Spiral of Bliss 03 Awaken (33 page)

And then they’re both in my vision, both facing me—my mother and my husband. My past and my present. The one who hurt me, and the one who helped me heal.

“So, good luck, Liv,” Crystal says, and I don’t think she knows Dean is there. “I really did want you to come with me. I did want to help you.”

“I don’t need your help, Crystal.”

I remember what she said to Maggie Hamilton. Remember all the men Crystal went through because they were the only way she knew how to get what she wanted. I wish she’d found a different way. I wish she’d find one now.

“It’s like I told that girl,” Crystal continues. “I know something about manipulative men, so be careful about thinking your husband is all that you want him to be.”

I meet Dean’s dark gaze. I feel the tension going through him, his urge to rush forward, to move between us, to shield me. He takes a step, his eyes never leaving mine, and then he stops.

I shift my gaze from Dean to Crystal. A wellspring of strength rises in me. I needed my mother once, back when I was uncertain and scared.

I don’t need her anymore.

“Dean is my world, Crystal. He helped me get back the life I lost. You will never make me doubt him.”

As I look at her, I realize why she thought she could come between me and my husband, why she tried to convince me to leave him and go with her again, why she thought I could forget all that happened.

She doesn’t know anything about love.

Not like me. Not like Dean.

I put my hand on my stomach again. I know, I
know,
that another kind of love awaits me and my husband… a love that will be both exhilarating and frightening, rich beyond measure. A love that will both encompass us and extend beyond us.

Neither Dean nor I have ever experienced a love like that from anyone except each other. Only together did we create
this
—an island of warmth and light, a haven of devotion, a place where we are both always safe and unreservedly loved.

I feel my mother studying me, assessing me.

“Putting all your trust in one man is stupid, Liv,” she says. “And I never wanted you to be a coward.”

“I’ve never
been
a coward,” I tell her. “That’s the reason I left you. Besides, you always said you’d have had such a better life if it weren’t for me. But you made your own choices. You hit the road running and never looked back. And you took me with you.”

“I had to,” she replies curtly. “Your father was a lying, cheating bastard. My mother was a self-centered bitch who wouldn’t help her own daughter. I had to leave. You think I had a choice?”

“I think we always have a choice. That’s why I left you, because I wanted to make my own choices. I didn’t want to live like that anymore.”

“And you ended up living a repressed life with Stella before you had to drop out of college, right?”

“No. I ended up married to a man who showed me exactly what it feels like to be loved.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Liv. You never even knew how lucky you were. You never appreciated anything I did for you.”

“Because you never did anything for me,” I retort. A barbed-wire flashback threatens. I rip it apart, crush it to dust. “You didn’t even protect me when perverts tried to mess with me. Instead you said it was my fault.”

“I never—”

“Yes, you did.” Old anger boils in my chest. I feel Dean’s simultaneous flash of rage, but still he doesn’t move forward. I fix my gaze on my mother.

“You even accused me of leading North on because you were jealous of our friendship,” I remind her. “You blamed me for everything, Crystal. Maybe if you hadn’t, you’d have learned that you could have had a different life. One that you really wanted.”

A heavy, strained silence falls. My mother stares at me. For the first time ever, I see the fatigue in her eyes, the lines edging her mouth.

“You were the coward, Crystal,” I say. “Not me. I started a new life on my own.”

“You didn’t start anything,” she replies, her voice tight. “I’m the one who got us away from your father. I’m the one who saved us both.”

“You didn’t save me. I saved myself.”

“All you did was run away.”

“No.” I shake my head, knowing the truth to my very bones. “It’s not running away if you’re running
toward
something.”

And always, no matter what happened, I’ve always run in the right direction—to Aunt Stella’s, college, Twelve Oaks, North, my future, Dean.

As I look at my mother, I realize that she’s the one who has always run away. Because she has never had anything or anyone to run toward.

“Crystal, I’ve learned so much,” I tell her, and for the first time ever I truly hope that my mother will one day find the ground beneath her feet, and the peace that has eluded her for so long. “And I promise you, putting down roots doesn’t mean you’re trapped or stifled or even…
ordinary.
It just means that you’ve finally figured out where home is.”

For what seems like forever, we look at each other. I see her eyes that are shaped like mine, her hair that is as long and straight as mine. I remember the picture North took of us as Crystal and I sat beside a campfire together and smiled.

“Good luck,” I finally say.

She nods, her gaze still on me.

“Well.” She takes a step back toward the door. “I guess it was impressive, the way you stepped in front of that Hamilton bastard yesterday. Maybe you didn’t lose that backbone after all.”

“Maybe in some ways, I got it from you,” I admit.

A faint smile crosses Crystal’s face before she turns to the door. She falters for a second when her gaze clashes with Dean’s. They stare at each other, hostility sparking in the air. Dean moves aside to let her pass.

Then my mother walks away from me, past my husband, her posture ramrod straight. The fading sound of her heels clicking on the linoleum takes all the breath from my body. I sink onto the edge of the bed.

