"Okay. You call me if you need me."

"I always need you."

"Likewise." The smile in her voice eases some of my regret.

I end the call and take another breath. Spring is at its peak now, the trees full of green leaves, the sky etched with white clouds. Students trudge across the quad with backpacks and paper cups of coffee, their heads bent, earbud wires trailing over their shoulders.

No question I'm going to miss it. I've always been at home in academia, at universities, in lecture halls and classrooms. Teaching has always been the one thing I know how to do well.

My phone buzzes with a voicemail. I access it and listen.

"Professor West, my name is Louise Butler," says a woman. "I'm a curator at the Clearview Art Institute. I used to be married to Jeffrey Butler. I heard through the grapevine that you're planning to resign from King's. If possible, I'd like to speak with you. It's important."

During the week following my resignation announcement, I field phone calls and emails from faculty members, staff, former colleagues, advisors, as well as several universities and museums asking if I'm looking for another position yet.

Though the professional interest is gratifying, I'm not leaving the area any time soon, no matter how prestigious the job. Liv has spent the past few years moving with me for visiting professorships and postdoc positions, and there's no way I'm uprooting her again. Especially not since she now owns a business.

I don't return Louise Butler's call. The whole farce is over with, and I suspect she's not contacting me about a job inquiry.

When the initial furor wanes a little, I call my father in California. I haven't told him anything about this, knowing he'll be disappointed, but resigning from my job isn't something I can hide.

"Why did you do it?" he asks. "Did they deny you tenure?"

"No. I'm not up for tenure yet."

I stare at the wall of our living room. I've always been the good son. No, the perfect son. I've tried hard to be. I'd thought it was like building a castle or a fortress-an indestructible image of perfection reinforced by the successful West family, my renowned career, accolades, the IHR grant, countless publications.

Now I realize that I'd built a house of cards that could collapse with one breath.

"I had some legal trouble," I finally say, and then I just tell my father everything. He's spent the past twenty-five years thinking I'm the ideal son. Time to tell him there's no such thing.

He's quiet as I relay the whole mess-Maggie Hamilton's charge, the investigation, my unofficial suspension, the reason I went to Italy, Edward Hamilton's possible donation to the university law building, his threats against Liv.

All the reasons the battle was lost before I even had a chance to fight.

"Do you have a lawyer?" my father asks.

"Yeah, but I can't have this dragged into court. If anyone knows about it, I'm done. At least by resigning, I can leave with my reputation intact."

To reassure him, I tell him about the other institutions who have already contacted me about potential jobs. This news mollifies him a little, though by mutual agreement we agree not to tell my mother until everything is settled.

When I get off the phone, I listen to another message from Louise Butler. My curiosity finally wins out, and I return her call.

She asks to meet me in person, so the next day I make the three-hour drive to Clearview, figuring I have nothing to lose except time. We sit in the corner booth of a downtown deli, and the mysteriousness of our meeting makes me feel vaguely like a spy in a war movie.

"They had an affair." Louise Butler is a slender woman in her mid-forties who has a tight, compressed look about her. "Maggie Hamilton and Jeffrey."

Though I'm not surprised to hear this, I am surprised that Louise is so blunt about it.

"Since Jeffrey was her advisor, an affair would have been against university regulations," I say, for lack of knowing how else to respond.

Louise nods. "Of course it was. Not only that, it ruined my family."

"I'm sorry." But again, I'm not surprised. I know all about how affairs can ruin a family. I take a swallow of coffee, shoving aside an unexpected thought of my brother.

"We have children, Dr. West," Louise continues. "Their lives were wrecked because of the affair and the terrible divorce that followed. That girl destroyed us."

"It sounds like Jeffrey was equally culpable."

"Oh, I know. But she was the one who instigated the whole thing."

"What whole thing?"

"Maggie claimed that Jeffrey had promised to divorce me and marry her," Louise says. "When he didn't, she took her revenge by sending me videos they'd taken of their... sexual activities, and threatening to charge him with abuse. Jeffrey got scared that she'd go to the university administration with them, so he took early retirement before she could ruin his career. I divorced him shortly afterward and moved my children out of the area so we could try to start again. But the damage to my family was already done."

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask.

"When I heard that you were resigning from King's after just a few years, I checked to see if Maggie Hamilton was still a student. And when I found out she was, I suspected she might be responsible for your resignation."

"I wasn't having an affair with her," I say. "She filed a false allegation of sexual harassment against me. I couldn't risk the investigation going to the board and becoming public."

"I'm sorry, Dr. West." Louise sits back, her mouth tightening. "I don't trust Maggie Hamilton to let the whole issue drop. And if this comes to light, if she blames Jeffrey and drags him into it, my children will-"

She stops and shakes her head, her eyes flashing with hurt and anger. "That little home-wrecker has destroyed enough lives as it is."

"Maggie Hamilton doesn't have enough power to destroy my life," I tell her. "She and her father just forced me out of a job."

"Edward Hamilton." Bitterness threads Louise's voice. "I know all about him too. Maggie was scared her father would find out about the affair, especially after she realized Jeffrey wasn't going to marry her."

"She does seem... controlled by her father."

"He's even more of a threat than she is," Louise says. "And I swear to God, Dr. West, I will do anything to keep them from hurting my family again."

Though I have a feeling Louise Butler is motivated more by revenge on Maggie Hamilton than concern for my career, I thank her for telling me all this.

"The Hamiltons need to be stopped." She picks up her purse and slides out of the booth. "Both of them."

After she's gone, I head out to my car and drive back to Mirror Lake. I stop at the Wonderland Cafe, my defenses kicking into gear when I see Crystal Winter on the front porch.

