"I accepted the offer at King"s because I liked the idea of creating a Medieval Studies program from the ground up," I tell Frances, which is also the truth. "Starting something new."
"It"s been phenomenal, as you well know," Frances remarks. "But as the program has become more and more successful, I"ve suspected it was only a matter of time before other inst.i.tutions came knocking at your door."
A strange sense of foreboding fills my chest. "Are you firing me, Frances?"
"Heavens, no." She laughs. "I"d actually give anything to keep you here. But I heard the World Heritage Center is eyeing you for the a.s.sistant director position."
Discomfort stabs at me. "I haven"t been offered the job. The only reason I didn"t turn it down right away was-"
She holds up a hand to stop me. "I"m not upset you didn"t tell me, Dean. In fact, it made me think you might be under-utilized in your current position."
I don"t know what to say to that, though her implication that I"d like to do other things besides teach is partly true-and the reason I"ve enjoyed getting back into archeology and travel.
"I talked to Hans Klasen yesterday," Frances continues, picking up a glossy blue folder embellished with the gold UNESCO logo. "I told him he"d be a fool not to offer you the job."
"What?" I sit back and stare at her. "Why?"
"Because I"ve been around scholars for most of my life," Frances replies. "And it"s rare that I have the privilege of working with one of your caliber. I believe you should use your G.o.d-given talent on a global scale, to actively work with sites and monuments the way you"ve been doing with Altopascio."
For a minute, I can only look at her, again smothering the persistently ambitious thought of taking my career and reputation to a whole new level. I shake my head.
"I appreciate that, Frances. But there"s no way I could ever leave King"s or Mirror Lake. And it doesn"t matter anyway because I haven"t been offered the job."
"Yet." Frances pushes the folder across the desk to me. "Your devotion to your work is the reason the World Heritage Center is interested in you. It"s hardly a wonder you didn"t even have to formally apply. Your integrity and single-mindedness are your application."
A weighty silence falls between us.
"I can"t believe you want me to consider another job," I finally admit.
"I know. I"m amazed that I"m being so generous." Frances gives me a little, self-deprecating smile. "If it were any other job, I wouldn"t be. But frankly, you taking the job would also be great for King"s University, especially if you did joint programming between us and the WHC."
She turns back to her computer. "Really, Dean, I don"t believe you"ve reached the limits of what you can do or the difference you can make. And honestly, I suspect that unless you look beyond this university, you never will."
She puts on her gla.s.ses and begins typing. I glance at the thick, blue United Nations folder on her desk, not sure if it seems more like a time bomb or an announcement that I just won a coveted prize.
Without picking the folder up, I turn and leave the office.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
DEAN.
Though tourist season hasn"t started yet, Mirror Lake is getting ready. Flowers bloom from wooden planters lining the sidewalks, and several storefronts have freshly painted facades.
Last summer, Liv and Allie had an outdoor terrace added to the Wonderland Cafe, and it overlooks a gra.s.sy expanse of land leading to Wizard"s Park. In a short time, the cafe has become more than just a restaurant and birthday party place-it"s become a new Mirror Lake inst.i.tution, thanks to word of mouth from local mothers, as well as Liv and Allie"s outreach efforts in the community.
As I enter the cafe to the sound of happy chatter, a stab of guilt hits me at the thought that I"d ever-even in the most closed-off place of my mind-resent the cafe for taking so much of my wife"s time.
Never. I"d never think that. I can"t.
The conviction solidifies when I see Liv maneuvering around the tables in the Tea Party Room, her hair swinging in a high ponytail, her skin flushed and her eyes bright as she stops to deliver a tray of checkerboard sandwiches and bread-and-b.u.t.terflies.
She smiles at a little girl seated at a table and bends to say something. The girl smiles back and nods, touching the barrette in her hair Liv must have commented on.
My heart tightens. Sometimes I still feel guilty over not wanting to have kids for so long. I"d known from the start Liv would be an incredible mother, though I was never sure about my own abilities as a father. But watching her with Nicholas and other kids, it"s painfully obvious this is what she was meant to do and be.
If I go into that dark place, I know exactly why I"d resisted having children. And my reasons had less to do with worries about fatherhood and more to do with not wanting to share Liv with anyone. Because that would mean she was no longer completely mine.
It was a stupid, selfish thought-one I still don"t want to admit to-but it was there. And I do have to share her now. She belongs to the cafe, to her volunteer work, to the people who count on her for employment, advice, help, support, friendship. And she belongs to our son, a fact I wouldn"t change for anything. There is no better gift Nicholas could have been given than to have Liv for his mother.
The thought of our son disintegrates all those old fears. If Liv hadn"t convinced me to battle them back a few years ago, we might not have had the boy who fills my heart with color and light.
Liv walks to the front counter, her face breaking into a smile when she sees me.
"Hi." She stands on tiptoe to kiss me. "What are you doing here? Still thinking about coconuts?"
"Uh, no. I thought I"d see if you could take a break."
"I"m sorry, but I can"t. We"re swamped." She squeezes my arm. "I have an hour left in my shift, then I"m meeting with the planning committee for the Bicentennial Festival."
I deflect a stab of disappointment, figuring it would be better to tell her at home that I"m leaving again.
"Okay." I reach out to gently tug her ponytail. "You need me to pick up Nicholas?"
"No, I"ll get him on the way home."
"Call me if you need me."
She flashes me a smile. "I always need you."
I return her smile and start toward the door just as Kelsey comes up the steps of the front porch. She enters the cafe and whips off her sungla.s.ses.
"Hey." She blinks at me. "What"re you doing here?"
"Just came to talk to Liv. You?"
"Looking for Archer." She glances past my shoulder. "He"s not answering his phone. Is he here?"
"I don"t think so."
"I wanted to tell him the Spiral Project just got approval to do a chase in Australia this fall."
"Really?" A rush of pride in her fills me. "Congratulations."
"Thanks." She smiles. "It"ll just be for a few weeks, but the university already approved my leave."
I"m about to ask if Archer will go with her when an elderly female voice rises above the chatter of other patrons.
"Dean!"
I turn to find Florence Wickham, trustee of the Mirror Lake Historical Society, approaching from the dining room. In a pink suit with her white hair and bright blue eyes, she looks like an inquisitive bird.
"How nice to see you," she says warmly.
"h.e.l.lo, Florence." I take her hand in greeting, leaning in to brush my lips across her powdered cheek. "Nice to see you too."
"Don"t you look handsome, as always." Florence picks a piece of lint off my lapel and touches my silk tie.
Kelsey, looking amused at Florence"s fussing, exchanges greetings with the other woman. I ask Florence if she"s heading over to the Historical Society offices.
"Yes, we have a meeting this afternoon." Florence pats my chest. "I"m so glad I ran into you, Dean. I"m sure Liv has told you the Historical Society is planning to renovate the old railroad depot near Wizard"s Park."
"She told me she was doing an auction to benefit the restoration, yes."
"She is just a powerhouse, I tell you," Florence says. "We"re going to turn the depot into a transportation museum, with the shed next door used to display restored train cars and engines."
Though I"m impressed by the idea, my heart is already starting to sink.
"That"s great," I reply carefully.
Florence beams. "It is, isn"t it? I told the board I would recruit you and your formidable historical expertise to help with the restoration process. We need a project director, and you"re the perfect man for the job."
She blinks at me expectantly.
"Much as I"d love to help out..." I begin.
"Oh, lovely!" Florence claps her hands. "I"ll send you all the info to get started."
"...I can"t," I finish weakly.
Kelsey snorts with suppressed laughter.
"It won"t take much time," Florence a.s.sures me, patting my chest again like she"s stroking a cat. "Archival research and writing up a few reports, maybe doing some work on the engines. You did such a beautiful job with the b.u.t.terfly House the Historical Society just can"t tackle this new project without you."
"I"m really not-"
"You are such an extraordinary help to us." Florence turns to Kelsey. "A pleasure seeing you, dear. I"ll be in touch, Dean. You are a gem, did I ever tell you that?"
She squeezes my biceps, gives us a little wave, and heads out the door. I sink into a nearby chair with a groan. Kelsey is outright grinning now.
"Professor Marvel, browbeaten by a little old lady," she teases.
"Little old lady, my a.s.s," I mutter darkly. "She"s Xena the Warrior Princess in disguise."
"Hey, engine restoration sounds more like Archer"s line of work," Kelsey says. "You should call him, ask if he can help you out."
"Good idea." I take out my phone to text Archer. "Maybe Florence will pat his chest and squeeze his biceps for a change."
"Hah." Kelsey rolls her eyes. "Knowing him, he might like it."
I send the text to my brother. Though I"m aware Kelsey"s suggestion is a ploy to get me and Archer to spend time together-in her belief that we need to-I also know Archer would be a great addition to the project.
I slide my phone back into my pocket as Kelsey and I head out to our cars.
"You have time for coffee?" I ask, thinking she could give me a good perspective on this whole job situation.
"No, sorry." Kelsey stops by her car, digging into her purse for her keys. "I"m heading over to the warehouse to check on some equipment. Gym tomorrow around four?"
"Sure."
She gives me a wave and gets into her car. I watch her drive away, then start toward my car. After a block, I turn and go in the opposite direction.
Our former apartment, the place where Liv and I first lived when we moved to Mirror Lake, sits above a row of shops on the corner of Avalon and Poppy Streets.
There"s a wrought-iron balcony that used to be filled with Liv"s potted plants. In the summer, she"d leave the French doors open and the blue-and-white striped curtains would flutter in the breeze from the lake.
I"d always liked coming home-walking toward the building and seeing those curtains like they were waving h.e.l.lo. Knowing my wife was in the rooms behind them.
Now the balcony is empty, the French doors shut. The landlord rented out the place shortly after Liv and I moved to the b.u.t.terfly House. No idea who"s been living there since.
I walk back to my car and head toward campus. Strange how when your life gets richer and bigger, you still sometimes miss the days when it was smaller.
I work late at the university, finalizing my travel arrangements and reviewing the criteria needed for a site to be inscribed on the World Heritage protection list.
By the time I head home, the sky is charcoal-gray, streaked with a few reddish clouds. The porch lights are on, and I go into the foyer-expecting the usual noises, Liv cooking dinner, either kid"s music or the TV on, Nicholas coming to greet me.
Instead it"s oddly quiet inside.
"Liv?" I drop my briefcase on a table and go into the kitchen. There"s a wrapped package on the central island with my name on it.
I wonder if I"ve missed an important date-birthday, anniversary of our first date-but no. I unwrap the package and pull out a ream of typing paper.
Huh. There"s a note typed on the first page: While I wandered soft and lonely as a cloud that floats on high over vales and hills, You saw me and s.n.a.t.c.hed me down to love among the utility bills.
Interesting. It sounds like a clue. Since we keep our bills in the first drawer of the kitchen desk, I walk over to open it.
A bunch of bills are wrapped around a box with a rubber band. I unfasten the band and open the box, which is full of cotton b.a.l.l.s. Each cotton ball has a paper letter affixed to it. I dump them all onto the desk, arranging and rearranging the letters until they spell out: S-H-A-R-P D-R-E-S-S-E-D M-A-N.
I think for a minute, then go upstairs to the bedroom. I open the closet, revealing one of my suits hung neatly on a hanger. A leather belt is buckled through the pant loops, with a note attached to the buckle.