“Fine, thanks. We’re in California right now, visiting his family.”
“Yeah, I called King’s, and they told me he’d be back when the semester starts. I wanted to congratulate him on his IHR grant and see if I can talk him into a trip out here. Tried to get him to join us last semester, but he said things were too busy. I just heard a group from Cambridge is coming down in the next month. They’ve got enough money to bring Dean on as advisor when we start excavating a new area. Bunch of people here’d like to see him again too.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful.”
“I’m sending him an email with all the info. You want me to CC you on it? I’ll send the link to the excavation diary.”
“Sure, I’d love to read about it.” I turn at the sound of Dean emerging from the bathroom. He’s rubbing his hair with a towel as he looks at me inquisitively.
“Simon Fletcher,” I tell him, pointing to the phone. “Simon, hold on. Here’s Dean.”
Dean tosses the towel onto a chair and takes the phone from me. A grin breaks out on his face as he hears Simon’s booming voice. “You’re calling from Altopascio? How’s it going? What have you found?”
They engage in a great deal of talk about the Camaldolese monastery—excavation of a perimeter wall, a burial site, sacred objects, plans for the different areas—before Dean falls silent, apparently listening to Simon’s proposal to join the team.
I watch my husband, recognizing his anticipation at the thought of an excavation, the uncovering of secrets hidden in each new discovery. He hasn’t had much chance to do fieldwork since earning his doctorate, and I know he misses it. He loves being outdoors, going on field surveys, the manual labor of digging in the ground and working with tools, the diversity of consulting with technicians, excavation crews, scientists.
“I don’t see it happening this semester, but maybe sometime later,” Dean says into the phone.
I shake my head to stop his refusal and indicate that he should call Simon back. They talk for a few more minutes before Dean ends the call with a promise to be in touch. He tosses the phone onto the bed and looks at me.
“Dean.” Even though I know this is a long shot, I feel the need to try. “You should go.”
“No way.”
“I could come with you.”
“Liv, I’m not going to Italy when you’re pregnant. And neither are you. Besides, I have classes this semester.”
“King’s would let you take a few weeks off, especially with the IHR grant.”
“It would be more like a few months, if I agree to serve as advisor.” Dean reaches for the towel and loops it around the back of his neck. “California is as far as either of us is traveling. And as soon as we get back to Mirror Lake, we’re staying there until the baby is born.”
“You won’t go on a dig anytime soon after the baby is born either,” I say. “This might be your last chance for quite a while.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Dean approaches me. The delicious, soapy scent of his skin curls through me like a ribbon. “I’m not going.”
I gaze at the hollow of his throat, where a single drop of water lingers. He puts his hand beneath my chin and lifts my face so our eyes meet.
“What’s wrong?” he asks gently.
“I just feel like this is something you should do.”
“I don’t want to, Liv.”
“If I weren’t pregnant, you would go.”
“What’s the point of thinking about what either of us would do if you weren’t pregnant? You are pregnant. I couldn’t care less about a dig. You’re all that matters, and I’m not leaving you.”
“It’s strange though, isn’t it?” I reach out to brush the drop of water from his throat. “Thinking about all the stuff that will change.”
“Yes, it is. Which is exactly why I’m not leaving you.”
“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.