"I'm not denying the importance of it," I reply, knowing there is only one weapon I have in my corner, only one way to defend myself against the world that seems determined to lure my husband into exotic, distant places where I can't go.

"I get that it's big and ill.u.s.trious and not nearly on the same level as a town festival," I say, disliking the strident note in my voice, "but you just gave me a lecture yesterday about asking for help when I need it. And you told me weeks ago you would help us with the festival. That you would help me."

"Liv, I'm sorry." He shakes his head, his mouth tightening. "You also told me countless times you have plenty of volunteers, and you didn't have a specific job for me anyway."

"That's not the point."

He straightens to look at me. Because I know him so well, I see the guilt, anger, and frustration warring inside him, right next to his deep-seated certainty that the United Nations task belongs to him alone. No one except Professor Dean West can do this... and he knows it. So do I.

"What is the point, then?" he asks. "You making me feel like an a.s.s for leaving when you've spent the past three years not wanting my help?"

"I haven't-" My voice sticks in my throat.

I'm too late. The realization that he's right hits me with the force of a blow. I waited too long, tried too hard to do everything by myself. And now that I'm finally admitting I need Dean's help... he's already agreed to be there for someone else.

A hot flush of pain sweeps over me. I hate my fear, my desperation, my panic-induced attempt to play this card even though I know how unfair it is.

"When I told you about the festival, I gave you a chance to say no," I remind him. "You didn't."

"d.a.m.n right I didn't." Dean turns, anger darkening his expression as he grabs another sheaf of papers from the table. "Don't you know by now I can never f.u.c.king say no to you, Liv?"

"You're doing it now."

"Because this isn't about you!" he snaps, slamming down the lid of his briefcase. "I know you like it when I'm at your beck and call, but believe it or not, I do have obligations to other people."

"You think I don't know that? You think that hasn't been shockingly clear every time you've gone to Italy or France?"

"I've asked you countless times to go with me."

"And for the first time ever, I haven't been able to go where you want," I reply caustically. "I know you like it when I follow you around like a puppy, but believe it or not, I have obligations to other people too."

"Right." Dean spreads his arms, his jaw tightening. "So you go deal with your obligations and I'll deal with mine."

It's not the end of the world. I know that. I'll have to scramble, but I'm sure I can find another suitable auctioneer for the Chair Fair. It won't be someone who is as good as Dean, but-as I keep reminding myself-I've done a lot of things without Dean over the past couple of years. I can stage a successful auction without him.

But somewhere deep inside me, in a place where I'm still captivated by a handsome medieval history professor who came to the rescue of a girl upset over college credits, I feel as if our lives are starting to run parallel. We converge around Nicholas and our home life, but if everything else is separate...

I pull in a breath. Maybe this is just what happens when a marriage stretches and lengthens, when a couple's careers expand, when you realize there are only so many hours in the day and you still have so much to do.

Maybe it's supposed to be this way-my husband and I now putting our other responsibilities first, focusing together on our child and giving each other whatever is leftover.

It doesn't feel right, though. In fact, it feels horribly wrong. Dean and I have never been each other's leftovers.

I turn to the door, hating the anger still lingering between us, the discovery of problems neither one of us knows how to fix. Problems that have nothing to do with the United Nations or town festivals.

"What time do you leave?" I ask.

"Flight leaves Wednesday at seven."

"Email me your hotel and flight information."

"I already did."

I pause and turn back to face him. "When are you coming back?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Depends on the vote." He doesn't look at me, but his voice is tense with regret. "Simon and I are heading to Altopascio afterward, see if we can start the earthquake repairs. I should know by the end of the a.s.sembly."

We're both silent. The resignation and sorrow simmering between us almost breaks my heart in half.

Come back to me. The wish blooms bright and hard in the center of my soul, the place where our unbreakable relationship, our everlasting marriage, has always lived.

