Chapter 26
Lo
I never thought I’d say this but thank god for Aunt Sharon.
I’m convinced it was her influence that kept my mom from hounding me over my attitude on Sunday.
Sharon probably just wanted to spend some time with her sister abroad while avoiding my “low vibrational frequencies” and pitch-black aura, but I’ll take it.
In all their busyness experiencing the quaint sights of Galway, my mom apparently forgot about my last doctor’s visit.
Last night, I dropped them off at the airport in Shannon and breathed a sigh of relief.
The longer they were here, the more I’d feared being found out.
The receptionist from the cancer center had even called to discuss my lab work while I was showing them around Shop Street, but I’d sent it to voicemail.
I already know how to interpret the results, even if I’m far from being able to make a conclusive self-diagnosis.
A biopsy is needed for any solid answer, and I’m just not ready to learn for sure that the cancer is back.
If Lark’s conflict-avoidance makes her an ostrich with her head in the sand, I’m usually a rhinoceros charging straight at anything that makes me uncomfortable.
But for the first time, I’m not sure I feel strong enough to face the challenge.
Denial isn’t the wisest way to handle potential cancer—believe me, I know this.
Somehow, the annual visits always felt like a formality. I never expected them to turn up anything concerning. A little more time is all I need to get my bearings.
Aidan encouraged me to spend time with my mom before she left town, visiting his own family and working on a “top-secret” cache of new songs with the help of Saoirse and Fionn.
According to him, Ruth has asked what I’ve wanted for supper every one of the four nights since the wedding and will continue to do so until I grace his family’s new home with a visit.
Lark’s been updating me from her sun-drenched Barcelona honeymoon, including photos of paella, colorful street art, and Callum’s tour of old-world cemeteries full of hauntingly beautiful statues.
And I’ve been working rotations in the A&E, making up for the lost time.
We lost a patient today and I could do nothing.
A team rushed in with a crash cart as a nurse did compressions.
A flurry of chaos, and then somber silence.
Oisín wasn’t on rotation, so I ugly cried in the supply room for ten minutes before I managed to pull myself together, dabbing Visine on my reddened eyes and powder on my nose to regain some semblance of composure for the next patient.
It just hit too hard, especially after the lab results.
The last thing I needed was the reminder that even a room full of medical professionals can’t change fate when it’s truly your time.
As soon as I’m home from my shift, I give Aidan a call.
“Lo?” His voice saying my name is like homemade caldo de pollo to my soul. Comforting and familiar. “Lo, are you there?”
My throat spasms, but I manage to croak out, “Are you busy right now?”
“What’s going on?”
“I just…I had a horrible day. Is this a bad time?”
“No, I’m at my parents’ gaff. Want to come over? My mam is fixing stew.”
“Another time. I just need you right now.”
“I can be at yours in ten minutes.”
True to his word, Aidan pulls into the driveway a few minutes later.
Ginger-flecked stubble chafes my cheek when he greets me with a tender kiss.
His presence already feels like a weight’s been lifted from my chest. I don’t have to feel this alone.
He takes me to the Long Walk, where the famous row of simple, colorful houses reflect in the shimmering water of the bay.
He doesn’t prod, patiently waiting for me to speak when I’m ready.
“I lost a patient today. I keep replaying it in my head over and over.”
Aidan stops and wraps me in his arms. “I’m so sorry.”
I bury my nose in his neck and breathe deep. “Logically, I know there is nothing more that could’ve been done for the guy. I just—I thought I was ready for it. That I could stay emotionally detached. I had no problem with the cadaver lab. It doesn’t bother me going into the funeral home.”
“Of course this is different. You can’t beat yourself up for being affected. You’re only human.” He strokes my hair as he speaks.
“How am I supposed to deal with losing a patient in pediatrics? This was an adult and I can barely cope.”
“I can only imagine how hard it is for the people who work with children. They’re angels, really, but it’s not a job for everyone,” Aidan says.
