Allure Page 12

“Dean?”

  “Right here.”

  “Do you want a baby?” I finally ask.

  “No.”

  My heart almost stops. “No?”

  “I don’t want a baby.” Dean puts his hand on my belly, spreading his fingers out. “But I do want this baby. I want our baby.”

  I smile, relief filling me like light. “Good, because that’s all I’ve got.”

  “You’ve got much more than that, Mrs. West.”

  He holds up his left hand, palm out. I put my palm against his so our wedding bands click. He moves his hand over. We clasp our fingers together. Then Dean takes my ponytail in his other hand and gently pulls my head back so he can kiss me.

  “There’s just one thing…” he murmurs.

  “What?”

  “If it’s a boy, can we name it Chaucer?”

  I break away from him with a laugh. He frowns.

  “Why are you laughing? Chaucer is a great name for our baby.”

  “In your dreams.”

  “Where you always are,” he remarks.

  “Good one, professor.” I pat his cheek. “Now, you’d better get dressed. Helen is coming for dinner, so you’ll have a rapt audience if you want to discuss the dimensions of cathedral elevation.”

  “What about the name Abelard?” he calls after me as I head downstairs.

  “What about the name Ezekiel?” I call back.

  “That’s biblical, not medieval.”

  I’m still smiling as I go into the kitchen. Helen is already there, looking elegant in slacks and a sage-green cashmere sweater. She and Paige are talking, but they both stop when they see me.

  I greet them politely and put on an apron from the utility closet before finishing up the dinner preparations. Paige pours several glasses of wine and offers me one.

  “No, thanks.”

  She arches an eyebrow. “You’ve stopped drinking?”

  What a way to phrase that question.

  “I’ve never been much of a drinker,” I say, more for Helen’s benefit than Paige’s.

  “Well, one glass won’t hurt.” She’s still holding it out to me.

  “No, really, I’d prefer water.”

  Paige stares at me for a minute, then shrugs. As she turns away, she and Helen exchange glances. I wonder what silent message has just passed between them. They’re both radiating coolness in my direction, which shouldn’t surprise me.

  “So.” I take a glass and fill it with water from the refrigerator dispenser. “How long have you two been friends?”

  “Since high school,” Paige replies. “Helen’s family moved in down the street when I was fourteen. She and Dean were in the same grade, right?”

  “Mmm. Graduated the same year, though we didn’t start dating until grad school.”

  Paige sighs and reaches for the wine. “You guys were so good together.”

  Helen smiles tightly. “Oh, did I tell you my parents got back from Spain last week? They had a wonderful time.”

  She and Paige sit at the table as Helen starts talking about all the places her parents visited. Paige hangs on every word, interjecting with awed remarks and questions. “They did, really? That must have been beautiful. Have you been there? What was it like?”

  I can almost see the girl-crush Paige has harbored for years, the awe she has for this sophisticated woman. Paige must have been thrilled when her older brother married elegant, ambitious Helen.

  A rush of sympathy goes through me. Paige has had it rough too. I know what it’s like to crave something stable and secure, which likely is what Paige has also done since childhood. When Helen and Dean married, Paige probably saw them as the epitome of the perfect marriage—a strong, familial unit her own parents never were. And then her illusion shattered when Dean and Helen divorced.

  No wonder she doesn’t like me.

  “Have you ever been to Spain, Liv?” Paige asks me.

  I shake my head.“I’ve been to France a few times with Dean, though.”

  It’s the wrong thing to say. Both women look as if I’d mentioned Dean in order to rub salt in their wounds.

  Helen turns back to Paige and starts talking about Seville. I finish making dinner while listening, glad when Dean comes into the kitchen. He squeezes my shoulder in silent apology for having taken so long.

  Paige helps me get dinner on the table. I eat in relative silence while Dean, Helen, and Paige talk, and Helen asks Dean if he’s interested in guest lecturing for one of her classes at Stanford next week.

  “I have a class on the nineteenth-century design movement, so maybe you could talk about medieval aesthetics and architecture?” Helen asks, passing a plate of asparagus to Paige. “Maybe stained glass?”

  “I don’t have a lecture written up on that, but I could put one together,” Dean says.

  “It’s not a big class, just fifteen undergrads. You could make it more of a discussion.”

  “Sure.”

  Helen looks pleased. “I’ll send out an email announcement to the department. Some of the medieval history students will want to sit in, too.”

  They launch into a discussion of what texts and pieces they should focus on.

  I can’t detect any anger between Helen and Dean. No lingering bitterness or blame either, as if all the unpleasant emotions have been lost in time. They’re like polite colleagues now, discussing their work and mutual acquaintances.

  After dinner, Dean and I wash the dishes and clean the kitchen, then tell the other women good night and head upstairs. Dean checks on his mother while I change into my nightgown and brush my teeth.

  “Did she take your name?” I ask when Dean comes back into the bedroom.

  “What?”

  “Helen. Was she Helen West?”

  “No.” He grabs the back collar of his T-shirt and tugs it over his head. “She kept her maiden name. She was always Dr. Morgan.”

