Always (Spiral of Bliss #5) (34 page)

She reaches for my hand. We wind our fingers together and sit quietly, the only sound that of our breathing and the occasional hiccup.

“But I really wanted to do something for you,” Allie says, squeezing my hand. “And so did so many other people, but a lot of them didn’t know what to do or how to do it. So I came up with Operation Butterfly.”

She gives me a shaky smile. “I tell you, Liv, within a day of putting the poster up, enough people signed up to fill the first three weeks. I started off with three times a week deliveries, but so many people wanted to participate that we had to make it four times a week, with a few weekends thrown in too.”

“I can’t even measure how much the butterflies did for all of us,” I tell her. “Nicholas, Bella, Dean… me. Those gifts have been the brightest spot in a pretty dark time.”

Allie’s eyes are still red from crying, but her expression is more at ease now, more like her usual self.

“So you’re… you’re finished with treatment now?” she asks.

“I’m finished with chemo. I still have six weeks of radiation, but I’m expecting to breeze right through it… or sleep through it, given what I’ve read about fatigue.” I decide to spare her the details of chemo and gesture to my scarf. “Can’t wait to have my hair back too.”

She smiles again. “So I have to see how you look bald.”

I sigh dramatically. “Go ahead.”

Allie takes my scarf off and studies me, then reaches up to rub her hand over my scalp. “Wow, it’s smooth. And you have a really well-shaped head.”

I laugh. “That’s what I said to Dean.”

“Is he keeping his head shaved?”

“No, I told him to let his hair start growing back. I have to say, I miss his hair almost as much as I miss mine.” I run my hand over my head.
“Almost.”

“Well, you look great. I’m really happy you’re almost done.”

“Me too.”

“When can you come back to work?” Allie asks.

My heart gives a happy little leap.
Back to work.

Back to the staff—my second family. Back to young mothers with their chubby babies and rambunctious toddlers, to birthday parties and balloons. Back to raspberry tea, rainbow cake pops, and
Home, Heart,
and
Courage
cookies. Back to Allie.

“You’re ready for me to come back?” I ask.

“I never wanted you to leave,” Allie says. “But this whole town is ready for you to come back.”

We reach for each other at the same time. It’s our tightest hug ever.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

OLIVIA

June 8

LITTLE WHITE LIGHTS AND COLORFUL PAPER
lanterns hang from the trees in the back garden of the Butterfly House, illuminating the dawning twilight. The sliding glass door is open, the kitchen table laden with kid-friendly foods like pizza and mac and cheese. The sound of laughter drifts in the early evening air, as Archer and Dean engage a dozen children in a game of Red Rover.

I watch them through the picture window, absently rubbing the side of my breast. For the rest of June and into July, I need to have radiation treatments every day but compared to chemo, this treatment is almost easy.

Aside from fatigue, the permanent blue dot tattoos, and a sunburn-like redness on my breast that I treat with various lotions, I don’t experience any difficult side effects. I wear Dean’s T-shirts often, partly because they’re the most comfortable on my burned skin, but also because I like feeling him so close to me all the time.

My hair has finally started to grow back, a soft peachy fuzz that comes in lighter than my original hair. I’m back working part-time at the Wonderland Café, easing into helping the wait staff, working in the kitchen, planning birthday parties, and decorating cakes.

By midsummer, I’ll be finished with treatment. I envision the July days we had last year. Swimming in the lake, hot sun blazing across the water, sticky ice cream cones, evening picnics at Wizard’s Park, rollerblading, trips to the zoo and amusement parks, and a two-week adventure in Italy.

I suspect we won’t make any overseas trips this summer, but the possibilities stretch in front of us like uncharted territory. I never imagined a day would come when I’d look forward to Nicholas’s groans of
“Mom, I’m bored”
on a sweltering August afternoon.

A wet nose nudges at my leg. I look down at the dog Patch, who has had free and happy reign over the Butterfly House during the “end of the school year” party Dean and Archer organized.

“Sorry.” Kelsey sits next to me on the sofa, tugging Patch away from me by the collar.

“No, it’s fine. I like dogs.” I reach out to scratch Patch behind the ears. “I guess he won you over, huh?”

