"Is that true, Professor West?" Radcliffe asks me.

"Uh... there was yelling and fighting, yes, sir."

"And Edward Hamilton incited the fight by attacking Professor West first," Kelsey adds. "Everyone saw it."

I look at her in surprise. Even though my mind had been black with rage that day, I'm pretty sure I attacked Hamilton first in a full-body tackle.

Then I remember that he poked me in the chest before the real fight began. Though I don't know if anyone can really define that as an attack, I am suddenly and intensely grateful to Kelsey.

"The facts," Radcliffe continues, glaring at us all from beneath his heavy eyebrows, "are that Professor West has had difficulty with Maggie Hamilton for the duration of his employment at King's University, which culminated in a very public and violent-"

A sudden noise arises from the back of the room, the main door clicking open. A rustle of people enters. We all turn to see what the commotion is about.

I can only stare as at least forty of my students file into the room, backpacks slung over their shoulders, and march down the central aisle to stand in front of the board. There are so many of them that I'm edged out of the way and wind up near the side exit door.

"Excuse me, Chancellor Radcliffe." Jessica Burke pushes her way to the front of the crowd to reach the microphone.

The chancellor rolls his eyes. "Yes, miss?"

"My name is Jessica Burke. I'm one of Professor Dean West's PhD students. We're all students of Professor West's, both graduate and undergraduates."

She indicates her compatriots, several of whom wave at the board members.

"May I speak, Chancellor?" Jessica asks.

"It appears you already have, Miss Burke," Radcliffe replies dryly.

"Thank you." Jessica clears her throat and unfolds a piece of paper. "We are here to stand in full support of Professor Dean West. As students who were admitted to King's University based on our academic excellence, we can unequivocally state that Professor West is an outstanding scholar, mentor, advisor, and teacher. He has challenged us in our scholarship, guided us in our research, and believes in our ability to be both strong, innovative students and citizens of the world."

I feel a few of the students glance at me. My throat is so tight it hurts.

"Is Professor West guilty of a crime?" Jessica asks, her gaze sweeping over the board members. "The answer is yes."

The crowd stirs with murmurs of surprise.

"Professor West is guilty of blackmail when he insists his students turn in their best work before he'll give them a good grade.

"Professor West is guilty of insider trading when he puts students in touch with his colleagues in the United States and Europe so they can expand their research skills and be considered for career positions.

"Professor West is guilty of plagiarism when he copies his personal articles and quotes critical papers to help his students with their research.

"Professor West is guilty of fraud when he expects his students to know all the facets of history, yet only tests us on some of the material.

"And all of Professor West's students agree that he is most assuredly guilty of boring us to death when he gets started talking about the economic history of Cistercian monasteries," Jessica adds.

Appreciative laughter rises from the crowd. I look at Liv, who is swiping her eyes with a tissue.

"But as far as we are concerned, all professors should be guilty of such crimes," Jessica concludes. "Professor West is a true scholar, a supportive and innovative mentor whom we all admire and respect beyond measure. And if anyone... anyone... believes that Professor West is not an immense asset to this university and the community... that would be the real crime."

Jessica steps back from the microphone. The group of students begins to applaud, a resounding noise that grows to a thunderous pitch when the rest of the crowd gets to their feet and joins in.

I close my fingers around the back of a chair. The room is a blur.

"Order!" Radcliffe shouts, banging his fist on the table. "Order, please!"

The crowd quiets down, people resuming their seats under Radcliffe's glare.

"Thank you, Miss Burke," Radcliffe says curtly. "Now I will confer with my colleagues in private before coming to a resolution."

After he announces a short break, I approach my students to extend thanks that will never be enough and gratitude that is boundless. I shake Stafford's hand and hug Kelsey. It's a half hour later when the board members return, and Radcliffe orders everyone to be seated.

I sit down next to Liv, who has composed herself after a crying jag that left her red-eyed, blotchy-faced, and smiling from ear to ear.

