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  Images pummel me—all the times I’ve spoken with Maggie Hamilton, her in my office implying sexual favors, our conflict about her thesis proposal. I see myself in a fucking deposition: “No, I didn’t touch her. No, I swear, I never looked at her or thought about her inappropriately.”

  Anger floods my chest. The little bitch. I want to call Maggie Hamilton and demand to know what the fuck she thinks she’s doing.

  I take a few breaths and try to think straight. I know I can’t make any contact with Maggie, but I have to take Frances’s advice. Whatever Maggie is accusing me of, I need to go on the offense with whatever information I can get.

  I send Frances a quick reply.

  Thank you, Frances. I’ll be at the meeting. Please send time and place.

  —Dean

  Then I go in search of Liv.

  My heart races. She’s not upstairs, not in the living room or the kitchen. Neither is Archer, and his motorcycle is gone from the driveway. Good.

  I go out to the terrace. Cross the flagstone pathway to the garden. Liv is sitting in the gazebo, a book open across her lap.

  I stare at my wife. The glow of sunlight on her long, loose hair, a few strands falling over her cheek. The slight swell of her belly beneath her skirt.

  Holy shit.

  Sexual harassment?

  Liv lifts her head at the sound of my footsteps. I swallow a rising panic. Steady my expression into one of nonchalance.

  She smiles. “Hey, handsome.”

  I wipe my palms on my jeans and climb the gazebo steps.

  How can I tell her? I know I have to. I’m not stupid. I won’t repeat my mistake of keeping secrets from my wife. I have to tell her the truth.

  “Liv, there’s a departmental meeting at King’s on Monday. I just heard about it. It’s important. Frances Hunter asked me to be there.”

  “What kind of meeting?”

  The question throws me. Maggie Hamilton hasn’t filed a formal charge. Maybe this meeting is to find a way to prevent one. It would be a helluva lot easier to tell Liv about this if I could conclude with, “But nothing happened, so it’s over.”

  I ignore a stab of guilt.

  “Just department stuff.” I brush a lock of hair away from Liv’s forehead. “I can fly out tomorrow and come back here on Tuesday.”

  “You need to fly all the way back to Mirror Lake for one meeting? Can’t you join by teleconference or whatever?”

  “No.” I have no idea how to explain why I can’t. “It involves the Medieval Studies program, so I need to be there. You can come with me, then just stay in Mirror Lake. I’ll have to come back here because of my father. I also promised Helen I’d guest lecture at Stanford next Friday.”

  Liv hesitates, indecision flashing across her expression. “I told you I wanted to be here with you the whole time.”

  “I’ll only stay a week longer, then come home.” I try to think of another way to convince her. “Remember how sick you got on the plane? You don’t want to take an extra two trips. I won’t let you.”

  Liv bites down on her lower lip. “Why don’t I stay here then?”

  “Why should you stay here?”

  “I can still help out while you’re gone,” she says. “I haven’t felt sick in the past few days, but you’re right, I don’t want to get on a plane more than I have to. If I stay here and we leave next weekend, I’ll be closer to my second trimester. By then, morning sickness is supposed to lessen quite a bit, so maybe the flight back won’t be so rough.”

  “I don’t want you to stay here alone.” Frustration grips me. “Especially with Archer around.”

  “I’m not worried about Archer.” A resolve seems to click inside her, born of that inner strength she sometimes forgets she has. She closes her book. “I’ll stay here, Dean. It will be fine.”

  “I want you with me.”

  “It’s only for two days. I can go with your mother to the hospital if necessary, still help out with cooking. Paige told me she’s going back to work tomorrow, so your mother would probably appreciate having someone around.”

  She doesn’t look certain about that. I’m not either. Under normal circumstances I’d argue and insist that she come with me and stay in Mirror Lake.

  But these are not normal circumstances. And if she does stay here, I’ll have two days to figure out how to explain this mess to her.

  “I told Archer to stay away from you,” I say.

  “He won’t bother me.”

  “If he—”

  “He won’t. I’m not scared of him.”

  I don’t know what else to say.

  “Hey.” A crease appears between Liv’s eyebrows. She tugs at my hand. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I swallow hard. “I’m going to check on flights.”

  She lets go of my hand. I feel her gaze on me as I head back to the house.

  I can’t hide from her. I don’t want to. I do, however, need more information. I’ll tell her after the meeting. Couple of days, at most. When I know more about what the hell is going on.

  I return to the library and check airline websites. I manage to find a seat on a two-stop flight that leaves early tomorrow morning. I purchase the ticket with a Tuesday return.

  I pull up Frances’s email again and stare at it.

  Maggie Hamilton could destroy my career and my reputation because I didn’t approve her goddamned thesis proposal.

  Black thoughts crowd my brain. I could get fired, disgraced, blackballed, forced to pay exorbitant legal fees. A court case could drag on for months and be written up in the press, all during my wife’s pregnancy and the birth of my first child…

  No way. No fucking way.

