“So what am I supposed to do?”
She squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t worry. He’ll get it sooner or later.”
I’m not so sure of that. Fatigue settles hard in my bones.
“Is it okay if I stay here awhile?” I ask. “Just a day or… a year or so.”
She smiles. “You know you can stay as long as you need to. I even have a quilt you can use.”
She brushes her hand over my very tangled hair. “It’ll be okay, Liv. And you know I love Dean, but this mess is his fault too. You’ve done what you can, and if your husband doesn’t get his shit together fast, I’m coming down on him like an anvil.”
The following day there’s one message on my phone from Dean. His voice is tense. “Liv, this is between us, not Kelsey. You tell me when you want to talk.”
I don’t call him back right away because I don’t yet know what to say, but I listen to the message three times. Dean probably doesn’t even realize how those two sentences encompass so much.
Everything we’ve ever been through has only been between us. And once again, Dean is giving me the choice of determining what happens next.
After having breakfast with Kelsey, who thankfully does not mention Dean, I head to the bookstore for the Sunday morning shift. Allie is busy planning a kids’ holiday and cookie-decorating party.
“I thought we could also have some craft stations where kids can make menorahs and Christmas ornaments and stuff,” she says as she peers at the computer. “Then we’ll have storytime, of course, and I’ll put up a display of holiday books. Think you can advertise this at the Historical Museum? Like if you get some school tour groups?”
“Sure. I’ll print out flyers and bring them with me tomorrow.”
Allie glances at me as I straighten the boxed calendars in front of the counter. “You okay?”
“Fine. Why?”
“You look kind of tired.”
“Oh, just holiday stress or whatever.” I wave my hand dismissively.
“Sure that’s all it is?” Her eyes narrow behind her purple-framed glasses.
“Yeah.” Her scrutiny makes me uneasy. “Why?”
“I was wondering if you’re… you know.” Her voice lowers to a loud whisper. “Preggers.”
Shock bolts through me so fast I grab the edge of the counter to steady myself. “What?”
“Well, remember we were talking about having kids?” Allie says. “And I’ve seen you looking at the pregnancy books. I figured you and Professor Hottie were trying to get pregnant.” She tosses me a grin. “God knows I’d be trying three times a day if he were involved.”
There’s a lump in my throat. I can’t even respond. Dean and I haven’t talked about the idea of a baby for weeks. The topic has disappeared into the mess of everything else.
“No,” I finally manage. “I’m not pregnant.”
“Oh.” Allie stares at me. “Oh shit, Liv, did I put my foot in it? You’re not having fertility issues, are you? Because my sister had to take these shots for a while, but you know, now she has three kids and they drive her crazy but they’re all adorable and perfect and she and her husband are happier than ever.”
I laugh, even as tears sting my eyes suddenly. I go around the counter and give Allie a big hug, which she returns with a hint of puzzlement.
“What’s this for?” she asks.
“I don’t know. I’m just really glad you’re my friend.”
She smiles, pleased. “Thanks. You’re pretty great too. Now get back to work before I ask you to the prom.”
“Hey, speaking of dating, how’s it going with Brent?” I ask.
“Really well,” Allie says. “He even invited me to visit his parents on Christmas Day. They live down in Rainwood, so we’re going to see my dad in the morning and Brent’s parents in the afternoon.”
“Where does your dad live?”
“Here in town. He’s got a place on the other side of the lake. He’s a nutjob but I love him. He’s the one who convinced me to open a bookstore. He’s all about following your bliss and voodoo stuff like that.”
“What would you have done if you hadn’t opened the bookstore?” I ask.
“I dunno. I was an art major in college. Again not because it was the practical thing to do, but because my dad convinced me I should do what I wanted to do.”
“I didn’t know you were an artist.”
“I’m not. Catastrophic failures at several art shows convinced me of that.” She gives me a rueful look. “Hence the bookstore. Which now isn’t doing so great either.”
“You’ll think of a way to turn things around,” I say. “You just need a different angle.”
Allie shrugs and turns back to the computer. “Yeah, well, if you fall seven times, you get up eight, right?”
Right.
I head out around noon and walk to where I parked Dean’s car at the curb. Sunlight glints off the shallow piles of snow lining Emerald Street, and the sky arches clear and blue overhead. As I wait for the engine to warm up, I finally work up the courage to call him.
“What do you want me to do, Liv?” he asks.
My heart pounds. “I think we should go to counseling again.”
His breath escapes on a hiss, but he says, “Fine.”