“Well, he’s an okay dog,” Kelsey admits gruffly. “I’ve gotten used to having him around, but I wouldn’t say he
won me over
.”

Patch rests his head on her thigh and gazes at her adoringly. I smile, thinking that the “winning over” is right around the corner if Patch is now worshipping Kelsey. She does take well to being worshipped.

The screen door opens and Archer stomps into the house, trailed like the Pied Piper by a crowd of children.

“We’re hungry,” he announces. “Is the food ready?”

“Help yourself,” Kelsey replies, gesturing to the table.

The kids—and Archer—descend on the food like a flock of hungry birds, piling their plates before returning to the garden to eat. After everyone is full, Archer picks up a toy trumpet and blows a “dah dah dah
dah
” fanfare.

“Hear ye, hear ye!” he calls. “Now we begin the procession to the pirate headquarters. Ladies and germs, please fall into order as we make our way through the treacherous woods. Onward, led by Captain West.”

Nicholas salutes him and takes up the lead position. Giggling and laughing, the kids all line up behind him and Archer for the march into the woods. Dean takes up the rear, waving for Kelsey and me to come along.

We go outside to join them for the walk into the woods, following a pathway lit with dozens of battery-powered lanterns that provide a soft, lovely light.

Kelsey gives me a puzzled look, but all I can do is shrug. Dean had told me he and Archer were planning this party “for fun,” so I’ve left all the details up to them.

“Maybe we’re playing hide and seek?” I suggest.

A sudden silence falls over the woods as the group in front of us disappears into an illuminated clearing. Kelsey and I come up behind the children, who have stopped in apparent surprise over something.

Kelsey gasps. Then I see it.

A flood of awe and shock hits me first, before pure, undiluted happiness begins to buoy my heart. Twelve feet above us, embellished by tiny white lights draped over the frame, balcony, and nearby branches, is a big, beautiful, and utterly perfect tree house.

“Welcome, me hearties,” Nicholas shouts, brandishing his pirate sword.

“A house in the tree!” Bella claps her hands with excitement. “Is it ours? Do we keep it?”

A flurry of exclamations rises from the other kids, and they all rush forward to climb the rope ladder descending from the balcony. Dean steps in front of them, reestablishing order and giving them a lecture about safety before they climb up.

Kelsey and I just stare at the tree house that looks like something out of a fairy tale with its gabled roof and rounded balcony that mirrors the curves of the tree.

Windows perforate the house on all sides, and the roof extends over the balcony that has a trapdoor for the rope ladder and another entrance for a bridge that spans across the clearing to a separate, round deck perched on posts. A star-shaped window faces the balcony. The front door has been re-created to resemble an old piece of crate siding with the words
Mr. Moo’s Chocolate Milk
stenciled on the front.

And a carved wooden sign above the front door reads
The Castle Two.

“I can’t believe it,” Kelsey says.

I can,
I think.

I look across the clearing at Dean, who is holding the rope ladder steady while Archer helps the kids clamber up the rungs one by one.

In that moment, I realize what I’ve missed—or at least, what this fight for my health has blocked from my sight. After the diagnosis, I’d thought, knowing Dean as I do and knowing how he has dealt with difficulties in the past, that his scholarly work would be the place where he found solace.

But when I’d realized intensive medical research had stifled even his dedication to medieval history, I hadn’t known how to figure out what else he needed. I only knew he needed something different. Something more.

And Archer—the brother who’d fought battles of his own, who had estranged himself from his family for so long—had known exactly what
more
Dean needed.

Gratitude wells up inside me, the red-gold colors of a sunrise. Shrieks of delight fill the air as the kids clamber around the tree house and cross the bridge to the deck. They spend the rest of the evening engaged in sword fights, sea battles, storm navigation, searches for buried treasure, and plots to steal gold and jewels.

“It’s incredible,” I tell Dean and Archer as we stand together watching the flurry of joy. “How long did it take you to build?”

Archer and Dean exchange glances.

“About thirty years,” Dean says.

Archer smiles.

“Uncle Archer, walk the plank!” Bella calls, waving at the rope bridge.

Archer goes to meet his fate. By the time we traipse back to the house, the other parents are starting to arrive to collect their grubby, well-fed, happy, tired children.