  I’m glad they didn’t share that.

  “How do you… you know, feel? About her?”

  “I wish her well.” He shrugs. “I’m sorry about what happened, but I’m glad we both got out when we did. I’m sure she feels the same way.”

  “You’re so mature.”

  He winks at me. “And you like me that way.”

  “True.” I’m surprised to realize I’m glad for both him and Helen that they’ve been able to come to terms with their rocky past and put it behind them. Well, I’m glad for Dean’s sake anyway.

  I tell him to lie facedown on the bed, then I straddle the small of his back and start to knead the tension from his shoulders. He lets out a groan of appreciation. His muscles are rigid with knots, but slowly they become pliable under my hands. I work his spine, pressing along the length of it, then back up to his neck. His skin is smooth, taut. I slide my fingers into his hair and massage his scalp and ears.

  Within minutes, the rhythm of his body shifts beneath mine. I rub his shoulders awhile longer as he sinks deeper into sleep. Then I climb off and pull the comforter over him.

  I give Kelsey a quick call to update her. I look around for the novel I brought with me and realize I’ve left my satchel downstairs. As I head down to retrieve it, I hear Paige and Helen talking in the living room.

  Bad Liv. I stop on the stairs to listen. Sure enough, they’re talking about me and Dean.

  “I just don’t know what they have in common,” Paige says. Glass clinks on glass as she refills her wine. “He’s so brilliant, you know. So well-regarded. And she… well, she doesn’t do much of anything, from what I can tell.”

  Shit. I don’t want to hear this, but I don’t move.

  “The sex must be spectacular,” Helen replies, her tone dry.

  “Helen!” Paige sounds shocked. “You’re talking a
bout my brother.”

  “And my ex-husband. Believe me when I say I know what he can do.”

  “Helen.” Paige chokes out a laugh. “She’s pretty, I guess. I’ll give her that. But you think good sex can sustain a marriage?”

  “In some cases, apparently.” Now Helen sounds faintly bitter. “Dean said they met in Wisconsin.”

  “Madison. She was a student, also working at a coffeehouse. He was a visiting professor at the University of Wisconsin. He brought her home once for Thanksgiving, which was a total disaster.”

  There’s a pause before Paige continues. “We thought Dean was just messing around with her, especially when he didn’t mention her again. Then out of nowhere a couple years later, bam! He tells us they’re married. I think Mom is still expecting them to break up and for Dean to find someone more suitable.”

  My chest squeezes tight.

  “Where does her family live?” Helen asks.

  “I’ve no idea. I can’t remember what her parents do. I don’t think she’s ever talked about them, not that I’ve asked. I get the sense they weren’t around much.”

  “Probably the reason she latched on to Dean,” Helen says. “You know, stable, successful, handsome guy. She got lucky.”

  “Or she got a free ride,” Paige mutters.

  Double shit.

  “No kids yet, huh?” Helen asks.

  “Not that we know of.”

  I creep upstairs, then make a bit of noise closing the bedroom door and going back down the stairs. Their conversation comes to a halt when I’m halfway to the living room.

  “Hi.” I pause at the door and give them a little wave, as if I’ve just happened upon them. “I came down to get my book.”

  They both look at me without blinking. Then Helen reaches for the wine bottle. “Why don’t you join us, Liv?”

  “Thanks, but I’m pretty tired.”

  “Come on, just one glass.”

  Because I am apparently a glutton for punishment, I enter the living room and sit on a chair by the fire. I don’t know what I expect to say to them, except I feel the intense urge to justify my marriage.

  Helen holds out the wineglass. I shake my head. Her gaze skims over me, briefly but with a sharpness that makes me self-conscious. I’m wearing a thin robe that I brought because it takes up less space than my padded one. Now I wish I had the cover of the thick robe because Helen continues to look at me as if she’s assessing me physically.

  As if she’s still trying to figure out what Dean sees in me.

  I push a lock of hair behind my ear and wrap my arms around myself.

  “So, I hear you’ve taught at Stanford for years, Helen,” I say brightly.

  “Yes. I’ve been there since before Dean and I were married.”

  I wonder how often she’s going to remind me that she and Dean were married. Maybe I’ll think up a responding zinger I can use every time she does. Something about Dean’s and my amazing sex life, perhaps.

  “Helen and I were just talking about your family, Liv.” Paige’s tone is pleasant, conversational. “I’m afraid I can’t remember what your parents do.”

  “My mother is in travel,” I say, repeating the same thing I have for the past ten years. “My father passed away years ago.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Paige says. “Perhaps your mother can join you for a visit sometime. We’d love to finally meet her.”

  I mutter something noncommittal.

  “Where does she live?” Paige continues.

  “In the South.” Last I know about.

  “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Helen asks.

  “No.” Why don’t I get up and leave? I don’t want to talk about any of this. But I also don’t want them to talk about me. And I really don’t like the implications they made, as if Dean has terrible judgment because he married me. As if I’m worthless.

  “So we’re thinking that Dean might get tenure at King’s soon,” I tell Helen. “Especially since he just received an IHR grant.”