“What if I’m not cut out to be a doctor? I can’t wash out after all this hard work—”
“Hey.” Aidan grasps my shoulders and looks into my face—my soul. How can eyes the color of the bay feel so grounding? “You’re capable of doing something meaningful. Even if it’s not on the front lines.”
“But I want to be there,” I protest.
“I know you do. Plus, it would be a shame to deprive the world of how hot you look in a white coat and rubber clogs.”
I crack a weak smile at his ill-timed attempt to hit on me. “There she is,” he says, gently brushing my cheek. “You’ll change lives. Save lives. I’ve never doubted you for an instant.”
We’re so close that I can feel the heat of his chest through our sweaters.
I don’t even know who made the approach.
It doesn’t matter. Aidan’s gravity pulls me toward him every time we’re together, and tonight I’m powerless against it…
but somehow, he manages to make me feel like it’s okay to let my guard down, just for a little while.
“I’m not joking,” he insists. “I’ll take those clogs over stilettos any day. They’re deadly.”
This time, I breathe out a self-deprecating laugh. “Stop teasing me.”
“Not a chance. I’m still making up for lost time.”
His mouth is right there, sweet and distracting. I contemplate kissing him but step back and look out at the view instead. Headlights glow in the distance, and the autumn sky is painted in rich indigo. When I turn back to Aidan, his eyes are shadowed but I can feel their tenderness.
I’m afraid to trust my own voice. “Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for sharing this with me.” The secret I’ve been carrying all week threatens to claw its way up my throat. Our hands find each other, and his warm palm squeezes mine. “Tell me something good.”
“Well. I got lucky with two spots at Harvest in the Park next week. Nigel Culpepper is supposed to be there. He—”
“Worked on four of your top five favorite albums.”
Aidan’s eyes widen.
I nudge him affectionately. “You never shut up about his genius.”
His modest smile widens now, too.
“Sorry to interrupt. Go on.”
“Nigel is making his first public appearance in years. He’s usually untouchable, unreachable. Real desert-island stuff. But here’s my chance to meet him. Maybe I can convince him to produce my next album. He records out of London, so that would work out well before I come back to Galway.”
Sharing a stage with his heroes, bringing a crowd to their feet, rubbing elbows with the most talented musicians of our time. It sounds like his dream come true, even before the possibility of working with the famed producer.
“I need to make a good impression, but I’ll probably forget the words to my own songs if he’s watching.”
This isn’t the right time to tell Aidan about the sketchy lab results and the tiny hole that will be drilled into my hip for a biopsy. He needs to focus. If it is cancer, I’ll decide when to tell him once I’ve come to grips with it.
I’ve always known that having a boyfriend would be distracting as a med student.
I’d never thought about the toll a partner could take on a performer.
No matter what he’s feeling inside, he plays what the crowd wants to hear.
Even if it doesn’t fit the soundtrack of his heart.
As it is, he worries about his family and his friends and the kids at the hospital.
My inconclusive test results would only add to the mix—and for what? Anxiety isn’t going to help him. Or me.
“Lo?” His smile drops slightly. “Did I lose you?”
My thoughts must’ve shown on my face. “It’s just been a long day. But this is important to you, so it’s important to me. I want to know. Why does it matter so much to get him right now?”
I take his hand, tracing from the ends of his fingertips to the creases in his palm. Aidan has the most beautiful hands, made even more beautiful by the music he creates with them.
“I have to get this second album recorded by the end of October and I’m afraid of disappointing everyone. What if I’ve only got one decent one in me?”
“Your talent isn’t finite. But even musical geniuses can’t please everyone.”
“Did you just call me a genius?”
“All you can do is make something genuine. Same as you’ve been doing all this time.”
“If only it was that easy.” Aidan sighs.
“The label hasn’t been impressed with my newer stuff.
The last demo I sent was better than anything I’ve written in two years, but they’ve already decided they want to go in a new direction.
Getting someone like Nigel on board would restore their faith in me. ”
“A ‘new direction’? What does that mean?”
Grimacing, he keeps his eye on the bay. “Ever heard of Neon Joy? They’re set to produce.”