Dean and I don’t even bother trying to get Bella and Nicholas into the bathtub, letting them do a cursory brushing of their teeth and quick pajama change before they fall into bed.

Downstairs, Kelsey is in the living room, finishing off a piece of pizza and drinking a beer. I lower myself on a nearby chair.

“Did Archer leave?” I ask.

“No, he’s putting the lights away,” Kelsey says, glancing at Dean. “Whose idea was it?”

“His.” Dean pops the top off a beer and takes a long swallow. “He saved my ass.”

Kelsey and I exchange glances.

“What’re you talking about?” Kelsey says.

“Do you remember the day of Liv’s surgery when you told me I needed a cavalry?” Dean asks her.

“I remember.”

“He was it.” Dean tilts his head to the window to indicate his brother. “He gave me something to do. A focus that wasn’t on medieval literature or castle architecture.”

“With the tree house?” Kelsey asks.

“And other things.” Dean shrugs, looking down at the floor. “I mean, it’s been good just having him around. He’s met me for kickboxing, beers, a couple games of football. He’s always been great with the kids, but these past few months, he’s helped make them feel like everything would be okay. I didn’t even realize it until recently. It was like he handed me a map and helped me find my way out again, you know?”

Kelsey’s throat works with a swallow. She turns her gaze to the window to watch Archer coming out of the woods, carrying a box filled with lights. Patch lopes along at his side.

“Yeah,” Kelsey says softly. “I know.”

I look at Dean. He’s watching me, his gaze warm. My heart lifts like a bird taking flight. A tangible current of love and hope flows between us. The end of something grueling. The start of something good.

No. The
continuation
of something good.

“I’ll bet no one else could have done that,” I say. “It makes perfect sense that Archer, a man who spent so many years on the road trying to find his own way, knows exactly how to help others find their way too.”

“But not just anyone,” Kelsey says, still watching Archer. “People he loves. His family.”

The sliding glass door opens, and Archer’s voice booms inside. “Did anyone save me some pizza?”

“There’s some in here,” I call. “Come and get it.”

Archer comes in, pointing his chin to the window. “Dean, you gotta get that boundary fence put up, especially if the kids are going to be running around the woods now. I’ll pick up some posts tomorrow and get started.”

He grabs a piece of pepperoni pizza from the open box and flops down on the sofa next to Kelsey. She’s looking at him with an oddly intent gaze that makes him blink with puzzlement.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” she replies softly.

Electricity sizzles. Kelsey pushes slowly to her feet.

“I’ll get you a beer from the fridge,” she says, heading into the kitchen.

Archer glances at Dean, his eyebrows lifting. “My girl is
fetching me a cold beer.
”

Dean grins. “Enjoy it, man, because it might not happen again.”

We hear Kelsey rustling around in the kitchen, opening drawers and closing cabinets. There’s a scratching noise at the sliding glass door, and she goes to let Patch in, murmuring to him and maybe even doing a little baby talk.

“Sounds like he won her over,” Dean remarks.

“Yeah, took me a lot longer to do the same thing,” Archer says.

Kelsey returns to the living room and hands Archer a beer. Patch follows at her heels, his tongue lolling out. He stops beside Archer and puts his front paws on Archer’s leg, nudging for attention. Archer absently rubs the dog behind the ears, then stops.

A sign is hanging from around Patch’s neck. I’m at an angle where I can’t read it, but the cardboard sign is looped with a frayed string, the words written in black ink.

Archer takes hold of the sign and reads it. His expression doesn’t change, but he studies the sign for a minute, as if trying to make sense of it.

Then he looks up, right at Kelsey. She’s standing by the door, and this time her lovely face and rimless glasses can’t hide the nervousness in her expression.

She and Archer look at each other for a long time. She bites her lip. Tension twists through the air.

“Yes,” Archer says.

Kelsey blinks. Then a radiant smile breaks over her face, lighting her with happiness. She moves toward Archer, and he gets up to hurry over to her, and then they’re in each other’s arms and kissing with such passion that I don’t know whether to clap in admiration or give them some privacy.

Dean takes hold of Patch’s collar, turning the dog toward us. The cardboard sign around his neck reads: