“Dean, at the university meeting… did you get it?”
He yanks on a shirt, his muscles knotted. “What?”
“Tenure.”
He turns to look at me. “Tenure?”
“Isn’t that why you went back?” I run my hands over my thighs. “I thought maybe that was the reason for the meeting, given that it was so sudden and important. Didn’t your department want to offer you early tenure?”
He just stares at me. Something flickers in his eyes. I can’t read what it is.
“Dean?”
“You…” He clears his throat. “You thought I went back because the department wanted to offer me early tenure?”
I nod. “And I thought you didn’t tell me because you wanted it to be a surprise.”
All the strength seems to go out of him as his shoulders drop.
“No,” he mutters. “I didn’t get tenure.”
“You turned it down?”
He lifts his head again to look at me. For a moment he seems stunned, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing or hearing.
“Liv, they didn’t offer me tenure.”
“Oh.” I’d convinced myself so completely that was the reason for the meeting that I can’t quite process his statement. “Well, why not?”
“Liv, you really believed they wanted to give me tenure?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t they, with your reputation and the success of the Medieval Studies program? Not to mention the IHR grant. They’d be fools not to lock you permanently onto their faculty as soon as they can.”
He’s still looking at me with that disbelieving expression. I don’t understand. He knows how good he is.
Suddenly he crosses to me in three long strides and hauls me into his arms again, lifting me clear off the floor. He crushes his mouth against mine in a kiss that warms the icy places inside me.
“I don’t deserve you,” he says.
“Dean, stop.”
“I don’t.” He pulls away from me, dragging a hand through his hair. “I never have. I went after you because I was selfish and greedy and I wanted you so fucking badly. To anyone else, it would look different, right? It would look like I saved you.”
“You did save me.”
“No, I didn’t! You didn’t need saving, Liv. I was the one who was fucked-up, the insecure bastard who couldn’t make a move without trying to impress someone, to always be the goddamn best. You were the only person who didn’t give a shit what I did… you just cared about who I was. And the only time I should be at my best is when I’m with you.”
“I’m…” My heart constricts. “It’s the same with me, Dean. That’s what it’s about, right? We’re at our best together.”
“Then why the fuck do I keep failing you?”
“You don’t! I wouldn’t be with you if I thought you were failing me.”
I step toward him. He retreats. I stop.
The air is fraught with tension, unease, guilt. And something else, something I don’t understand and can’t identify.
He looks away, his expression shuttered. I move forward, cautiously, and put my hand on his chest. His heartbeat thumps hard and fast against my palm.
“I’m sorry,” he says, though I don’t know if he’s apologizing for the miscarriage or for not being here, or not being what he thinks I want him to be, or…?
“Please, Dean,” I whisper, my whole being aching for him. “I need you so much.”
He lifts my hand and presses a kiss to the scar on my palm, then moves away.
A sudden fear billows in me as I watch the door close behind him. I know my husband. I know he will never forgive himself for not being here.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Dean
January 31
run seven miles first thing in the morning. Then I fix a leaky water pipe, replace some cracked bricks on the terrace, haul a few loads of old newspapers and magazines to the recycling center, repair the wall plaster in the bedroom. In between whatever work I can find, I hover around Liv like a wasp, asking useless questions because I don’t know what the fuck else to do.
Are you okay? How do you feel? Should I call the doctor? Can I get you anything? Can I do anything? Anything? Anything?
Her answers are always the same. I’m fine. No, I don’t need anything.
I try not to think. Can’t.
The terror is there, lurking, waiting to crash through the walls and drown me. If I keep moving, I can avoid it.
Every time I catch a glimpse of her, her long ponytail swaying, my heart breaks. Every time I hear the murmur of her voice, guilt floods me. Every time she looks at me…
I can’t stand it. I can’t even comfort her. I don’t know how. I fucked it up every time with Helen.
In the early afternoon, I drive to the hospital to pick up my father. There’s a bustle of activity when he gets home, friends coming over to drop off food, offers of tea and cookies. I let my mother and sister deal with it. Archer stops by to see our father and tell us he’s leaving to visit someone in San Francisco.
I walk back outside with him. The fact that my brother was here, that he of all people was the one who helped my wife…