Always (Spiral of Bliss #7)

by Nina Lane

  “Maybe you should leave it like that,” Liv suggests, her eyes lighting with amusement. “Shock your students and the other professors. Can you imagine?”

  I turn my head from side to side to examine the effect. “They’d never take me seriously. Go on, get rid of it.”

  She places one hand on my forehead and moves the clippers over my head again, shearing away the last of my hair. The reflection staring back at me looks alien with his shorn head and ears that stick out too far, but whoever that guy is, I think he’s doing the right thing.

  After Liv finishes shaving off any remaining patches of hair, she puts the clippers on the counter and studies her handiwork.

  “You have a very nicely shaped skull, professor,” she remarks. “I never would have known that.”

  I rub a hand over my bald head. “We’re going to save a fortune on shampoo.”

  I take the towel from around my neck and shake the hair clippings into the trash. “I’ll vacuum later.”

  Liv drapes the towel around her shoulders before sitting down. She takes a deep breath and reaches for the clippers.

  “Okay?” I ask.

  “Okay.”

  She turns the clippers back on. This time, the buzz sounds like a chainsaw. A bolt of rage fires through me so fast that I have to step behind Liv and away from the mirror so she won’t notice. My fists clench as anger and grief claw up my throat.

  Keep it together, West.

  I shut my eyes and force the helpless rage back down. The sound of Liv’s voice over the noise of the clippers dilutes some of the pain.

  I open my eyes and step toward her. She’s holding the clippers out to me.

  “What?” I say.

  “Will you do it?” she asks.

  Oh, God in heaven, don’t make me do this. Don’t make me shave off my wife’s beautiful hair.

  I take the clippers from her. My hand is shaking. I clench my teeth and move behind her, unable to bring myself to meet her gaze in the mirror. I can’t even ask her if she’s ready because if she hesitates for an instant, I’ll never be able to do this.

  It’s just hair. She’s the same. She’s always yours. Always will be.

  I put the clippers back on the counter and pick up the brush. I don’t know if this will torture me or comfort me, but I do it anyway.

  I brush Liv’s hair, gently tugging out the tangles, watching the bristles move through the thick strands like water. Ignoring the excess of strands that cling to the brush. When her hair is a shiny curtain against her neck, I pick up the clippers again.

  I take a breath and put my hand on the side of her neck, feeling the warmth of her skin. Liv is very still, her gaze on the mirror.

  “I could just do a buzz cut,” I tell her. “Short but not gone.”

  “No. It will all come out soon. I need to get used to it.”

  I look at the blades of the clippers and focus my concentration.

  This is a job. I know how to get a job done. I do it all the time.

  But something shrivels inside me when the blades saw through the first strands of Liv’s hair. I pull the clippers back over her head, not looking anywhere except at the pale stripe of skin that appears as her hair falls away. One swathe. Another.

  My wife’s scalp, which I love because it protects her—because it’s part of her. Her skin, her blood, her bones. I drag the clippers back again. More hair rains to the floor. A few freckles appear in the place where Liv parts her hair. I pull a few strands stuck to the blades and keep going.

  Her pretty ears, each with a tiny, hurtful hole piercing the lobe. The oval birthmark right at the top of her nape. The arch of her hairline. The slope of her collarbone. The ridge where her neck meets her spine.

  Mine. My wife. Always my perfect, beautiful Liv.

  The last strands of her hair fall to the floor. I run the clippers over her scalp again. Not a trace of hair remains.

  I know how to get a job done.

  I brush my hand over her head, finding some solace in the warm, smooth feeling of her scalp. Then I dig for courage and look at her in the mirror.

  She’s gazing at her reflection, dry-eyed and somber. Without the softening tumble of hair, her features are sharper, more enhanced. Her lips look fuller, her cheekbones more prominent, her brown eyes bigger. She’s like an exotic forest creature, an elf or a fairy. Ethereal. Transcendent.

  She turns toward me, finally lifting her eyes to meet mine. I rub my hand over her head again and swallow hard.

  “Hey, beauty,” I whisper.

  Liv manages to smile before she presses her face against my torso and cries.