"This hearing was convened in order to investigate Professor Dean West's misconduct," Radcliffe says, shooting me a glare. "In order to protect both our faculty and students, it is critical that we take accusations of wrongdoing very seriously and carry out thorough investigations."

The room grows quiet.

"However," Radcliffe continues, "Mr. Stafford of the Office of Judicial Affairs, a dedicated man who is approaching his fifteenth year of employment at King's, has spent a great deal of time investigating the matter. And given the development with Miss Hamilton, the board of trustees is fully prepared to accept Mr. Stafford's recommendation and permanently close any such case against Professor West."

The tightness in my shoulders loosens. Applause begins to echo against the walls of the room. Radcliffe slams his hand on the table.

"Quiet, please," he orders. "I am not finished. Professor West must account for his arrest by issuing a public apology and stating that the incident had nothing to do with King's University."

He shoots me a glare. I nod in agreement.

"Also," Radcliffe continues, "in light of the students' testimony... such as it was... and the fact that the members of the board were sorry to receive Professor West's letter of resignation in the first place, we would ask that he reconsider leaving King's University and remain in his position as professor of Medieval Studies in the Department of History."

Disbelief fills me. Cheers erupt from the crowd. Radcliffe holds up his hand for silence again.

"With the understanding, Professor West," he adds, still glaring at me, "that you will report to the board of trustees once a month for the next year so that we can supervise your conduct."

Kelsey pushes the microphone at me. I stand and approach the table.

"Understood, Chancellor," I say, my voice hoarse.

"You have two days to rescind your resignation, Professor West," Radcliffe says. "This hearing is officially concluded. Thank you all for your time and... so-called attention."

Noise fills the hall as the spectators push to their feet, voices rising in animated chatter. A wall of people closes between me and Liv. I spend the next hour thanking people and accepting their congratulations.

"We just heard about Jeffrey Butler and Maggie, with some unpleasant video evidence," Frances murmurs to me when the crowd disperses. "Her father has declined to press assault charges against you because he's scared shitless of the publicity. Pardon my French."

"So it's over?"

"It's over." She squeezes my arm. "Welcome back, Dean."

"Thank you, Frances. For everything."

After the hall is almost empty, I finally turn to my wife. She's waiting on the bench, and her smile is like the sunrise.

"I knew it," she says, coming to hug me. "I knew it couldn't end any other way, not for you."

Only when my arms close around her am I able to take a deep breath.

"Are you all right?" I ask, resting my hand on her stomach.

"I'm exhilarated. Thrilled. Proud of you and proud that I was right."

I look at her brown eyes, the thick frame of her eyelashes, the curve of her cheekbones and shape of her mouth. All those details that I treasure like air. Our history together flashes through my mind, and the truth falls into place.

"All these years, I've been wrong," I tell her.

"About what?" Liv asks.

"I'm not afraid when I'm with you. I never have been. In fact, being with you gives me a courage I didn't know I had. You show me what I can be."

"No. I just know what you are."

I lower my head to kiss her, feeling that shift inside me again, the great settling of the earth's plates, the stars and planets rotating in harmony with a thousand feelings. Gratitude, hope, happiness, surrender. Peace.

And there is a distinct sense of freedom, like whatever bonds lashed me to the ground have suddenly broken. I feel lighter.

I tighten my arms around Liv, knowing that in years to come I'll have to let go in ways I've never imagined. And somehow, that will be okay because my wife will always anchor my heart.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.

Olivia June 25 fter my white knight won the battle of his career, he won another battle against his fear of leaving me alone. Though he grumbled like a bear the entire time, he got on the plane a few days ago and returned to Altopascio to finish his consultation work before the Words and Images conference starts.

As we did before, we exchange emails several times a day, and as my pregnancy progresses uneventfully, I always assure Dean that everything is fine.

And it is.

