Spiral of Bliss 02 Allure (26 page)

“Okay.” She gives me a quizzical look as I turn and head for the elevators.

Jesus. I suddenly have the sick feeling I’ll be on guard with all my students from now on.

I try to shake off the thought as I head for the university gym. A few rounds on the heavy bag, weights, four miles around the indoor track. By the time I’m done, I’m too tired to feel anything. On the way back to the locker room, I grab a towel from a shelf.

“Hey, Professor Marvel, seriously?” Kelsey’s voice cuts into my foggy brain. “Your department made you come back for one meeting?”

I turn to face her. She’s standing by an elliptical machine, all righteous indignation in her workout clothes, her eyes blue lasers behind her rimless glasses.

“What kind of department tells you to come back for
one
meeting?” she asks.

I swipe the towel over my face and force in a breath. “I’ve got that conference coming up. A book deadline. New faculty possibilities. Lots of stuff going on.”

“One meeting? They couldn’t wait a week?”

I can’t deal with her nosiness. I turn and head toward the men’s locker room, holding up a hand to stop her from following me the way she once did.

“Liv and I will be back in town in a few days,” I tell her. “Take care of her plants until then.”

“Dean, you had a family
emergency
, and I think you should mention to the provost’s office that your department is—”

“Leave it, Kelsey.” The order comes out harsh and cold.

Kelsey blinks and takes a step back. “Wow. Okay.”

I don’t have the energy to feel guilty for snapping at her. I shove through the locker room door and head for the showers.

On the way home, I pick up a pizza and then eat almost all of it while watching a sports channel. There are two messages on my cell phone from Liv. Finally I call her before it gets too late. For the first time ever, I almost don’t want to talk to her.

Then I hear her voice, like warm honey, and the tension slides away.

“I got your note, Picasso,” I tell her.

“That’s called representational art,” she replies.

“I’m more of an abstract artist, myself.”

“Yes, I know.” There’s a smile in her voice. “I tried to call you earlier. How did the meeting go?”

“Fine. Lasted most of the afternoon, then I went to the gym. Saw the pit viper there.”

She chuckles. “How is she?”

“Viperous.”

“I’ll tell her you said that,” Liv remarks.

“She’ll want an award.”

“Hey, I was watching the news, and they talked about a storm hitting the Midwest tomorrow morning,” Liv says. “They said it could become a blizzard. I’m worried about you driving to the airport.”

“I’ll check the flight and weather status before I leave.”

“Okay, but don’t try and get to the airport if it’s unsafe,” she says. “You can always catch a later flight. Promise me.”

“I promise. Tell me about your day.”

She tells me about a walk she took, the café where she ate lunch, some weeding she did in my parents’ garden, the three oranges she picked, the book she finished reading. She says everything looks good with my dad. My mother is apparently bustling around getting a spare bedroom organized for his return home.

To anyone else, my mother’s attentiveness toward my father seems genuine and caring.

My fingers tighten on the phone. “How do you feel, Liv?”

“Fine, actually. Second trimester in a couple of weeks. Hard to believe.”

“Archer hasn’t…”

“Dean, it’s fine, I promise. I haven’t even seen him today.”

“Well, I’ll be back tomorrow, okay?”

“Not if it’s stormy. I want you to be safe.”

“I will be. Just can’t wait to get back to you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Liv says. “Love you.”

“You too.”

I turn off the phone and go to bed, crashing into a dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Olivia

January 29

m glad you didn’t try and drive to the airport,” I tell Dean. “It looks like the roads are a mess. The news reports say all the emergency teams are on alert, and they’re advising people to stay home.”

“The airline can’t reschedule my flights yet,” he says. “I’ve called twice. I’ll try again later today.”

“Okay. Everything’s fine here.”

After I hang up the phone, I watch a few more news reports about the “big blizzard hitting the Midwest,” then go downstairs. With Dean gone, I’m more aware of the sounds in the West house. I hear the slightest noise—footsteps on the stairs, the front door opening, the low murmur of voices. And even the silence is strange, like a thin layer of ice stretched over waters still churning with waves.

Everything is quiet downstairs. Joanna West is sitting alone at the kitchen table. She is holding a cup of tea and looking out the front window at the driveway.

I pause in the doorway. Joanna usually has a rigidity to her, as if she’s holding herself together tightly, but now her expression is unguarded. I wonder for a second if I should leave her alone, but she turns to look at me. A coolness veils her eyes.

