“How is he today?” I asked.
The long weeks of waiting for the transferred marrow to engraft and his blood counts to return to safe levels were taking a toll on my disposition.
Aidan, however, gave me a cheerful smile, which I recognized because his dimple crested his mask. Through the horrible side effects, the roller coaster ride of one day Cass being violently ill and the next almost normal, Aidan’s was the face of optimism to which I turned. This would’ve been much harder, if not for him.
If I was vulnerable and hurt, I let him carry the weight of it. I had resisted that impulse in the beginning, but after lying alongside him on a three-foot-wide cot night after night, he became my life vest. That security seemed wrapped around me, much the way his arms were so often—tightly, surely, and with such ease, as if they were designed to hold and comfort only me. That thought assaulted me, through countless sleepless nights, when his steady breathing was my only companion.
“He’s having an okay day. What about you?”
Aidan was Cass’ rock from the moment we’d entered the hospital. When the doctors came to put Cass’ catheter in, and he fought them, Aidan insisted on respectful cooperation. When Cass wouldn’t listen to my reasoning for a central venous line, Aidan climbed in the bed behind him, wrestled his arms around Cass to hold him steady, nodded to the doctors to do their work, and whispered in Cass’ ears.
When the doctors were done, Cass turned to his father and huffed contritely, “You were right. It wasn’t as bad as I imagined, nothing like a sword through Arthur’s heart.”
Through the preparative regimen of chemo and radiation, hours of hydration and evaluation, Aidan was there, talking Cass through it, consoling him when he was weak and irritable. Washing his face when he was nauseous, feeding him ice chips when the mouth sores were so inflamed that food was intolerable.
“I’m okay.” I wasn’t. We were on day +17 and engraftment hadn’t taken place. We were in the most critical two-to-four week period after the procedure, which had taken place in Cass’ room, not an operating room. I was terrified of graft-versus-host disease, but the doctors had given him high doses of multiple antibiotics. Until Cass engrafted, we were destined to suffer through blood tests, close monitoring of vital signs, strict measure of daily output and input.
Aidan had barely left the room since day -3. He had stayed in this room for 21 days, a feat for a man who lived for physical exertion. Even the two times he desperately needed an outlet, he went for a run, but confessed later that he ran the outside perimeter of the building over and over.
When we first arrived, Cass had undergone baseline testing of his heart, lungs, and kidneys to check their output and function. Steve had been assigned to Cass’ case for psychological observation, but after an interview with the three of us, he told Aidan he knew he wasn’t needed. All Cass needed were sweet whispered words of comfort from me, and the constant companionship of Aidan.
Cass and Aidan were holding up under the stress better than I was. It wasn’t in my nature to sit and wait. My anxiety about inaction had led Aidan to send me back to work on day plus two. And I had worked hard to occupy myself so I wouldn’t think about worst case scenarios, but that’s what a lawyer always does.
I slept either here with Aidan, or some nights, after a sparse dinner, Aidan sent me home for sleep. After a week, I realized he was buffering me from many of Cass’ nastiest days.
Aidan squeezed my hand to get my attention again. “Let’s go for a walk. He’ll be asleep for awhile.” Aidan helped me strip off the gown and we tossed them in the trash. When he stood straight again, his beautiful blue eyes locked on mine. It hit me hard in that moment, as it did from time to time, just how incredible he was. He said, “What?”
I shrugged my shoulders and headed down the shiny hallway and around the corner to the family waiting room. I walked to the wall of windows and stared out over the lake at the clear brisk day. There wasn’t a boat to be seen, Aidan turned back and asked the agent for a little privacy.
Aidan rested his chin on my head. “Dr. Seuss came by this morning. He said Cass’ red blood cell count is accelerating. He has every hope that engraftment will happen soon.” He wrapped his arms around my torso and gave me a gentle squeeze.
I nodded my head yes, understanding that it was his way of telling me he hadn’t given up hope. My arms draped over his and the back of my head rested nicely in the center of his chest.
“What’s wrong?” He brushed his whiskered jaw along mine.
I closed my eyes as shivers jolted down my body. I was so tense that the simplest gesture of his body seemed to magnify and explode onto mine. “I quit today.” I turned in his arms, looking up to his questioning face. “Before they could fire me, Caster questioned the Pervesis investigator and once he found out I’d already turned over the list of people he’d interviewed to the DA’s office he went ape shit.”
He kissed the end of my nose. “You don’t need to work.”
“I need to take care of myself, I need the insurance, thank God for COBRA, or I’d be screwed.”
“You don’t seem concerned about the actual job part of it.”
“I’m not. I was starting to despise the system. Most of the clients are criminals, the hours suck, I can barely tolerate Rat Bastard, and Pete the Pervert was the final straw. I gave Jax Wagner enough to make sure Pete never hits the street again.”
“Everything worked out for the best.” He kissed me.
I pulled away. “I didn’t get to the good part yet.”
“I thought kissing was the good part.” He raised an eyebrow. “You want to be a stay-at-home-mom and give me four more great kids?”
“You want four more kids?” That threw the possibility of my being disbarred to the back burner of my brain.