  Chapter 29

  Dean

  Nicholas and I sit at a window table with our chocolate ice-cream cones. He swings his legs back and forth, working industriously at the ice cream and looking outside at the frozen lake.

  “So it’s just gone,” he says.

  “For now.” I’m wearing a baseball cap, though of course Nicholas noticed that something was off about me as soon as he saw me waiting for him outside the school.

  At Liv’s suggestion, I’d agreed to pick him up and tell him about both Liv’s and my hair before Bella gets home. Maybe if Nicholas deals with it well, she will too.

  He glances at me. There’s a ring of chocolate around his mouth.

  “You’re not sick too, are you?” he asks.

  “No. I did it so your mother wouldn’t have to be the only one.”

  “Will hers grow back too?”

  “One day, yes. But it might take a while.”

  “What about yours?”

  “Mine will grow back faster, but I’m going to keep it shaved off until your mother is better again.”

  “So she won’t be the only one?”

  “Yeah.”

  Nicholas processes this as he licks a ring around his cone. “Does she look funny?”

  “She looks like Mom. Just without hair. It’ll take us all a little time to get used to it, but it doesn’t change anything about her. She’s exactly the same.”

  He shrugs. “Okay. Can I see your head?”

  “Sure.” I lean forward so he can take off my baseball cap.

  He does, then studies my head for a minute. “You look weird.”

  “I know. But do I still look like your dad?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s all the matters, then.”

  He seems to accept that. We finish our cones in silence and toss the napkins into a nearby trash can. I put the cap back on.

  “I’m counting on you to help Bella be okay with this,” I tell Nicholas as we walk back out to the car. “She doesn’t really understand about Mom being sick, so it could upset her to see both Mom and me without any hair.”

  “Is Mom wearing a hat?”

  “She’ll wear a scarf most of the time, I think, but not always.”

  “What about you? Will you always wear the hat?”

  “No. I just wore it so I could tell you first. It’s a little easier for men not to have hair because a lot of men lose their hair as they get older. But it’s harder for women.”

  “Is Mom crying?”

  My chest constricts. I have to think about the best way to respond.

  “She did cry when we first cut it off,” I finally admit. “But she’s not anymore.”

  Nicholas nods. I get him buckled into his seat and we return home. Liv is waiting for us in the kitchen. She’s dressed in a polka-dot blue skirt and a white blouse, with a pale blue scarf tied around her head. She’s wearing makeup, little silver earrings, and her Fortune Favors the Brave necklace. Though Liv always looks good, I can tell she’s taken extra care with her appearance.

  “Hi, Nick-Nack.” She holds out her arms. “How was school?”

  “Good.” Nicholas approaches her somewhat cautiously, but as soon as her arms close around him, he hugs her with his usual after-school enthusiasm. “We had rehearsal for the music concert, and Dad took me out for ice cream.”

  “So
I see.” Liv indicates the ice-cream ring around his mouth.

  He studies her for a second, and I wonder if he’s going to ask her if he can take off her scarf. Instead he says, “You look like a pirate.”

  “Really?” She smiles, as if he couldn’t have given her a better compliment. “Thanks. We both know how cool pirates are. Now come sit down and show me your schoolwork.”

  She takes Nicholas’s backpack, and they sit down at the kitchen table so he can show her the worksheets and drawings he did that day. Within seconds, he seems to have forgotten about her hair, though I know it’ll be tough for him to see her without the scarf.

  As they talk, I start getting dinner organized. Half an hour later, the front door opens. Liv and I exchange glances.

  I grab my baseball cap and put it on, hurrying to get to the foyer before Bella and Claire come into the kitchen. Claire is helping Bella off with her coat.

  “Hi, Daddy,” Bella says.

  I crouch and hold out my arms, letting my daughter dash into them. After a hug, I ease back to look at her.

  “Do you remember when we told you Mommy would lose her hair?” I ask. “Because of the medicine?”

  Bella nods, her gaze going to my baseball cap and the obvious lack of hair beneath. A worried look crosses her face.

