said she’d be back later this week.”
“Allie?”
“No. There’s no sense worrying other people right now.”
She moves closer to me. I extend my arms and pull her against my chest.
“Still hurting?” I ask.
“No, it’s fine. Just a little sore.” Her body heaves with a shuddering sigh. “God, Dean. A week ago, I—”
“Yeah.” I press my lips against her forehead. “I know.”
Monday morning dawns with a strange combination of dread and hope. Liv, not wanting to sit around waiting for the phone to ring, takes Bella to preschool and goes to the café. I leave Nicholas at school and head to campus. If we get the results today, it likely won’t be until later this afternoon.
The familiar bustle of the university is comforting. There are no black clouds threatening the horizon. In fact, the weather is almost strangely warm for mid-November, the sun heating the air enough that people are shedding their coats. I spend the morning talking to students, answering administrative emails, and preparing for my classes.
At eleven, I gather my notes for a seminar course and manage to focus for an hour and a half on discussing Sir Gawain and the Green Knight with my students. Afterward, I stop at the main office to check my department mailbox.
“Hi, Dean.” Grace, the administrative assistant, gestures to a package on her desk. “That just came from your publisher. Looks like it might be edits for your book.”
“Great, thanks.” I pick up the package and take a few envelopes from my mailbox.
I tuck the mail under my arm and switch my phone back on to check my messages. There’s a voicemail from Liv.
My heart stutters. She never calls me when she knows I’m in a lecture or seminar.
I access voicemail. My heart pounds harder.
“Hi, it’s me.” Her voice is calm, but tense. “I just wanted to tell you that Dr. Nolan called and asked me to come in to her office. The appointment is at one. I know you have a lecture at one-thirty, but… well, I wanted to let you know. I’m heading over there now. I love you.”
I hit the call button with a shaking hand. Liv’s phone goes to voicemail, which probably means she’s driving. I look at the clock. It’s twenty to one.
“Dean?” Grace is looking at me with concern. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I shove the mail back into the box and cross the room to Frances’s office. “Is she in?”
Grace nods. I knock on the closed door and push it open when Frances calls for me to come in. She’s at her computer, and she pauses to peer at me over the tops of her glasses.
“Frances.” I’m gripping the phone so hard my fingers hurt. I don’t even know what to tell her. No one knows about this. “I’m… uh, I need to go.”
She blinks. “Go? Don’t you have a lecture?”
“Yeah, but I’m…” I stop and clear my throat, realizing that I’ve never said the words aloud. “Liv is… she has a lump in her breast.”
“Oh, no.” Frances stares at me, her hand going to her chest.
“She had a biopsy last week, and the doctor just called with the results.” The words come tumbling out in a sudden, hard rush. “She has an appointment at one, and I… I have to go.”
“Of course.” Frances rises from behind her desk and approaches me, lines of worry creasing her forehead. “Do you know what the results are?”
“Not yet. My lecture…”
“I’ll take care of it. Where are your notes?”
“On my desk.”
“Okay, go on.” Frances pats my arm and walks with me to the door. “Stay positive, Dean. I’ll be hoping for the best.”
I know I don’t have to ask her to keep this to herself. I run to my office to get my car keys and briefcase. Outside, the sun is blinding, the campus swarming with students going to and from class. It all looks painfully normal, but the raw terror snaking through me is anything but normal.
I struggle to drive safely, tearing through a couple of red lights at the last minute and speeding down the highway to Forest Grove. By the time I pull into the parking lot of the doctor’s office, my heart is hammering and I’m almost out of breath. I hurry into the front door and veer toward the waiting room.
I stop. Liv is sitting near the windows, her head bent as she leafs through a magazine. For a second, I let the sight of her calm my fear. She’s wearing a plaid wool skirt and white shirt, with the length of her hair pulled back by a headband.
As if sensing my presence, she lifts her head and looks in my direction. Our gazes meet with a tangible force. She smiles—nervous but relieved. I approach her, reaching out to brush my fingers through the thick length of her hair.
“Hey, beauty.”
She squeezes my hand, twining her fingers through mine as I sit beside her. The scent of peaches fills the air.
