“Then I’d buy a house,” he finally says.
I can’t help laughing, even as sudden tears sting my eyes. “But would you want to buy a house?”
Silence again. Then he says, “Do you remember that time we went to the Vilas Zoo in Madison?”
“We went lots of times.”
“Yeah, but there was one time we went on a cold fall morning during the week,” Dean says. “Lots of mothers there with babies and little kids in strollers. I was waiting for you near the gift shop, by that front gate that swings back and forth. When you came through the gate, you looked behind you to see if anyone was following.
“Then you held the gate open so a woman pushing a double-stroller could get through. There were two kids in the stroller, a boy and a girl, all bundled into jackets and hats. The woman stopped to say something to you, and then one of the kids started getting upset and crying. And as you were talking, you put your hand on his head, right on top of his fuzzy winter hat.”
“I don’t remember that,” I say.
“I don’t think you even realized you did it,” Dean says. “But the kid settled down in about two seconds. Just like that. Stopped crying and waited for the stroller to get moving again. And I looked at you and thought, She would be a great mother.”
I can’t speak. I don’t think I can even contain my heart right now.
“But it’s easy when it’s just us, Liv, you know?” he continues. “That’s why it’s always been so damned good. And these past few months… half the time I want to take you to some tropical island where we can just lounge around naked eating bananas.”
I smile through the tears still blurring my eyes. “We have a tropical island, Dean. It’s called our marriage. And I’d be happy to lounge around naked eating bananas, if that’s what you want.”
“I want to be with you,” he says. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And I hate that things get screwed up every time… every time it’s not just us anymore.”
Now we’re both silent. The air between us vibrates with tension. I sense an odd shift in those few seconds, as if he’s the one seeking reassurance for once.
“Dean, having a child doesn’t make our lives not us,” I say gently. “It makes our lives more than us.”
He doesn’t respond. I can picture him lying on his bed, one hand behind his head, his gaze staring out the window, as if all the answers to the world can be found in the dawn light.
“I can think of a thousand reasons to say no,” he says.
“Me too.” I press a hand to my chest and close my eyes. “But if we look hard enough, we can always find a reason to say no. We can always find a reason to be afraid. So maybe it’s time to stop looking and see what finds us instead.”
We fall silent again. A very long time passes with nothing but the sound of our breath.
“I might not come out of this investigation alive,” Dean says.
“Yes, you will. But I won’t be waiting for you when you do.”
“You won’t?”
“No. I’ll be at your side.”
April 21
The sound of my mother’s laughter rings out from the front room of the second floor. She and Allie’s friend Stacy have been working on painting the Wicked Witch’s castle room for the past few days. I pause in my attempt to rip up a baseboard, trying to pretend that I’m not eavesdropping even though I totally am.
“It’s a nice place,” my mother is saying. “Small-townish, but with a good amount of stuff to do. I was there for about three months.”
“I think it’s so cool that you’ve traveled all over,” Stacy replies. “The only place I’ve been is Tennessee to visit family.”
“Liv never liked traveling,” Crystal replies. “She didn’t have an adventurous streak. She won’t even come to Phoenix with me for a few days. I wanted her help finding out about my mother’s house and stuff.”
Stacy’s response is drowned out by the sound of the radio turning on downstairs. I put down the crowbar and go to where Brent and a couple of other guys are starting to nail down the hardwood floor. I step onto the front porch and breathe in the fresh air.
Envy. That’s what this ugly, gnawing feeling in my gut is. I’ve felt it before, every time people gravitated toward my mother, praised her, wanted her acceptance. It makes no sense that I should still feel this way, but there it is. My mother has always been at ease with so many people. Except me.
Of course, those people haven’t had the history that Crystal and I do, but that doesn’t make it any easier.
I leave the café earlier than I’d planned and spend a couple of extra hours at the Historical Museum working on my report about the Butterfly House. As I walk home, I call Kelsey on my cell.
“You doing anything tonight?” I ask.
“I’ve got a meeting about that meteorology conference in Japan I’m going to,” she says. “Won’t be home until late.”
“Bummer.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Oh, you know. If it’s not one thing, it’s your mother.”
She chuckles. “How long is she staying?”