An immense freedom and relief flood me, like water spilling over a dry plant. For so long, I have trembled on the unstable, dangerous ground of my past, confused by all the twisting roads, shadowed by oppressive queens, flying monkeys, and wicked witches.

I haven’t known if I would ever truly escape, uncertain of my own assertion that I’m strong enough to defeat the darkness by myself. That I do know what it takes to find my way home again, that I’ve always known the power of the ruby slippers and the path back to the rabbit hole. I’ve always known which way is
up.

Dean gets on his knees in front of me. He reaches out, his fingers brushing the sleeve of my shirt.

“You,” he says, “are heroic.”

I look into his eyes filled with a hundred emotions I can’t begin to define, but overshadowing them all is the singular love, both fierce and tender, that has always been like the moon for me. A brilliant light in the darkness, ever-present, constant. Forever.

He reaches into the pocket of his jeans, then takes my hand and puts a silver chain in my palm. My breath catches as I stare at the brass disk.
Fortune favors the brave.

“I… I almost forgot you had this,” I whisper.

“I kept it safe for you.” Dean rests his hands on my knees. “Just like you asked me to.”

I close my fingers around the necklace, feel the weight of the pendant pressing against my palm. Dean stands and reaches to help me to my feet.

“Come on, beauty. Let’s go home.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Dean

June 12

id you get any prison tattoos?” Kelsey strides up the driveway of the Butterfly House, her expression a combination of amusement and concern.

I pull up the sleeve of my shirt to show her a scratch on my forearm from the fight with Hamilton.

“It’s a dagger,” I tell her.

“Pretty hot, tough guy.” Kelsey drops her bag and sits beside me on the front porch. “Where’s Liv?”

“On her way.” I twist a loop of string between my palms to make a row of triangles.

“So… a baby, huh?” Kelsey asks.

My heart thumps. “How did you know?”

“I’m smart, remember? I figured it out.”

I twist the string again. “She had a miscarriage in January.”

“She told me. I’m sorry.” Kelsey hesitates. “I guess it’s scary then, huh?”

Yeah, it’s scary. Lots of things are scary.

“You okay?” she asks. “I mean, without the job and all…”

“I can live without my job, Kelsey.” I untangle the string and shove it into my pocket. “I figured I’d get another one someday. But the reason I resigned in the first place was to end it all, to prevent it from getting out and hurting Liv.”

“She’s not hurt, Dean. The doctor said she’s fine.”

“It’s not just that.”

“I know.”

It’s the public embarrassment, the fact that everyone now knows what happened, Edward Hamilton’s threat to press charges, the complete ruin of the café’s grand opening…

I couldn’t have fucked it all up any more if I’d tried.

Though Allie, Brent, Marianne, and everyone else at the café have said the whole disaster wasn’t my fault and have rallied to get things going again, I feel completely responsible for how it all went down.

I’ve insisted on covering the lost profits and operating expenses until the café gets back on its feet, but that hasn’t been enough to turn public perception around yet.

And once again, I don’t know how to fix it.

Kelsey and I look up at the sound of a car coming to a stop. Liv gets out of the driver’s seat, and my entire being floods with pleasure at the sight of her in a polka-dot skirt and white blouse, her ponytail swinging.

I approach the car and open the passenger side door to help Florence Wickham out.

“Oh, thank you, Dean.” Florence peers up at the Butterfly House and sighs. “I wish we had more community support for this place. I can’t thank you enough for your help, even with all you’ve been through.”

I try not to wince. The news about the Wonderland Café’s disastrous grand opening has spread through town, and I can only hope the bad publicity doesn’t hurt Liv or Allie too much.

“I heard all about it,” Florence tells me, shaking her head. “That horrific fight you were in.”

“I… uh, I didn’t do anything wrong,” I say, feeling the sudden urge to reassure this sweet, elderly lady that I’m still respectable.

Florence blinks at me in surprise. “Oh, Dean, of course you didn’t do anything wrong! A man like you only does everything
right.
Isn’t that so, Olivia?”

Liv nods solemnly. A current of amusement that I don’t understand passes between her and Florence.

“Of course you’re a model citizen, Dean.” Florence reaches out to pat my arm.

She pauses, lifts an eyebrow, then slides her hand up to give my biceps a little squeeze.

“Oh my.” She clears her throat, tightening her grip on me as we walk toward the house. “Well, as I was telling Olivia on the drive up, my granddaughter is the superintendent of the Rainwood school district, and she is just thrilled about the café. She’s eager to help turn things back in your favor.”

“We’d welcome any help, believe me,” Liv says.

She introduces Kelsey to Florence, and we go into the house so Florence can see the progress I’ve made on the interior. After touring the rooms, I step onto the front porch when my phone rings.

“Professor West? This is Ben Stafford of the Office of Judicial Affairs.”

My heart drops. “Yes?”

“I wanted to let you know that you’ll be receiving an official summons from the King’s University board of trustees tomorrow,” Stafford says. “In light of recent events, the board is required to investigate and determine if any university rules have been breached.”