  “Well, Mommy did lose her hair,” I explain. “And I cut mine off so she wouldn’t be the only one without any hair.”

  Bella frowns. She grabs the brim of my cap and pulls it off. She stares at my head, then gives a little whine and pulls away from me to run back to Claire.

  “It’s okay, Bella.” Claire takes her hand. “Let’s go see your mom.”

  She marches past me into the kitchen, leading a reluctant Bella. Alarm flickers through me. I follow, trying to get in front of my daughter as if I can protect her from the shock.

  Nicholas and Liv are still sitting at the table. She rises from her chair with a smile.

  “Hi, sweetie.” She approaches Bella and holds her arms out, but Bella doesn’t move, her eyes narrowing suspiciously at the scarf on Liv’s head.

  “So let’s see it,” Claire says brightly, giving Bella a nudge forward. “We know Dean still looks great without any hair, but what about you, Liv?”

  “Hey, we’ll take it from here.” I step forward to stop Claire from interfering further.

  “Bella, Mom just shaved her head,” Nicholas says. “It’ll grow back, like Dad’s.”

  “I don’t like it,” Bella whines.

  “At least losing your hair is better than losing your boobs, right?” Claire says with a laugh.

  What the actual fuck?

  Liv looks stricken, two spots of color appearing on her cheeks. Claire opens and closes her mouth, faint horror appearing in her eyes.

  “I’m s-sorry,” she stammers. “Liv, I didn’t mean—”

  “Enough.” I grab her arm, managing to keep my voice calm as I say, “Kids, say goodbye to Claire. She has to go now.”

  “Bye, Claire,” Nicholas calls.

  Bella looks like she’s about to cry. I guide Claire gently but firmly to the door.

  “That was completely unacceptable,” I snap, low and angry.

  “Oh god, Dean, I’m so sorry.” She groans and presses her hands to her cheeks. “I totally did not know what to say or do. I meant to research how to talk to kids about chemo and hair loss, but I forgot and the whole thing caught me off guard. I didn’t realize Liv would lose her hair so soon. I’m so sorry. Please don’t fire me.”

  “I’m not going to fire you.” I sigh, suddenly tired. “But we’ll handle how we talk to the kids about Liv.”

  She still looks upset as she pulls on her coat. There’s a knock on the door, and I answer it to find Archer standing on the porch.

  “Hey.” He holds up a kit of power tools. “Just returning this. I was going to leave it in the garage, but the door is locked.”

  “Thanks.” I take the kit and set it on the floor, then hold the door open for Claire.

  She mumbles another apology, tells me she’ll call Liv later, and hurries back out to her car. I close the door behind her, aware of Archer looking at me.

  “Liv lost her hair,” I explain, gesturing to the cap. “So I shaved mine off too. Bella’s not taking it very well. Nicholas is okay with it so far.”

  He follows me into the kitchen, where Liv is standing a distance away from Bella, trying to coax her closer. Bella is staring at her mutinously, her arms crossed and her expression set.

  “Hey, everyone,” Archer says loudly, pushing past me to grab Bella and swing her in a circle. She giggles, her expression clearing.

  “Hi, Uncle Archer,” Nicholas calls, scrambling off his seat to come over.

  “How’s it going, dude?” Still holding Bella in one arm, Archer high-fives Nicholas.

  “Mom lost her hair and Dad shaved his head,” Nicholas says matter-of-factly.

  “I don’t like it,” Bella cries.

  “No?” Archer looks puzzled as he sets Bella down and approaches me, taking the cap off my head. He laughs. “Hey, man, the Mr. Clean look suits you.” He grabs me by the shoulders, pulling me into a hug and slapping my back. “You need to paint your head black like an eight ball or rent it out for advertising space.”

  He chuckles again, all jovial cheer and humor, reaching up to rub my head. “Hey, Bella, come here.”

  He turns to Bella, who is watching him warily. Archer grabs my neck and pushes my head down.

  “It’s like a drum,” he tells Bella, rubbing my head again.

  “He looks scary,” she says.

  “It’ll grow back,” Archer assures her. “It’s not like when Nicholas cut off Miss Lulu’s hair and it didn’t grow back.”

