Emmy nodded. “Okay. I will. And you’re right, he and I do need to talk about it. So…after the second test, I’m coming clean. Thanks, Sunnie. I really appreciate it.”
“What’s going on here?” Padraig said, walking over to their table, a large box labeled “dishes” in his hands.
Emmy panicked briefly, wondering if he’d heard anything they were talking about.
“I came to borrow a spicy romance novel from Mom,” Sunnie said, quickly diverting Padraig’s attention while Emmy hastily shoved the letter from the doctor back into her purse. “Ran into the author on my way to the kitchen.”
Padraig chuckled and rested the box, which appeared heavy, on the edge of their table.
“You guys need any help?” Emmy offered.
“Naw. We’ve moved all we planned to. Just the heavy shit today—furniture, books, dishes. Erin, Oliver, and Gavin said they can handle the lighter things, like their clothes, sheets, towels. Truth is, they don’t have a whole lot of stuff. Oliver and Gavin lost most of their possessions in the fire. Good thing Erin had her own apartment full of furniture they can move over here.”
“Glad you got it all moved before the storm hits,” Sunnie mused, glancing over her shoulder toward the large glass window. Dark storm clouds obscured the sky, the forecast calling for heavy rains late in the afternoon and throughout the evening. “Guess I should leave before it starts raining, but…” Sunnie glanced at the time on her phone. “Dammit. Looks like I’m going to have to help make dinner,” she said, sighing dramatically.
“I’m going to head home now too,” Emmy said to Padraig. “Going to make spaghetti for dinner and the sauce is better if it simmers for a while. I’ll take care of Seamus when I get there so we’re not walking him in a storm later.”
Padraig bent down and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, sweetheart.” Then he looked around the pub. “I know I’m off tonight, but I might stick around here a little while, once I take this box upstairs. I think I should give Dad a hand. Not sure why the pub is so busy on a Thursday night.”
“Your dad said the same thing when I walked in,” Emmy admitted. “Apparently there’s some big conference in town and the accountants found the pub. Sunday’s Side is slammed too.”
Padraig frowned. “Let me run this upstairs. I’m going to pitch in here until the rush is over. See you at home later.”
Emmy smiled as he hefted the box and headed to the apartment above. Padraig loved the pub and took pride in the business his family ran.
She and Sunnie settled up their tab and said their goodbyes to Tris before Padraig reappeared, so Emmy walked out with Sunnie. “Thanks again for your advice,” Emmy said.
“Any time.”
Sunnie got into her car while Emmy hurriedly walked down the block toward her apartment. The black storm clouds overhead, heavy with rain, reflected her mood, and she shivered as a feeling of impending doom passed through her. Despite Sunnie’s reassurances, keeping a secret like this from Padraig rubbed against the grain, even though she knew it was for the best.
Please let the next test be okay, she silently prayed.
Padraig came back downstairs, then stepped behind the bar. He took off his jacket, put on an apron, and grabbed a washcloth. “I’ll bus some tables,” he offered, while his dad hustled to make drinks for a large group who’d just come in.
“Thanks,” Dad said. “I considered calling you a few minutes ago. Glad you’re here. I could use the extra help.”
“No problem.”
Padraig cleared several tables before heading to the booth Emmy and Sunnie had just vacated. He wiped the surface, then noticed a piece of paper on one of the seats. Picking it up, he opened the letter, seeing Emmy’s name on top. The letterhead revealed it was from her doctor’s office, and he recalled the letter showing up in the mail a couple days earlier. It must have fallen out of her purse. He shoved it into his pocket to return to her later.
For the next hour or so, he and his dad hustled to serve the crowd. Once it started to thin out, his dad assured him he could handle things for the rest of the night. The storm still hadn’t started, but given the even-darker clouds, Padraig was fairly certain he wasn’t going to make it to Emmy’s without getting wet. Luckily, he kept an umbrella behind the bar.
He put on his jacket, then reached into the pocket of his jeans to make sure he had his keys. He pulled out the folded-up letter from Emmy’s doctor along with his keys, intent on moving both to his jacket pocket. Curious, he flipped it open and his eyes landed on a word he hadn’t noticed before.
Abnormal.
He skimmed the letter as he walked out of the pub, forgetting all about the umbrella. Stopping under the awning, he read the lab results more carefully.
The results of Emmy’s pap smear were abnormal. There was a note from her doctor telling her he wanted to schedule a second one.
The doctor had written that a positive test could indicate cervical cancer.
Suddenly, Padraig suspected Sunnie really hadn’t come to the pub just to grab a book. She’d been dressed in her scrubs, so it had been the end of her shift. Had Emmy asked to meet with her?
Padraig leaned against the wall of the pub, the words cervical cancer reverberating in his brain like a bomb had been detonated.
He tried to suck in a deep breath, but his lungs were constricted, tight. He rubbed his chest with his palm, worried he might be having a heart attack. Actually, he hoped he was. That would sure as fuck be preferable to discovering Emmy had…
Cancer.
It couldn’t be.
He closed his eyes, trying to block out the word, but it kept repeating itself, playing on a loop in his mind.
Cancer. Cancer. Cancer.
And with every repetition came a sharp pain in his chest as excruciating, gut-wrenching fear cut through him like a blade. Mia’s face flashed in his mind, the tears she’d fought so hard to hold back as she told him she was dying. He couldn’t hear those again. Not from Emmy.
Jesus. It felt as if he were being struck by lightning over and over, but the storm hadn’t started yet.
Emmy couldn’t be sick. He’d just seen her. She was the picture of health. Wouldn’t he know if…
No. He wouldn’t.
He recalled that initial night with Mia, when she’d come into the pub after learning about the brain tumor. She hadn’t looked sick then. The disease was too insidious, too evil. It refused to show its ugly fucking face, preferring to strike a healthy, beautiful woman silently at first, until…
No. He couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t…lose Emmy that same way. He wasn’t strong enough to live in a world where she didn’t exist.
Padraig ran his fingers through his hair roughly, yanking it hard, as if that might somehow erase the word.
Cancer.
His hands started to tremble as he looked down at the letter crumpled in his fist. Emmy had known about these test results for two days. Why hadn’t she told him?
Why?
He knew why.
Deep down, he knew.
And if he was in a reasonable state of mind—rather than in the throes of a brutal panic attack—he’d probably even understand.
But right now, he didn’t. He really fucking didn’t.