I can't remember the last time I'd hoped for anything more desperately. But hope and reality are two very different things. And because there is nothing else I can say, I turn away from my husband and walk slowly back down the spiral staircase.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

OLIVIA.

After Dean's departure, the b.u.t.terfly House takes on an air of vastness and empty s.p.a.ce. Without the secure familiarity of the cafe to keep me occupied, I'm thrown off balance even more, as if the ground is once again shifting beneath my feet. I try to focus on the final preparations for the festival, even more fiercely determined to make it a success, and spend a great deal of time with Nicholas.

One afternoon, in need of a friend, I find Kelsey in the garage of Archer's shop, crouching on top of a huge, custom-built, storm-chasing truck armored with sixteen-gauge steel plates and a Kevlar coating.

A circular radar device and large antenna sits on top of the vehicle, along with a bunch of little tubes that Kelsey is working at with a wrench. Her hair is covered with a ratty baseball cap, and her tank top and cargo pants are streaked with dirt and grease.

"What are those?" I ask, gesturing to the tubes.

"Cannons." She peers down, flashing me a smile of greeting and pride. "They shoot instrument probes into the tornado to measure and collect wind speed, pressure, and temperature data. This is the first season we're taking Dorothy out, so we'll see how she does."

"Dorothy, huh?" I can't help smiling.

"You and Allie are a bad influence on me. So is the movie Twister, which Archer has the poor taste to actually like." She pats the roof of the vehicle affectionately before hopping off and approaching me. "Speaking of Allie, she called me and said something about a birthday party gone wrong?"

I sigh and sit down on a nearby bench. As a silent partner in the cafe, Kelsey stays out of the daily operations, but Allie and I have always involved her in big decisions and kept her informed when something changes.

I suppose the birthday disaster qualifies.

"It was my fault," I admit. "I'm taking a leave of absence from the cafe until the festival is over. And speaking of the festival, please tell me you're still going to be in town for it."

"Sure. Archer and I are working at the kids' stage, right?"

I nod. "Did you check the forecast for me?"

"Everything looks great. Nothing on the radar, but I'll check the day before too."

I can see the festival plan in my head. Everything will be situated in Wizard's Park-the carnival rides and game booths, the food trucks, stages, and Chair Fair tent.

And, if I let myself, I can see the townspeople wandering around with their excited children, taking them to the ball-toss game and on the merry-go-round. I hear their squeals of laughter, their pleas for ice cream, their voices accompanying a sing-along.

I don't see Dean anywhere.

"Hey." Kelsey takes off her cap and wipes her forehead with the back of her hand as she sits beside me. "What happened?"

The confession sticks in my throat. I look at the storm-chasing truck and try for the hundredth time to understand why anyone would see a black storm on the horizon and choose to drive right toward it. To go into it.

I push to my feet and approach the truck, running my hand over the steel plates. "Why do you do it?"

"Chase?" Kelsey shrugs. "It's hard to explain. It's a rush like no other. Dangerous, exhilarating, thrilling. The realization that you can face down a force of nature is pretty d.a.m.ned powerful."

"And scary."

"Scary is part of the appeal," Kelsey says. "I struggled for a long time with my attraction to danger. I thought it was the reason my father died. I tried to hide in academia and to control everything about my life.

"But then I met Archer, and I discovered that sometimes being in control can suck. That sometimes I want to let everything go, to give up control and drive into a storm without knowing what will happen."

I turn to look at her. "But you won't marry Archer because you don't want anything to change."

She averts her gaze. "I don't want anything to change about us. And I know it's stupid because my parents had a great marriage. They loved each other completely. But then my father died and... well, my mother was alone. Then I lost my mother right when I found Archer. And it's been so good that I feel like I'd be tempting the fates if I married him. What if I lost him too?"

She holds up her hand when I start to speak.

"Don't tell me it makes no sense," she says. "I know that already. But I can't love Archer more than I already do. And I'm not going to marry him just because some bulls.h.i.t custom says we should or because people think marriage is the only way you can be with someone for life. Because it's not."