“Hello, Olivia.”

I step into the kitchen. I’ve spent very little time in Joanna West’s company without Dean there. I’m sure Joanna still blames me for taking Dean away, or at least for being the final reason he broke from his family.

I’m not all that fond of Joanna either, truth be told. She forced a nine-year-old Dean, her own young son, to bear the burden of a secret that was her damned fault. Then she blamed him when the truth came to light. She’s punished Dean for the last twenty-five years because he told Archer the truth.

The only thing that keeps me from hating her is the fact that she is Dean’s mother. For all the West family’s troubles, Dean became a man of integrity and honor. Not only did he know that he and I could change our lives, he knew how to make it happen. He taught me about love, trust, passion, and forgiveness. About hope.

Whatever Joanna West did wrong, her eldest son turned out astonishingly right.

I put the box of chocolates I bought on the kitchen counter. “I got these for you when I was out the other day.”

“Thank you.”

A movement out the kitchen window catches my eye. Archer is in the driveway, tossing a basketball into the hoop hanging on the garage. If I didn’t know it was him, he’d look like any other unkempt, lanky young man out on a pleasant morning. He shoots and misses.

“He’s always struggled,” Joanna says.

I watch Archer shoot again. The ball bounces off the backboard.

“Not like Dean,” she continues. “Dean was meant to be successful. Everything came so easily to him.”

Disbelief floods me. “I don’t think Dean would agree.”

“Oh, he’s worked hard. I know that. But I also know he has a natural facility. Both with people and complicated matters. Archer is far less self-assured.”

Considering this family’s history, that’s hardly a wonder. I look out at Archer, experiencing an unexpected sense of kinship with him. When you spend a great deal of your life unstable, the black sheep of your family… it’s not easy to feel as if you belong anywhere. I only did after I met Dean.

“He never knew.”

I look at Joanna. It takes me a second to realize she’s talking about Archer’s father.

“Oh.”

“He left town before I found out.” She’s still staring out the window at Archer. “I later realized that was a good thing. He might very well have made things messy if he’d known. Especially during the election when Richard was running to retain his seat.”

I don’t know what to say. It occurs to me that Archer might have no idea where his biological father is. Or even
who
he is.

“I’m sure everyone is glad Archer came back for a few days,” I say.

Joanna is looking at her son as if he were a stranger, or some exotic zoo creature separated from her by a pane of glass.

“So I enjoyed downtown Los Gatos,” I remark, aware of the forced brightness of my voice. “I was thinking of going back today. There are some really nice art galleries there, and I love that kitchen store.”

Joanna rises to put her mug in the sink. “Did you go to the History Museum? Dean told me you work at the one in Mirror Lake, so you might enjoy visiting ours.”

“I haven’t been yet.”

“Use Richard’s car, if you’d like. The keys are hanging by the front door.” Joanna glances at her watch and says she needs to leave for a charity board meeting.

After she’s gone, I wash the dishes and mugs left in the sink and set them to dry before heading upstairs. I decide that it would be nice to spend a couple of hours at the Los Gatos History Museum. Maybe I can talk with one of the curators and exchange exhibition ideas.

I go into the bathroom, breathing a sigh of relief when I unbutton my jeans. Definitely time to start wearing the maternity clothes.

The instant I pull down my underwear, I freeze.

Blood?

No.

I can’t make sense of what I’m seeing on the white cotton that was just between my legs. My vision fades in and out as I stare at the brown stains. It can’t possibly be…

My heart stutters, as if it stopped and is trying to start again. Panic swells in my chest so fast, so hard, that I collapse onto the toilet. I press my hands against my face and squeeze my eyes closed.

No. No way.

Gripping the edge of the counter, I open my eyes and stare at my underwear. The stains look rusty, dried. With an unsteady hand, I take a wad of toilet paper and swipe it between my legs. Red smears the paper.

Oh, God.

I yank open the bathroom cabinet and search through the rolls of toilet paper and bottles of shampoo and lotion. At the very back, there’s a half-opened box of panty liners. I rip one open and affix it to my underwear, then yank my jeans back up.

I’m shaking so much I can barely turn the faucet on. Reminding myself to breathe, I splash water on my face. My reflection is white, shocked.

I don’t know what to do. I can’t tell anyone. No one knows I’m pregnant.