  Helen looks startled. “Dean got an IHR grant?”

  Hah.

  “Oh, didn’t he tell you? They sent him the letter before Christmas. The funding starts this summer.”

  “Well, that’s great.” Helen takes another sip of wine.

  I try to come up with some fabulous recent accomplishment of my own that I can brag about. “And I’m pregnant” doesn’t fit the bill. Maybe “And I can make an awesome soufflé”?

  “I didn’t know you were here, Helen.” Joanna West enters the room. She somehow manages to look effortlessly elegant in a flowing caftan thing, even though it’s nearing ten at night. “Any word from the doctor?”

  “I called earlier, and Dad’s sleeping,” Paige says. “We can visit in the morning.”

  “Fine.” Joanna slants her cool gaze to me. “Hello, Olivia.”

  “How are you, Joanna?” My stomach twists. I hate the evidence that she can still make me nervous, this sophisticated woman who blames me for taking her son away.

  “We saved dinner for you, Joanna.” Helen rises and hands Joanna a glass of wine. “Liv made it. Come and have some.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  The three women go into the kitchen. Although they’ve just snubbed me, I’m less hurt than I am relieved at the chance to escape their company. I stay seated for a few minutes, listening to the hum of their conversation.

  I can’t help feeling a little envious at the knowledge that Helen still has a good relationship with Joanna West. Paige and Joanna have always been close, the two West women united, and Helen seems to be the third piece to their little conclave.

  Pressing a hand to my belly, I go back upstairs. Dean is sound asleep, sprawled out on his stomach. I take my Liv’s Manifesto notebook from my satchel and sit at the desk, turning on the low lamp. I open to a fresh page and pick up a pen.

  I put the book aside and go to slide beneath the covers. I press myself against Dean’s warm body and close my eyes, but it’s a long time before I’m able to sleep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Olivia

  side from a therapist, I had never told anyone what happened at Fieldbrook. Not even North, the one person before Dean whom I could trust. After a huge fight with my mother when I was thirteen, I left her to go and live with my aunt Stella, my father’s sister.

  For five years, I stayed with Stella and her husband Henry in Castleford—classic small-town Wisconsin. Stella had strict rules for my stay—good grades, part-time job, church attendance, no drinking or sleeping around—and I was happy to obey those rules. After years of instability with my mother, it was a relief to have structure, rigid and stifling though it was.

  For five years, no one had anything bad to say about me. No one had anything to say at all. I was quiet, contained, studious. I didn’t date and had only a few friends, choosing to focus on my studies and extracurricular activities like speech-and-debate that would look good on my college applications. When I was eighteen, I earned a full-tuition scholarship to Fieldbrook College, an exclusive private school near Milwaukee.

  The day I got the acceptance letter, I stood by the mailbox with my pulse racing as I felt the past slipping away and the future opening up like an endless field in front of me.

  Dear Miss Winter,

  On behalf of the admissions committee and board of directors, we are very pleased to inform you that you have been selected as the sole recipient of the prestigious Fieldbrook College Merit Scholarship…

  Finally I could stretch my wings, leave my self-centered mother and my repressed life with Aunt Stella far behind. Finally I could figure out who I was and what I wanted to be.

  Three months later, I packed up everything I owned and drove across the state to start my future. That was it. Both the beg
inning and the end.

  And then six years later with Dean… a beginning again.

  Even in the early part of our relationship, I knew I would tell him before I slept with him. I had to. But I didn’t know how or when I would… until I had no choice.

  The weekend after our strip Scrabble game, he came over to my apartment on a rainy Saturday afternoon. We spent a couple of hours working—he graded essays, and I researched a paper about information resources—before I took a break to put some dirty clothes in the washing machine. I gathered up a few quarters and my laundry basket, declining Dean’s offer of help as I went down to the third-floor laundry room.

  A dozen washers and dryers lined the narrow room, the yellow glow of fluorescent lights overhead. Several of the machines were running, the washers making sloshing noises, the dryers rotating with the tumble of clothes. No one else was there, and I put my basket on the table and started taking out socks and T-shirts.

  I was in a somewhat meditative zone, focused on sorting the colors. Any noise was muffled by the rhythmic sound of the machines. I didn’t hear Dean enter the room, didn’t even sense his presence. All I knew was that two big, male hands suddenly slid around my waist from behind. Fear hit me hard and fast.

  My heart jammed up into my throat. I yanked myself away from him and bolted, only to find myself trapped in the corner.

  “Liv?” Dean backed off, shock and dismay flaring across his face. “Liv, I—”

  “Wait…” Goddammit. I held up my hands and tried to take slow, even breaths.

  I was there again, back in a laundry room with boys I hardly knew, music and laughter pounding through the walls, dizzy from the noise and the smell of beer.

  They were big, both of them. One of them stood near the door. I’d known even then that I was trapped, even if I had gone into the room willingly, even if I had fooled around with the blond boy who had looked at me the way no one had before…

  “That… that scared me,” I stammered.

  “Liv, I’m sorry.” Dean dragged a hand down his face. “I never want to scare you.”