  Rage swamps me, hard and fast. An explosion bursts behind my eyes. I slam a fist on the desk. Sweep my arm across the clutter. Paperweights, pencil holders, folders all spill to the floor. The lamp crashes and breaks, shattering green glass onto the carpet.

  “Dean?”

  Shit. Darkness edges my vision. I pull my gaze to the doorway. A woman is standing there.

  Not Liv.

  Helen.

  I draw in a breath and try to settle my racing heart. She steps warily into the room, glancing at the cluttered mess.

  “Are you all right?” She pauses halfway to the desk and gives me a faint smile. “I guess that’s a silly question.”

  I bark out a laugh and sink back into the chair. I rest my head in my hands. Sexual harassment. This could be bad. Really bad.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Helen asks.

  “No.” I sit back and look at her.

  She glances from me to the computer screen and back again. “Bad news?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Well.” She smooths her skirt over her hips and steps back. “Let me know if I can help.”

  She’s almost to the door when I stop her. I don’t think. Can’t think too much, but if I don’t tell someone this will burn a hole in my brain. And Helen has been in academia as long as I have. She knows how the politics work.

  “Helen.”

  She turns.

  “You ever been involved in a sexual harassment claim?”

  Helen stares at me, her hand at her throat. “Oh, Dean.”

  “Yeah.” I rest my head against the back of the chair. “Nothing formal.”

  Yet.

  Helen approaches the desk again. “What happened?”

  “Student’s upset that I won’t approve her thesis proposal, so she’s threatening to say I sexually harassed her.” I look at her. “It’s not true.”

  “I know that, Dean.” Helen leans her hip against the edge of the desk. “We had a rough time, but I never doubted your integrity.”

  T
he black thoughts encroach again. Liv. My beautiful, pregnant wife…

  “Dean? Jesus, you’re sweating.” Helen grabs a box of tissues from the mess on the floor. She hands it to me. “Okay, look. Tell me what happened.”

  I do. I start at the beginning—Maggie’s nepotistic admittance to the university because of her big-donor father, her work with a professor who left King’s the year before I was hired, her plan to apply for law school, her lousy work ethic and sense of entitlement. Her anger that I wouldn’t approve her thesis.

  Her suggestion that she’d do something sexual in exchange for my academic support.

  “I did everything right, Helen,” I say. “Never stood too close to a female student or professor. Always kept the office door open during meetings. Never met with a student alone outside of the university. Knew all the university policies. Never made inappropriate comments or—”

  “Dean.” Helen puts her hand on the desk. “I know that. So this girl hasn’t made any kind of formal charge?”

  “Not yet. I’m going back for a meeting with the department chairperson and someone from the Office of Judicial Affairs. I guess he’s gathering information.”

  “I’ll bet you dimes to doughnuts that the little hussy will approach you again before filing a formal charge,” Helen says.

  I can’t help smiling. Helen has always been prone to using anachronistic phrases that make no sense to me.

  “What does that mean, anyway?” I ask. “Dimes to doughnuts?”

  “I’ll put up the same amount of dimes to your doughnuts because I know I’m right,” Helen replies. “It was a phrase coined when you could get a lot of doughnuts for a dime. I mean it, too. She’s going to come to you telling you she’ll drop the charge if you sign her proposal.”

  “And so I sign the damned thing and get stuck with her for the next two or three years.”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “You put a tape recorder in your office and record the conversation, get her to implicate herself, then take the recording to the OJA and your department chair.”

  “Seriously? Isn’t that illegal?”

  Helen shrugs. “She’s making a false claim. That’s illegal too, I assume. Or at least against university rules. Why shouldn’t you play dirty too?”

  “Not the right kind of dirty,” I mutter.

  Helen shakes her head with amusement. “My guess is it won’t matter if it’s illegal or not, because once the hussy finds out what you did, she won’t make a formal accusation and you’ll be in the clear.”

  “You’ll bet dimes to doughnuts on that?”

  “I’ll bet my sweet bippy on that.”

  “What the hell is a… never mind. I don’t think I want to know.”

  Helen grins and moves away from the desk. I let out a long breath. The tightness in my chest is gone. Now there’s even a faint ray of hope.

  Helen helps me clean up the mess from the floor. We put everything back on the desk. She vacuums the shattered glass and throws away the broken lamp.

  “I’ll run downtown and pick up another one before your mother notices it’s missing,” she says, winding up the vacuum cleaner cord.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  I reach out to capture her wrist. “I mean it, Helen. Thanks. And I’m sorry for what I—”

  “Yeah, you were a melodramatic asshole the other day, but in a way I can appreciate it. Nice for Liv that you’d say those things about her.” She pats my arm. “And I’ve been snarky too, I know. Keep me posted, okay?”

  “I will.”

  We leave the library just as Liv is coming in from the terrace.

  “I was going to make some tea or coffee,” she says. “Do you want some?”

  “No, thanks,” Helen replies. “I’m going to run some errands.”

