Glasgow Grace

by Marion Ueckermann

  “Because you were no good for her, that’s why,” Rita blurted. “You still aren’t, so stay away from Skye.”

  Callum chuckled. “You can’t bully either of us, Rita. We’re not kids anymore, and the world’s not as big as it was back then. I don’t intend to ever lose Skye again.”

  Skye moved her hand from his arm and slid it around his waist. She nestled her head on his shoulder. “Callum.”

  “Now, if you don’t mind, Skye and I have a lot of catching up to do. Good night, Mrs. Robinson.” Without waiting for a response, Callum cut the call. He turned the phone to silent and threw it onto the bed. Then he wrapped Skye in his arms. “Where were we?”

  She tipped her head and brushed her lips against his. Her breath warmed his skin. “Right about here, I believe.”

  Callum showed her exactly where they’d left off as he drew her into his kiss.

  When they finally came up for air, Skye breathed out a question. “Did you mean what you said earlier—about not losing me again?”

  “Every word.”

  9

  Round, white walls enveloped her. How did she get here? One minute she was talking to Dr. Webber, the ENT referred by Dr. Allen two days ago, and the next the gray-haired doctor had a lighted scope up her nose. Before she knew what was happening, she found herself in Radiology, in the tunnel of an MRI machine.

  Her world swirled at Dr. Webber’s words as she sat on a high chair in his examination room, the thin flexible tube inserted up her left nostril into her throat. “There’s a lesion on your left vocal cord, Miss Hunter.” He glanced at the video monitor behind Skye. Part of her wanted to turn and see what he could see, satisfy her raging imagination. But what if her imagination was right?

  “Lesion? As in cancer?” Fear snaked its way through her body at the word.

  “We won’t know until further testing is done. Could be benign—a polyp or cyst. With your permission, I need to take a biopsy.”

  Biopsy? “W-when?”

  “Right now.”

  “Here?”

  Dr. Webber smiled. “Yes. I promise it won’t hurt.”

  Searching his face for signs of untruth and finding none, she relaxed a little and nodded. “Will it take long?”

  “Longest is the two minute wait for the anesthetic spray to numb your vocal cords.”

  “When will you do that?”

  Dr. Webber chuckled. “It’s already done.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Now, if you can continue to distract me, you can surprise me again by announcing the biopsy’s done.”

  “Only if you don’t speak, Miss Hunter.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. Vocal cords.” Skye pretended to zip her lip and breathed long, slow breaths. They always helped before a performance.

  “Are you free now to go for an MRI scan?” Dr. Webber asked as he removed the endoscope from her nose. “I don’t want to cause alarm, but I think it would be wise to do this as soon as possible, especially given your occupation.”

  Was he kidding? With all the clamour inside of her head, she gave new meaning to alarm. She pinched her eyes closed as the donut-shaped machine churned around her. Tears spilled past her lashes and traced their way over her temples, disappearing into her hairline. You’re being silly. There’s nothing to fear. If only her mantra could convince her.

  But what did she fear most? Losing her career? Or losing Callum. She’d only just found him again. If the lesion was malignant, how far had the disease spread? She couldn’t saddle him with someone potentially terminal. No stranger to the big C, Skye remembered well the havoc it wreaked. Oh, Da. I’m so scared.

  “You can get dressed and wait in reception,” the radiologist told her when the machine came to a standstill.

  It wasn’t long before Skye was handed a big brown envelope, her fate sealed inside. She dragged herself back to Dr. Webber’s rooms and slumped into a chair, the envelope in her hand taunting, daring her to rip it open and read the contents. She set it down on the floor beside her chair. She’d wait. An expert would need to explain the report anyway.

  “Miss Hunter.” The receptionist’s voice pulled Skye from her thoughts. “Dr. Webber will see you now.”

  Willing herself out of the chair, she headed to the same seat she’d warmed just two hours before.

  As soon as Skye handed the envelope to Dr. Webber, he opened it and removed the contents, reading the report first then holding up the scans one by one. To Skye they looked like Picasso’s paintings in a transparent gray monochrome. Like the artist’s work, these pictures made no sense to her.