  Bella still doesn’t look convinced, but she tentatively reaches out to pat the top of my head. She looks at Archer again. He tousles her hair and moves to whisper something in Nicholas’s ear. Nicholas chortles with delight and races off to open the low kitchen cupboard where we keep the art supplies.

  Archer says something to Liv, who nods and smiles. Next thing I know, Nicholas and Archer are organizing a set of finger-paints on the kitchen table.

  “Up you go, Bella Umbrella.” Archer lifts Bella into her seat at the table and shoots me a glance. “Sit down, man.”

  I see where this is going. I sit down and lower my head as Nicholas and Bella get their hands sticky with paint and begin to slather it on my scalp.

  Bella laughs, slapping her wet hands against my head, happily indulging in her love of messes. Nicholas is more precise, painting swirls and designs that he wipes away with a paper towel before starting again. Their laughter is music.

  Though paint drips down my face and into my eyes, and my neck gets a kink from being bent, I could sit there for hours letting our children paint my bald head.

  Only when Nicholas complains that he’s getting hungry do they show any signs of stopping. Liv hands me a few towels to wipe my head. She’s smiling her usual Liv smile, the one that hits me in the middle of the chest every time.

  “Awesome work, kids.” Archer grabs the pink paint and squeezes some onto his fingers, then paints something on the top of my head. Nicholas laughs.

  “I don’t want to know,” I say.

  “Thirty years, and I finally have revenge,” Archer remarks.

  I go to the mirror in the foyer to find that my brother has drawn a pink bow on the top of my head. He follows me to the door, grinning.

  “You’re an ass,” I tell him. “And a genius. Thank you.”

  “No problem.” He glances down at my hand. “By the way, nice bracelet.”

  “It’s a wristband.” I extend my wrist, which is still wrapped with the looped string holding Liv’s wedding ring against my pulse.

  “Whatever you say, man.” Archer pulls open the front door. “Okay, I gotta get out of your hair.”

  I shake my head in amusement as he grins again and goes to his truck. Thirty years ago, I’d never have imagi
ned how grateful I’d be to have him as a brother. But today I know I’m grateful beyond words.

  Chapter 30

  Olivia

  Winter melts into a rainy spring, with slushy puddles covering the streets and sidewalks. Our lives continue to be punctuated by doctor’s appointments and the hours-long chemo infusions, but the heavy weight is eased by the simple fact that every day, something good happens. Every single day.

  Bella and I make perfectly round pancakes. Nicholas comes home with a decorated paper bag overflowing with Valentines from his classmates. We find new flowers on my lantana plant in the sunroom. I hear Dean reading Peter Pan to Nicholas and Bella, his deep voice filled with enthusiasm as he says, “I do believe in fairies. I do, I do!”

  Friends come to visit almost daily. The Moms bring me a box filled with beautiful cotton turbans and scarves. Dean’s mother and sister send me gift packages of fancy herbal teas, books, and a cashmere shawl. Archer makes me a playlist of classic rock “power songs” to listen to during chemo infusions—or whenever I need to.

  Steppenwolf’s “Magic Carpet Ride” proves surprisingly captivating, especially since I’d always thought it was about a psychedelic drug trip. I guess that’s sort of what I’m on right now, though I’m sure Steppenwolf’s trip felt a lot better than mine.

  Each night before bed, all four of us sit in the living room to write in our Important Things journals, then Dean reads our entries aloud. Our family snow globe sits on the coffee table in front of us.

  “Superman,” Dean reads from Nicholas’s journal. “Dirt. Pencil sharpeners. Fire trucks. Dogs. Uncle Archer’s motorcycle. Rope swings.”

  He switches to Bella’s journal. “Elephants. The color blue. Hoot. Santa. The zoo.”

  And my journal. “Sunrises. Marzipan. Thank you notes. Singing, even if you can’t carry a tune. Walking in the woods. Origami. Libraries.”

  Dean turns to his journal. “Multiplication tables. A good run. The perfect spiral in football. The Piazza del Duomo in Pisa. Comic books. Sandwiches.”