Frances Hunter told us that Maggie Hamilton withdrew from the university and left town, apparently without even telling her father. After the news about the affair and the videos spread, Edward Hamilton revoked his support for the King's law school building and cut all remaining ties to the university. While that means a loss of his donorship, the board of trustees and the faculty are immensely relieved to have avoided a scandal.

The reporter Rita Johnson helped shift public perception with an editorial article about the Wonderland Cafe, in which she condemned Edward Hamilton for his aggression during an opening day event that was intended for children and families.

Allie and I continue to brainstorm ideas to jumpstart the cafe's business, and we've planned a bunch of different events for the coming months-puppet shows, free kids' meals, cooking classes, craft parties, tea parties, costume parties. Florence Wickham's granddaughter Margery comes into the cafe one morning, bubbling with excitement.

"I've distributed all the information to our district's PTO presidents and several other parenting organizations," she tells me and Allie. "Believe me, you get all those mothers on your side, and you'll be a smashing success in no time. Your timing couldn't be better either, with summer approaching."

Our friends give us a huge outpouring of support, bringing in family members, children, and grandchildren. When more people learn about our themed birthday party offerings, Marianne tells me that we're starting to book parties all the way into September.

And every morning when I walk into the Wonderland Cafe where my friends are, when I smell the fresh croissants and souffles, hear the chatter of voices, I know why Dorothy and Alice were so determined to leave Oz and Wonderland and find their way home. Home really is where your heart's desire lives.

Ten days before Dean is scheduled to return from Altopascio, Kelsey drives me to the airport.

"Sure you don't want me to come with you?" she asks as she pulls up to the curb.

"No, but thanks." I reach across the seat to hug her. "I need to do this one alone."

"Okay. Don't forget to call when you get in."

I go into the terminal and check in for my flight. Trying to ignore my nerves, I go through security and board the plane.

The flight is thankfully routine, and I have only a mild case of morning sickness that wanes shortly after the plane lands at the San Jose airport. I email both Kelsey and Dean to let them know I've arrived safely, then retrieve my bag and stand in another line to rent a car.

After consulting my map, I get on Highway 280 and follow the signs to Highway 17, which leads over a winding mountain road to Santa Cruz.

I make my way to the Pacific Coast Highway, where the ocean stretches out in a white-capped platter of blue and gray. The cold, salt-scented breeze drifts into the interior of my car. It's early afternoon, and the fog is fading away under the warmth of the sun.

By the time I find Twelve Oaks again, I'm filled with more emotions than I can untangle-nervousness, excitement, fear. I park at the gate and walk down the stretch of dirt road. A young man approaches me.

"I used to live here," I explain after introducing myself. "I'm looking for North."

"He's working over at the farmer's market," the guy says. "You want to wait?"

My heart skips a beat. I hadn't even known if North was still here.

"No, thanks. I'll find him."

I go back to downtown Santa Cruz and find a parking space not far from Pacific Avenue. Pedestrians stroll along the sidewalk. The farmer's market is a sea of people and white tents, voices rising into the air, the sound of a steel band carried on the breeze.

I maneuver through the crowd, looking at the vendor signs. When I find the Twelve Oaks tent, I stop a distance away. My heart is pounding.

North is busy talking to a customer, pointing at a box of heirloom tomatoes. He looks almost the same-more gray in his hair and beard, a little heavier, but I swear he's wearing the same jeans and T-shirt from ten years ago. And he still has a braid in his beard, tied with a little red ribbon.

I wait for the cluster of people to disperse before approaching the tent.

"Free samples of strawberries," North says, gesturing to the bowls on the counter.

"Hi, North."

He looks at me and blinks. For a second, I'm afraid he doesn't remember me. Then that old, familiar grin breaks out through his beard.

"Get over here, Liv," he says.

I go around the counter to hug him, tears stinging my eyes as his arms tighten around me in an embrace of pure warmth and affection. When we part, he holds my shoulders and looks at me, shaking his head.

"I'll be damned. I thought I told you not to come back."

"You did. But I've learned that sometimes it's okay not to listen to people."

He chuckles. "True enough. Hold on."