  Ripples formed on Dr. Webber’s brow. Setting down the scan, he clasped his hands and leaned across his desk. “I’d like you to see a surgical oncologist. The biopsy report will be ready within a day or two.”

  “A surgeon?”

  “The scan has shown metastases.”

  Skye’s forehead mimicked the ENT’s. This can’t be happening. She’d first heard that word at fifteen.

  “I’m afraid the lesion is malignant and has spread to your neck lymph nodes. You’ll need surgery to remove the tumor and determine the stage of cancer and how far it’s spread.” Dr. Webber placed the scans back inside the envelope, along with the report. He pulled his address keeper closer and rotated the spindle, stopping the indexed cards at M. “We have one of the best Oncologist Surgeons right here at Southern General Hospital, specializing in head and neck cancer. I could do the surgery, but I feel with your vocation, you will need the best.”

  “Will I still be able to sing?”

  “Definitely not in the weeks following surgery or while you’re undergoing radiation treatment. But, if anyone can make you as good as new, it’s Dr. McGuire.”

  Dr. McGuire. How ironic. One would restore her heart, the other her voice…her life. I hope.

  “Give me a few seconds to call him and see how soon we can get you an appointment.”

  He lifted the telephone receiver and dialed the number. Perhaps it was better she consulted this Dr. McGuire. As long as he wasn’t as old as doctors Webber and Allen.

  “Good morning.” Dr. Webber paused, checked his wristwatch, and let out a chuckle. “I mean, afternoon. Where has the day gone? It’s Dr. Cecil Webber here. May I speak with Dr. McGuire, please? It’s rather urgent.” A moment’s silence ensued before he responded. “Thank you.” Cradling the phone to his shoulder, he tapped his pen against his palm as he waited.

  “Dr. McGuire, good afternoon. I’m sorry to intrude, but I have a patient here I’d like you to see as soon as you are able.” More silence. “Uh-huh, I see. Well, the patient is a thirty-two-year-old Caucasian female. Opera singer. Malignant tumor on the left vocal cord.” He paused a few seconds, frowning. “The patient’s name? Skye Hunter.”

  Dr. Webber’s eyes grew larger as he listened to the oncologist. “Really? That’s excellent news. What providence.” He cupped his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered to Skye, “He can see you right now. They’ve had a cancellation.”

  Bewildered, Skye nodded. This was all happening too fast.

  He returned his attention to Dr. McGuire on the other side of the line. “Yes, I have taken a biopsy. Should have the results in a day or two. Uh-huh. Of course. I’ll advise the labs to process the tests as a priority. Yes, I’ll send Miss Hunter down right away.” Replacing the receiver, he picked up the envelope and handed it to Skye. “I hope you didn’t want to first eat lunch. I think it’s more important to grab this open appointment.”

  “Of course.” Food? Who could eat at a time like this?

  Dr. Webber rose from his chair. “What a miracle. Heaven knows that doctor’s fully booked for months.”

  A miracle indeed. God was looking out for her.

  Skye stood, too, unable to wrap her head around her morning. “Will I still see you, Dr. Webber?”

  “No. Dr. McGuire will take over your full treatment.”

  “I see. Well, thank you for everythi
ng.”

  “Don’t worry, Miss Hunter. You will be in excellent hands.”

  A sharp ache grasped her chest as she followed the corridor to where she would find Dr. McGuire’s rooms. Today’s events would certainly ruin her dinner date later with Callum. Should she tell him of her diagnosis? Could she even? If he knew, would he still not want to lose her?

  ~*~

  Callum rubbed his eyes, and then raked his fingers through his hair. Skye? His Skye. No. How could this be happening? His worst fears now a reality. He picked up the phone and dialed his receptionist.

  She answered promptly. “Dr. McGuire?”

  “Linda, are any of my patients waiting?”

  “No, Dr. McGuire. It’s lunch time. But your next appointment with Mr. Hayes is in fifteen minutes. I’m sure he’ll arrive soon.”