“I’m glad you made it.” Liv rests her head against my shoulder. “I know you have a lecture, so I wasn’t going to call, but… well, I don’t think I can walk in there without you.”
I’m not sure I can walk in there at all.
We sit in silence. A few dust motes swim in a river of sunlight coming through the windows. The receptionist stands from behind her desk and turns to the filing cabinet behind her. There’s a framed photo of a Greek island on the opposite wall.
“Olivia?” The nurse appears at the doorway leading to the exam rooms and Dr. Nolan’s office. “Dr. Nolan is ready for you.”
For an instant, Liv doesn’t move. Then she tightens her fingers around mine and stands. Because she does, I manage to stand too.
As we walk into the doctor’s office together, the terror, anger, and uncertainty fall away. And all that’s left is the feeling of my wife’s heart beating against the palm of my hand.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DEAN
November 21
WHEN ARCHER AND I WERE KIDS, The Castle tree house was our fortress against everything bad. Pirates, monsters, evil aliens, robbers, comic-book villains. Most of the time we won the epic battles. Sometimes we didn’t.
Sometimes Archer got sucked into the lava pit encroaching from an exploding volcano. Sometimes I fell into a swamp of hungry crocodiles, or we both went down from laser gun blasts. Sometimes we fought against each other, but mostly we fought on the same side. Sometimes I saved him, or he saved me. Other times we couldn’t save each other.
But we always knew what the threat was. We could see it. Godzilla, a horde of zombies, stormtroopers, a mutated kraken, fire-breathing dragons. We knew how to defend ourselves, and we were always armed. We were always ready.
Always.
After the doctor’s appointment, Liv and I stop at the grocery store before picking Bella up from preschool and Nicholas from kindergarten. They’re both happy to see us, and Nicholas immediately launches into a recitation of everything he did that day, from having cupcakes for a fellow student’s birthday to mastering the monkey bars at recess. We return to the Butterfly House for the afternoon.
“Let’s have a picnic for dinner,” Liv says impulsively, after Nicholas has finished his homework. “It’s warm enough, and I’ll bet they’re serving hot chocolate at the park.”
“Awesome.” Nicholas does a victory jump and rushes to find his shoes.
Liv packs a picnic dinner, I load up the sports bag of balls and Frisbees, and we drive to Wizard’s Park to take advantage of the unseasonable warmth.
It’s a chilly but
perfect evening—reddish clouds spreading over the sky, people dotting the grass, a soccer game in progress, wind drifting across the water. There’s a line of children in front of the hot chocolate stand.
We have a favorite spot near a bear topiary that overlooks the busy playground and the glistening expanse of the lake. I spread out the picnic blanket, while Liv takes the kids to the swings and jungle gym.
I watch them from a distance, keeping my gaze on Nicholas’s green sweatshirt and Bella’s purple coat amidst the crowd of children as they navigate the wooden bridge on the play structure and speed down the slide.
A sudden memory pushes forward of a time when Nicholas got so sick from the flu that he ended up in the emergency room. I’d thought at the time it would be the greatest terror I’d ever face.
But now there are countless terrors clawing through me.
“Hot chocolate after dinner,” Liv announces, approaching from the playground behind Bella and Nicholas. “My treat.”
She flops down beside me. A few strands of hair have escaped her ponytail and fall around her face.
I look away and rummage in the picnic basket for a chicken sandwich. I hand it to Liv, then unwrap peanut-butter sandwiches for the kids. We pass around grapes and potato chips, watching the activity of the park as we eat.
“Come on, Nick-Nack.” Liv rises to her feet and picks up the Frisbee. “If you win, you can have extra whipped cream on your hot chocolate.”
“Sweet!” Nicholas jumps to his feet and follows her a short distance away, where they start tossing the Frisbee back and forth.
Bella busies herself meticulously plucking grapes off the stem and arranging them into a pile. I watch her, struck anew by how much she looks like Liv, right down to the shape of her eyes. She’s like Liv in her strength too, her pursuit in getting what she wants, only Bella is more vocal and stubborn. Liv’s strength is quieter, but no less profound.
I turn my attention from my daughter to my wife. Liv is laughing, her ponytail flying behind her as she runs after the Frisbee.