"Thought you'd be gone by now," I tell her.

"I'm waiting for my car to be repaired."

"Seems to be taking a while."

Crystal shrugs. "I heard you resigned from your job. Because of that girl, I assume."

I stop to look at her. "It wouldn't have happened, Crystal, whether I resigned or not. Liv would never have gone anywhere with you."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. Your daughter is stronger than you'll ever be. She's never run away from anything."

Before she can speak again, I go past her into the cafe. I find Liv upstairs in the Wicked Witch's Castle room, which is painted silver and black with black-topped tables and crystal-ball lights, high-backed chairs, and a mural of a dark mountain landscape with silhouettes of flying monkeys against a full moon.

Liv is arranging a display of a black witch's hat surrounded by a pool of acrylic water. She turns at the sound of my footsteps, and her smile washes away the unpleasantness of the afternoon.

"How did it go?" she asks, lifting her face for a kiss. "What did she say?"

We sit down, and I tell her everything Louise Butler told me about Maggie Hamilton and Jeffrey Butler's affair.

"That's what I was trying to remember," Liv says. "Last fall when Maggie confronted me, she said something about Jeffrey Butler liking female students, and not in a professional way."

"I guess she liked him too, if Louise Butler is telling the truth."

"Can we tell Ben Stafford about this?" Liv asks.

I shrug. "Yeah, but I don't know that it would do any good. They can't kick Maggie out of the university for having had an affair. Jeffrey Butler is already retired. Stafford won't pursue the case just because Butler's ex-wife has it out for Maggie. And I sure as hell don't want him to."

Liv frowns. "It's just so unfair. I hate that Maggie wins."

"She doesn't win." I put my hands on her knees. "No one who lies like that wins."

The creases on Liv's forehead ease a little. Something loosens inside me, like a knot untangling.

"Do you remember that time when we talked about keys?" I ask.

"Of course. You said everyone has a key to unlocking their secrets." Liv covers my hands with hers. "And you've always been mine."

I turn my palms upward so we can twine our fingers together.

"On our second date, you said that string figures and medieval knights were my keys," I say. "It's funny, but until you said that I didn't realize I still remembered the chivalric code that I'd learned about when I was a kid. Honor, trust, loyalty. I wanted to prove to you that I could uphold those ideals. That I was worthy."

She tightens her hands on mine. "You've proven that over and over, Dean."

"No." I shake my head. "Not always. But maybe it's not about upholding some perfect code. Maybe it's just about doing your best."

And I know I've done that. I haven't been able to protect Liv from so many things, but at least now I've blocked the storm. I've stopped Hamilton from destroying my reputation, dredging up my wife's past, attacking us. I've battled the monsters away from our island.

Finally.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

Olivia May 26 know, right?" Allie shakes her head at me in astonishment, her red curls tumbling around her face. "The brochures went like that."

She snaps her fingers, pleased with the success of our pre-grand-opening advertising campaign. We've contacted all the local media, sent out press kits, printed coupons, and set up a website. The head chef, Jan, is working overtime organizing the kitchen, Marianne is retraining the staff, and Allie and I are finishing the details of the interior design. We're almost ready.

"When's Kelsey getting back?" Allie asks.

"Thursday." I check my calendar, remembering that Dean is going to pick Kelsey up from the airport when she gets back from her combination vacation and meteorology conference in Japan. I write a note to myself to make a special dinner that night so Kelsey can join us her first night home.

After conferring with Allie about our schedule, I take my laptop and go through the kitchen, where manager Brent is talking to the kitchen staff.

A ripple of excitement fills me whenever I walk through the cafe and hear the noise, the chatter, the sound of things happening.

I pause where Crystal is painting a border on the walls close to the ceiling. She's been working on and off for the past few weeks, and though I haven't seen much of her since she moved out of the apartment, I'm constantly aware of her presence.

"It looks great," I tell her, which is the truth. The diamond-shaped border matches the playing-card motif throughout the lower floor of the cafe.

I've discovered that my mother is more talented than I knew, which both surprises me and makes me a little sad. I can't help wondering what she could have become, if her life had been different.

"Is your car fixed yet?" I ask.

"Almost." She wipes a drop of paint from the wall. "They had to order some part. I guess they're waiting for it to come in. Are you leaving for the day?"

"I'm going to distribute some flyers."

"I'll come with you. Can you wait ten minutes?"

"Okay. I'll be on the porch."

I get a stack of flyers and go outside just as Dean crosses the street from his parked car. Dressed in old jeans, a sweatshirt, and work boots, he looks both comfortable and worker-guy sexy. He's looking in the opposite direction, his stride long and confident as he approaches the cafe.

My heart does its usual my husband is here! twirl, but beyond that I'm struck by the looseness of Dean's posture, the relaxed set of his shoulders. He looks at ease, almost untroubled.

He turns his head, his gaze meeting mine. He gives me that gorgeous, hint-of-wicked grin that makes my breath catch and my body hum.

"Hi." He climbs the steps to me and brushes a kiss across my mouth. "You busy for lunch?"

"Only if you're offering to take me out." I eye the streaks of dirt covering his sweatshirt. "Nowhere fancy, I assume."

"I was working up at the Butterfly House and got hungry."

"So you thought of me?"

He leans closer to me and murmurs, "I always think of you when I get hungry."

I smile and rub my nose against his. "How's the work going?"

"Got a whole room full of furniture to go through," Dean says. "I found a mantel clock that looks like it might be made of rosewood. I told Florence I'd get in touch with some museum curators and send them pictures. See if they can give us an idea of provenance."

My heart fills at the undercurrent of enthusiasm in his voice, the evidence that he hasn't let the loss of his job deter him from his love of all things historical.