  “Contact him and reschedule for later this week. Then I need you to clear my schedule for the afternoon. Tell the patients I’m really sorry but a family crisis has arisen.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Oh, and a new patient, Miss Hunter, will be coming in shortly—an urgent referral by Dr. Webber. I do need to see her. Please bring her scans through when she arrives and let her take a seat in the waiting room.”

  “Yes, doctor.”

  Callum replaced the receiver and leaned back in his large leather chair. How would Skye react when she saw him? Would she be angry? This wasn’t the way he’d wanted to tell her. It wasn’t the time either. Too soon. But he couldn’t avoid this, and none of the reasons for not telling her mattered anymore. Skye was on her way, oblivious to yet another shock that awaited her. No matter the outcome, he would continue to love her, in sickness and in health. Until death…no, he refused to think such thoughts. He would do everything in his power to make her well. They would grow old together.

  ~*~

  Perhaps if she buried her head in the sand like an ostrich, this would all go away. But it wouldn’t. This nightmare was real. I’m in Your hands, Lord.

  Skye willed her feet down the passage to the oncologist’s office. She would have to keep this appointment for two reasons. One, it seemed God’s providence that she’d gotten it the first place. If she didn’t show up, who knew how long she could wait for another. The second reason was the cold, stark fact that throat cancer would not go away on its own.

  She stopped outside Room 195 and stared at the engraved plaque beside the door. Some degrees this man had to his name. Impressive. Dr. C. R. McGuire, Master of Surgery, MB ChB (Hons), MSc (Hons). Crazy that this Dr. McGuire even had the same initials as Callum. What if…no, it couldn’t be. Pure coincidence.

  Mustering her courage, Skye opened the door and stepped inside the consulting rooms. Empty. Strange. She was certain she’d have to wait in a crowded room for her turn. Was this doctor really as good as the ENT claimed?

  A blonde woman around Skye’s age looked up from behind the reception desk. “Just a moment,” she mouthed and returned to her phone conversation.

  “Mr. Patterson, I’m so sorry, but Dr. McGuire has had a family emergency and I have to reschedule his appointments for today. How is Thursday, at four PM? Great. We’ll see you then.”

  Family emergency? Reschedule? That’s all she needed. More time to wait, and brood, and not know if this disease could kill her.

  The receptionist placed the handset back on the cradle and looked up at Skye once again, her smile warm. “I’m sorry about that. Miss Hunter?”

  Skye nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She just wanted to get this over with and not wait any longer for the verdict, the “You have so many more months to live” edict.

  “Are those your scans?” She pointed to the envelope that Skye clutched to her chest.

  “Yes.” Skye handed the envelope over. “Is the doctor—”

  “He’s here. Please, take a seat. I’m Linda, by the way.” Envelope in hand, she stood and walked toward a door on her left. “As soon as Dr. McGuire has reviewed your scans he’ll call you in. It won’t be long, I’m sure.”

  Seating herself, Skye picked up a travel magazine from the coffee table in the center of the u-shape of chairs. She could do with escaping somewhere about now. Staring at the glossy photos, she flipped the pages as she waited, not taking anything in.

  She’d made it half way through a third magazine when Linda’s phone rang. “Dr. McGuire? Yes, certainly.” Replacing the receiver she looked up. “Miss Hunter, you can come through. The doctor will see you now.”

  Skye swallowed hard. Suddenly her throat ached, and her heart beat harder than it had since she’d received the diagnosis from Dr. Webber. She exhaled audibly.

  Waiting to show her into the oncologist’s office, Linda placed her arm on Skye’s shoulder and gave a light squeeze. “There, now. It’ll be all right. Doctor McGuire is the best in his field. You’re in good hands, I promise. And he’s such a nice man.”

  Blinking away the moisture in her eyes, Skye nodded, barely managing to offer a smile. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

  With his back to Skye, Dr. McGuire stood gazing out the window. She’d half expected him to be dressed in a white overcoat. Instead he wore a dark gray suit. He remained rooted when they entered.

  Skye set her handbag down on a chair as his receptionist announced, “Miss Hunter.”

  All he offered in return was, “Thank you, Linda.”