“I see.”

“Also you are still a faculty member pending your resignation,” Stafford continues. “Therefore you must be held accountable for your actions and subject to disciplinary proceedings.”

“What are the possible consequences?”

“Sanctions include a formal letter of reprimand, suspension, or dismissal.”

I don’t care about being dismissed because my resignation is effective next month. I don’t care about being suspended either. I don’t like the idea of a letter of reprimand that will go in my permanent file, but I can live with it if I have to.

I exhale a breath. “Okay. It’s a formality, right?”

“Er, well… no,” Stafford says.

“Then what?”

“This is a public disciplinary hearing, Professor West. The investigative report will go on public record. And anyone can attend.”

His slight emphasis on the word
anyone
is enough.
Anyone
can include Maggie and Edward Hamilton.
Hearing
means Liv might be asked to testify.
Investigate
means all the bullshit about my alleged harassment of a student will go public anyway.

“And my reputation is shot to hell,” I say.

Shit.
So much for all those inquiries from museums and other universities about the next stage of my career.

“Should I bring my lawyer?” I ask.

“I’d advise against it,” Stafford replies. “The board tends to look upon a legal team as evidence of guilt, or at least an attempt to stonewall an investigation.”

“So I just have to sit there and take it?”

“You’ll have the opportunity to defend your actions, Professor West,” Stafford assures me, though not even he can make it sound like that will do any good.

June 16

The King’s University board of trustees convenes in the main hall of the oldest building on campus, a brick-and-tile building modeled after Italian basilica architecture.

Liv and I go into the main meeting hall. A long, polished wood table sits at the head of the room, lined on one side with nine leather chairs. Another table with a microphone on a stand faces it, in front of the spectator seats.

We sit on a bench behind the table with the microphone. Because we’re so early, there’s no one else here yet. Liv takes my hand.

Once upon a time, I wouldn’t have wanted her here. I’d have wanted to keep her away from the ugliness of it, handle things on my own, fix it for her.

Now I can’t imagine her
not
being here.

I look at her. She’s watching me, her expression serious, but her eyes warm. She’s wearing a gray suit, her hair pulled back, little pearl earrings. The cameo engagement ring I’d gotten at that antique shop encircles her finger beside her wedding band. I have a sudden rush of regret that I never gave my wife the proposal she deserved.

The click of the door opening breaks through my thoughts. People begin to enter the room. Liv tightens her hand around mine.

It’s okay. She’s okay. Our baby is okay. I can handle anything if I know that.

Voices and noise fill the air as people sit down. I’d thought Frances Hunter would be here by now. The more the seats fill with spectators, the more tension grips my shoulders.

My one last hope was that not many people would show up to watch my downfall. So much for that hope. A half hour before the proceedings start, the room is full. My stomach turns at the thought of all these people hearing that I was accused of sexually harassing a student.

The hum of voices, rustling papers and backpacks, rise behind me. There’s no sign of Edward Hamilton, but Maggie comes through the side door, her face pinched and her mouth set in a determined line.

When everyone is seated, the nine members of the board of trustees file into the room, all looking stern and duty-bound. I turn, trying to find Frances, the sheer number of people making me nervous. I see Kelsey in the front row, and she gives me a nod of encouragement.

After the trustees sit down and confer, Chancellor Radcliffe calls the hearing to order and begins with an account of my arrest.

“As a member of this faculty, Professor West,” he says, “you are upheld to a code of conduct that you have publicly violated. You also stand accused of ethically questionable conduct which we will further investigate. You may deliver a preliminary statement in your defense, if you wish.”

I detach my hand from Liv’s and move to the microphone. Take a folded piece of paper from my pocket and open it.

“My name is Dean West, professor of Medieval Studies, PhD
summa cum laude,
Harvard University. I have…” My throat tightens. I pause and swallow hard.

“I have spent my adult life in the pursuit of knowledge and education. I believe strongly in academic freedom and hold both myself and my students to the highest standards of scholarship. I have never once violated the educational process or the trust and authority placed in me as a faculty member at any institution. It has been my honor to represent King’s University and to work with the outstanding students and faculty here. I would—”

“Excuse me, Professor West.”

We all turn. Frances Hunter strides down the center of the room from the main entrance. In a tailored, dark green suit, her hair steely gray, she looks like a general marching into battle. She stops beside me, shouldering me out of the way to reach the microphone.

“Chancellor Radcliffe, I apologize for interrupting,” she says, “but I must inform you that one of the scheduled witnesses will not be appearing at today’s proceedings.”

Radcliffe peers at her over the tops of his glasses. “Who, Professor Hunter?”

“Miss Hamilton’s father, Edward Hamilton.”

“What?” Maggie rises from her seat, paling. “How do you know? What happened?”

Frances shoots her a scathing look and returns her attention to the chancellor.

“We received word that Mr. Hamilton has left town and returned to Chicago,” Frances continues, “in light of our discovery that Miss Hamilton’s academic progress at King’s was severely compromised under the advisement of Professor Jeffrey Butler.”