The pop band isn’t bad, but I don’t see the connection between their dance anthems and Aidan’s intimate ballads. “Tell those record company people to forget it.”
“I can’t refuse without consequence. I’d be penalized for breach of contract, on top of recoupment on the advance and what they’ve invested in me.
Meaning I’d be stuck with massive debt and a non-compete clause that prevents me from releasing anything for a year.
And they’ll still own all the master recordings. ”
I deflate. With Aidan’s background in law, I believe him if he says the contract is airtight.
He points to his bared teeth. “Speaking of genuine: I’m sure you noticed. My manager and the label insisted.”
“It looks nice.” It’s true. What had unsettled me about the perfect row of white teeth was their unfamiliarity, reinforcing my misconception of Aidan.
But I was wrong. He’s still the same man.
“There was nothing wrong with your smile before. It’s always been beautiful.
But do you feel better now? That’s what’s important. ”
He shrugs. “Fionn used to say ‘mind the gap’ and other shite, as brothers do, but I didn’t really care about it either way.
Now there’s a team of people concerned about my image.
They even asked me to go out with that actress Emma Kinnane to stoke rumors, make a point to be seen in the posh side of London nightlife. I’m sure she’s lovely, but…”
I don’t love the idea of a PR stunt with a beautiful actress, either.
“It’s never been about fame,” Aidan says. “I just want to write songs that make people feel something. I don’t need anyone sending me a pre-selected wardrobe and scheduling spray tans.”
“I knew it!”
Aidan extends his arm. The color’s back to normal now. “Christ. Is it that obvious?”
“You don’t look like a tangerine. It was only obvious to me because I know exactly how blindingly pale your ginger ass is.”
“What I’m hearing is, you think I’m a genius with a great arse…” He waggles his brows.
“I said no such thing.”
His flirtation gives way to something more serious. “Tell me the truth. Do you think I’m a sellout?”
“No. You’re an artist up against a corporation that has an entire legal division.”
“I haven’t admitted that to anyone.”
“The spray tans? It’s not a big deal…” I try for a little levity, but I know what he really means.
Aidan rolls his eyes. “Those record company executives see the potential for you to blow up, but you don’t need a makeover or a celebrity girlfriend to do that.
All you need is a label that’ll show you some respect. ”
“If I can just get the right producer—someone I like who is also proven to sell—they’ll back off me.
My poor da worked two jobs when Mam had to homeschool Marie.
They’ve done so much to provide for us. If this next record is a success, I can pay off their house.
Help them retire. The label knows how to make hit albums, Lo. ”
With such a modest upbringing, it makes sense that Aidan’s idea of success is directly linked to how well he can take care of his family. I always admired that about him.
“ You know how to make a hit album,” I remind him. “You’ve already done it once. Your music is special because it’s real, not because a stylist bought you leather pants to wear onstage.”
“Where are you getting this idea that I perform in assless chaps?”
I raise a brow. “If the spiked collar fits.”
“Now I’m starting to believe it’s wishful thinking.”
“Aidan, you can’t control how well your album will do. You just control how well you make it. Fight for it. Don’t let them pressure you into creating something that doesn’t feel right. Your family wouldn’t want that on their account.”
I’ve been better about remembering that not everything is in our control lately.
For better or worse. The timing of our reconnection isn’t what I would have chosen, had I any say.
Aidan is performing again in New York, so soon after he’d declared he was taking a break.
And he’s courting his dream producer, aiming to record his next album in London.
He’ll have to tour to promote it. Even if we lived in the same city, he might not physically be around enough to make this work.
If the leukemia is back, I may not be able to stay in school, and if that happens, my educational visa will be pulled. Moving back to the States would be the end of us, right when I lose my health, my purpose, my new home.
Still, my sense of hope flies in the face of the odds. I can’t bear to really consider the possibility that just as Aidan walks back into my life, the rest of it might detonate around us.
“It feels good to be here.” He watches the reflections from the houses and streetlights dance upon the choppy waves, then his focus settles on me. “Home.”
“Nice to have you back.”
This is gonna really hurt if I have to let go again.