  Linda turned and slipped out of the office, closing the door behind her.

  That voice. But it couldn’t be. He turned and crossed the room before Skye’s brain could register that what she saw matched what she’d heard. “Callum? Wh-what are you doing here in Dr. Mc—”

  He wrapped her in his arms and pulled her close, burying his head in her hair. He held her so tight she could barely breathe and released a sob. Then another.

  “I-I don’t understand.” Why was he here? Dressed in a suit? She couldn’t believe he even owned one.

  Drawing a deep breath, Callum loosened his grip and crooked a finger beneath her chin. He lifted her face and gazed down at her, his eyes still glistening. “I will get you through this. I promise. I’ll clear my calendar. We’ll schedule surgery right away.”

  “Wha—wait. You’re Dr. McGuire? You’re not just coincidentally standing here in his office?”

  Of course he wasn’t. Why had the thought even crossed her mind that he’d somehow heard and was there to console her, and that Dr. McGuire, the oncologist, would walk through the door any minute? Wasn’t she paying attention when his receptionist announced Skye’s arrival? Callum was Dr. McGuire.

  Callum’s eyes searched hers, seemingly filled with regret. “I wanted to tell you, Skye, when the time was right.”

  Skye stiffened. “When the time was right? How about the night we were reunited? When I spilled my guts about my life and waited for some indication as to what you’d done all these years. You never gave the slightest indication. Why?”

  Lowering his gaze to the floor, Callum answered. “I…wanted to be sure that any feelings you had for me were because of who I was, not because of what I’d become.”

  She blew out a huff. “You think that little of me that you’d believe I’d be so fickle, that it would matter to me whether you were a doctor or still working in your father’s pub, entertaining with your songs?”

  “No. I-I needed to be sure that the years without your father’s influence regarding me hadn’t changed you. Please, Skye, try to understand. I would have told you soon enough.”

  “I can’t believe you’d do something like this.” She tore herself from his embrace, snatched up her handbag from the chair and stumbled to the door. Air. She needed air. And space to think.

  “Skye, don’t go. We need to talk about this. We need to agree on an urgent treatment plan. We need to discuss your options and the risks involved.”

  Skye stopped at the door. She turned and narrowed her gaze. “No. We don’t need to do anything. I’ll figure this out on my own.” She slammed
the office door on her way out, ignoring the wide-eyed look from Linda as she made a dash for the door and stepped into the passage.

  Gasping for air, Skye ran down the long corridor, hot tears spilling over her cheeks. How could he exclude her from such an important part of his life? Could she ever trust him? Was he really the same man she’d known long ago? Yesterday she’d been so certain. Now?

  Doubts overwhelmed her as the same two-lettered answer screamed to be heard.

  No. No. No.

  ~*~

  “Skye, wait!” Callum rushed for the closing door. It slammed in his face. He reached for the handle, but his hand wavered on the metal bar. Let her go. You know where to find her. She needs time to process all that’s happened today.

  Were those his thoughts or God’s caution? He released his hold and returned to the wall-mounted light box where he’d clipped the MRI images to the illuminated surface. Leaning against his desk, he studied the evidence, his mind tracing every step of the required surgery, over and over, making mental notes for Skye’s recovery and radiotherapy treatment. But what if he couldn’t convince her to stay in Scotland? What if she’d want to run home to her mother at this devastating news? She had to stay. No other doctor would give her the care that he would. Physically and emotionally.

  Pressing his eyes closed with his index finger and thumb, he bowed his head. Lord, don’t let this cancer have spread further. I beg you. Father, only You can convince Skye to allow me to do this. Help her accept all that lies ahead and the disappointment that her career is over, for now, at least. Comfort her, and let her sing again one day. I thank and praise You for bringing her back to me and preparing me all these years for this moment. You are Omniscient God. Thank you that the plans You have for us are always good, because You are good.

  Releasing a heavy sigh, Callum pushed away. He had much to do, and little time in which to do it. He’d need to put a medical team together for her treatment—the best—and then he had to get to her hotel and make her stay with him, not only as her oncologist, but as the man who could never again imagine life without her.