"True," I agree. "Swans mate for life, but they don't get married. They just wing it."

A grin tugs at Kelsey's mouth as she climbs back onto the roof of the vehicle.

"You hear anything from Professor Marvel?" she asks, apparently having done enough baring of her soul.

"Yes, he's heading for the UN a.s.sembly meeting as we speak. Being an international diplomat."

Kelsey shoots me a glance. "You don't sound thrilled about that."

"I'm proud of him," I reply, deliberately avoiding her remark. "I'm just sorry he's missing the festival. And I'm worried they're going to offer him the job, which was clearly made for him."

"So why does that worry you?"

"Because I can't stand the thought of moving to different countries, not knowing where we'd go next or how long we'd stay. h.e.l.l, Kelsey, I lost Nicholas once in the b.u.t.terfly House. What if I lost him in Malaysia?"

I return to the bench and pick up my satchel.

"Liv."

I turn to face Kelsey again. She's standing on the roof, her hands on her hips, looking so strong and confident that just the sight of her underscores my recent failures.

"Do you remember when I first hooked up with Archer, and I wasn't at all sure I was making the right decision?" she asks.

I nod.

"You were the one who told me that nothing ever changes if you don't trust your instincts and take risks," Kelsey continues. "And that was exactly what I did with Archer. Turned out it was the best decision I've ever made. Maybe you should take your own advice this time."

"But I don't like what my instincts are telling me," I admit. "I'm worried Dean would be giving up an incredible opportunity because of me. I don't want to live with that for the rest of my life. I don't want him to either."

"Instinct and worry aren't the same thing," Kelsey reminds me. "I still have an instinctive pull toward danger, but I'm not scared of it anymore. And I'm not scared of giving up control because I know I have Archer. He's my rock. He takes my fear away. When you have that, you can do anything."

"Would you get down from there so I can hug you?" I ask.

"Okay." Kelsey rolls her eyes. "But only for, like, ten seconds."

She jumps down from the vehicle. We exchange a hug before I walk back to my car. As much as I wish I could "take my own advice," I know Kelsey and I are very different people.

Kelsey still controls the entire Spiral Project. She built a vehicle to protect herself from tornados. Archer will never leave her, no matter how many times she turns down his marriage proposal. She'll never leave him either. She chooses to drive into storms. Even when she's not in control, she's still in control.

And I am too-at least, for now. Without the Edison sponsorship, I call an emergency planning meeting and ask the festival volunteers to try and secure more funding to make up for Edison's refusal. But after several days of trying, it becomes clear that so many businesses have already donated packages to the Chair Fair they can't take on the added financial commitment of a sponsorship.

After a slew of refusals one afternoon, I bring Nicholas to a park on the west side of the lake where The Moms have arranged to meet for the weekly playgroup. They greet us warmly, though when the children run off to the playground, their mothers turn to me with barely contained curiosity.

"Liv, we heard about the disaster at the cafe over the weekend," Joan announces, her eyes widening as she leans closer. "What on earth happened?"

I was f.u.c.king my husband and forgot about everything else, I think bitterly.

"Just a bunch of mistakes," I say. "All of it was my fault, but we're making amends as best we can."

The Moms blink almost in unison, as if they hadn't expected to hear me admit to blame.

"I heard the kids had a big food fight," Susan remarks.

"There was some cake thrown."

"I heard Slice of Pie almost caused a riot," Joan says.

"They got a late start." I wonder how I can change the subject. "The kids were just eager to hear them play."

"Are they still providing backstage pa.s.ses for the festival?" Joan asks.

"Uh, I doubt it," I say, suddenly realizing the deeper implications of not having a high-level sponsor. "Honestly, I don't know if they'll even perform at the festival anymore. I don't think we can afford it."

Their mouths drop open in shock.