I find my cell phone in my bag and place a call to Dr. Nolan. The receptionist says she’ll have the doctor return my call as soon as possible.

I press a hand to my stomach. My heart is beating too fast. I’m scared. I go into the bathroom again and, with a trembling hand, wipe another tissue between my legs.

Red blood.

Holy fuck.

My phone rings. I hurry to answer it.

“Liv? It’s Dr. Nolan.” Her voice is calm and serious. “You’re having some spotting?”

“I… it’s blood.”
Inhale. Exhale.

“How much is there?” Dr. Nolan asks.

“Um… a few drops.”

“Was there any on the tissue?”

“Yes.”

“Bright red or brown?”

“Um… brown on my underwear, I guess, but then bright red on the tissue and the panty liner I put on.” I sink onto the bed, cold all over.

“Any clots?” she asks.

Jesus.
Clots?

“No,” I manage to say.

“Are you having any pain? Cramps?”

“No.”

“Are you nauseous? Any vomiting? Fever?”

“No, nothing.”

“When did you last have intercourse?”

I have to think. Dean and I have fooled around a few times, but the last time we had actual intercourse was when I’d woken from a nap and found him on the bed with me. “Uh, about a week ago.”

“Have you been doing anything else that’s strenuous? Any change in physical activity?”

“No, not at all.”

“Okay,” Dr. Nolan says. “Some women do have spotting in early pregnancy. It’s not unusual.”

I hate that phrase.
Not unusual
does not mean
common
. It does not mean
don’t worry about it
.

“But,” the doctor continues, “you do need to be prepared for something more serious. I want you to wait a few hours first and see if the bleeding worsens.”

Something more serious? A few hours?

“I… okay.”

“If you soak through a pad in half an hour or if you start having pain, then go to the emergency room,” Dr. Nolan says. “Do you have someone with you?”

Dean. Oh, dear God.

“Y-yes.”

“You’re still in California?” There’s the sound of computer keys clicking.

“Yes. San Jose area. Los Gatos.”

“Here’s the address and number of the nearest hospital. Your insurance will approve an emergency visit there, if one is necessary. Try to stay calm, Liv, okay?”

“Okay.” I fumble for a pen on the nightstand and write down the address.

“I’m on call for the next twelve hours, so don’t hesitate to call if you need to.”

“I will. Thank you.”

I end the call and toss the phone onto the bed. Wrap my arms around myself. My teeth chatter. I close my eyes and inhale a breath, counting to three as I exhale. Can’t panic. Not now. Have to stay calm.

Stay calm.

Stay calm.

Tears burn my eyes.

The phone rings. My heart lurches as I look at the caller ID.
Dean West.

I throw the phone back onto the bed, letting it ring until voicemail picks up.

How can I tell him? What can he do, two thousand miles away, except worry and agonize? Knowing him, he’d battle the dangerous, icy roads and snow to get to the airport or a train station. All in a desperate effort to get back to me.

I go into the bathroom again and splash more water on my hot face, trying to stave off the terror.

I can’t wait for a few hours to see if things get worse. If they do get worse, I really will panic, and then I won’t be able to drive myself anywhere, much less the emergency room. Certainly I can’t cause a commotion at the West house by calling 911.

Okay, good. I have a plan. If I have to wait, I can at least wait at the hospital.

I grab my phone and satchel before going downstairs. My stomach twists at the sight of Archer coming in the front door. His gaze scans me without expression.

“Hey.”

I nod, my hand tightening on my satchel strap. I have to pass him to get through the door.

“I’m just… just going out for a couple of hours,” I stammer.

“Where to?”

“Downtown. Just to… to look around. Joanna said I could use Richard’s car for the time being.”

I slip past him in the doorway, jerking away when the sleeve of his sweatshirt brushes my arm. He frowns, turning to watch me go out to the driveway.

“Hey,” he calls.

I stop.

“You okay?” he asks. “You look… I dunno.”

“Yeah, I… just have a migraine. I get them sometimes. I took a few aspirin, so I should be okay soon.”

I fumble with the keys and manage to get into the car. I inhale a rush of air and close my eyes, forcing my breath back under control. I try to fit the key into the ignition, but my hand is shaking too hard.

There’s a knock on the window. Archer is standing outside the car. He indicates that I should open the door.

“You need a ride?” he asks.

“I’m…” I swallow hard, then confess, “I need to go to the hospital.”