  “I’ll walk you out.” I fall into step beside Helen as she goes to the front door. I lower my voice. “Liv doesn’t know yet. I’m going to tell her when I get back.”

  Helen’s eyebrows lift, but she nods. “Okay. My lips are sealed.”

  “Wow. A phrase I understand.”

  “I dumbed it down for you.”

  With that, she heads toward her car.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Olivia

  January 27

  elen offers to drive Dean to the airport, which is fine with me since I’m not familiar with San Jose roads, and the freeways are busy and a little scary. Instead I agree to go with Joanna and Paige to the hospital again, so Dean and I part ways in the foyer.

  “Love you, beauty.” He hugs me and gives my belly a discreet pat. “I’ll call as soon as I get in, okay?”

  I nod. Even though he’ll be gone for less than three days, I wish he didn’t have to go at all. I’m not concerned about being alone with his family, as things have been easier than they were the last time I was here, but I don’t want to be apart from my husband these days.

  I press my mouth to his, aware of Helen waiting nearby, then step out of his embrace. “Be safe.”

  It’s weird that the history department is making him return for one meeting. You’d think they could either wait or let him teleconference via computer or speaker phone. I hope they’re paying for the plane ticket, at least.

  I watch from the front doorstep as they get into Helen’s car and leave, then I go back upstairs to straighten up our bedroom. There’s a note on the mirror:

  I smile and put the note on Dean’s pillow so it’ll be there when I go to bed tonight. I return downstairs and, with Joanna’s permission, I use the computer in the library to check my email.

  There’s a message from Kelsey asking how things are going and assuring me that all my houseplants are still alive. I tell her about Richard West’s successful surgery and that Dean is on his way back to Mirror Lake for a couple of days.

  Then I surf a few pregnancy-related websites, avoiding the When It’s an Emergency links and focusing on the stages of pregnancy, information about ultrasounds, and articles about sex and pregnancy.

  Out of curiosity, I click on a link that has illustrations of the most comfortable positions for sex during pregnancy.

  Straddle your partner. Okay.

  Lie side by side. We can do that.

  Get on your knees and support yourself with your elbows while your partner enters you from behind.

  I definitely want to try that.

  “Oh, sorry.”

  I look up with a start to find Paige coming into the library. I quickly fumble to click on another link and hide the pregnant sex website.

  “Hi, Paige.”

  Good Lord. I hope she didn’t see what I was looking at.

  “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes, if you want to go with us,” she tells me.

  “Sure. Just checking my email.” I smile brightly.

  Paige shrugs and leaves. Just to ensure I wasn’t lying, I log in to my email again. There’s a message from Kelsey:

  He’s coming back for one meeting? WTF?

  It’s an important meeting, from what Dean said, but Kelsey’s reaction renews my own confusion. It really doesn’t make a lot of sense.

  I wonder if the meeting has something to do with Dean’s job or the international conference he’s planning. He’s only been on the King’s University faculty for two years. While the board courted him and offered him a top-level salary, and so far has given him everything he’s asked for in terms of funding, he doesn’t yet have tenure.

  Maybe that’s it! Maybe they’re planning to offer him early tenure.

  Dean has half a dozen grad students under his advisement, he’s earned an incredible reputation over a very short time, he has numerous publications, and he’s brought a lot of attention to the uni
versity and the new Medieval Studies program. The conference will surely cement his reputation, along with his book that’s being published in the fall and the IHR grant…

  That has to be it. And he didn’t want to tell me because he wants it to be a surprise.

  An unexpected burst of excitement floods me. If Dean is offered tenure, then his professorship is permanent. We really will be in Mirror Lake for the foreseeable future.

  Rather than feeling uncertain about the idea, I’m filled with anticipation. I want to stay in Mirror Lake. Finally now I realize how much that town has become home to me in the past two years.

  I want to raise our child there, watch him or her attend school, swim in the lake, eat ice cream on Avalon Street, play in Wizard’s Park, bike along all the back roads. I have friends in Mirror Lake, good friends, and even though I don’t have a career, I have a bookstore job and volunteer work that I love.

  I can give our child the stable, secure life and the home I never had.

  The very idea, its newfound reality, alleviates much of my previous unease. I grab my purse and hurry out to join Joanna and Paige for the trip to the hospital.

  I already can’t wait for Dean to get back.

  “How was your day?”

  His voice is a low rumble. Warmed by the sound, I press my ear to the phone and sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Fine. I went with Paige and your mom to visit your dad, who is complaining about the food. I think he’s ready to come home. They’re keeping an eye on that swelling he had in the heart valve, but the doctor says he should be okay for a release on Thursday. How were your flights?”

  “Second leg was delayed because of ice in Chicago.”

  “I forgot it’s still winter in the Midwest.”

  “Ten degrees right now. Roads are slick, too.”

  “Are you at home?”

  “Just got in a little while ago. Did you get my note?”

  “It’s lovely, but why did you draw a volcano?”

  “Smartass,” he mutters.