He was nibbling on my neck and he whispered in my ear, “I’m good with any number between four and six.”
“You seriously think you could find a woman to do that for you six times?”
“I think I found the woman.” He pulled back and looked down at me. “Just imagine how much fun we could have making the six times happen.” He eyed me salaciously.
“Oh yeah, sign me up. Since I can’t be a lawyer anymore, I might as well become the ultimate baby factory.”
He became utterly still. “What do you mean you might not be a lawyer anymore?”
The tears came in a flash flood then. I think it was the fact that he understood how being a lawyer was important to me. That was the biggest change in him from college. He had learned that other people had dreams, too, and he came to consider them as importantly as he did his own. I choked out, “I have to appear before a judge on ethical violations in three days.”
He took a chair, and pulled me into his lap. “Fletch can take care of this.”
“He’s not an attorney misconduct lawyer.”
“If he can’t do it, he’ll know someone good who can. I promise you, you won’t be disbarred. I won’t allow it. You’re one of the best lawyers in Chicago.”
“I haven’t heard from Max yet.”
“This will be straightened out.” He wiped away my tears. “Cass hates it when you’re sad. And having my stomach ripped out through my belly button would be more pleasant than watching you cry.” He smiled broadly. “Look at the bright side. You get to spend more time with me.”
I sniffled. “More time with you leads to trouble.”
“God I hope so.” He mumbled into my hair. “It’s hard, sleeping with you night after night.” He raised a brow for me to catch his meaning as one of his hands roamed along my thigh.
“We are so not going to get busted making out again.” I bounded out of his lap, straightening my skirt, as I walked to the two large impressionist landscape paintings hanging there.
He laughed and came up on my left.
I glanced at him. “You did that to distract me didn’t you?”
He tilted his head in the same, defiant manner Cass used. “My mom and dad bought a condo downtown. They decided they’re going to stay here until Christmas, and they want us to go out to California for the holidays.”
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye now. “Cass can’t have contact with the general public. No movies, no department stores. I’m sure no airplanes, either.”
“That’s not the only way to get to California.”
“We don’t know if he’ll get out of the hospital by then. I haven’t even thought through Thanksgiving next week.”
“My parents are going to take care of that.”
“I have my own family. The Rodgers.”
“I know, I’m not excluding them.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I just want you to include me in your family. I want us to be a family; I want you to be mine.”
“It could be up to six months before Cass can resume his activities.”
“That doesn’t have a bearing on our activities.”
“You promised you’d give me time and space.”
“You need to take a leap of faith. You need to decide if you love me enough to give me a second chance, because I love you enough to put everything else on the bleachers to be here for you when you need me the most.”
“I didn’t know we were keeping you from things,” I said with enough irritation to make him step back.
“Don’t twist my words, Libby. I need you and I want you, but sooner or later, you’re going to have to accept all of that or cut me off at the knees.” He ran a hand along his jaw line. “Or is that what you want, me on my knees begging you? Because I won’t hesitate to do that, if that’s what it takes.”
Dr. Seuss saved me from a sarcastic retort as he came into the waiting area with my mother trailing in his wake. A smile washed his features as he scanned the print out in his hand. “Good news. Engraftment has commenced.”
Aidan and I both stepped into his outstretched arms, before turning on his coat tails and heading in the direction of Cass’ room. My mother started chatting in one ear, as I took in the triumphant look on Aidan’s face. “Looks like time’s up, babe. The only space that’s going to be between us is the air between your skin and mine.” He patted my derriere. “I, for one, have high expectations that ‘all of it’ was worth waiting for.”
Three days later
I had always avoided pretrial publicity, so I was caught off guard, when Aidan and I arrived at the courthouse to find Fletch conducting a melodramatic press conference right outside the courtroom doors. I stood in the background, watching Fletch orchestrate the crowd of entertainment reporters. He had timed it to occur right before the hearing, ensuring a full gallery.
The look on Matt Caster’s face spoke volumes about what he thought of Fletch’s symphony. The glee in his eyes spoke volumes about the score he was going to play for the judge. Pete the Pervert scuttled behind him like the weasel rat he was.
Fletch turned, as the reporters started for the courtroom. “In a high stakes legal matter, strategy is everything. I plan on making sure Matt Caster does not come out smelling like roses. And who better to spread the good news than the media?”
Fletch took my other arm, and we sauntered into Marc Marston’s courtroom like it was Orchestra Hall. Fletch glanced around the mahogany walls, ornate carved pediments, and detailed frieze and shrugged his shoulders. “Who would’ve thought?”
The courtroom floors were marble, the seats were fully upholstered in crushed burgundy velvet: the courtroom was your stage when you were the youngest superior court judge in the state of Illinois. I dreaded this trial. I hadn’t made many exceptions to the rule of law, but what I had done was for the greater good, and I was honest enough with myself to admit that given the exact same situation, I would’ve made the same decision. Pete the Pervert needed to be put down, and if capital punishment wasn’t an option, incarceration would have to suffice. With a son of my own, I needed to see it done.
Before I brought myself back to the proceedings, I turned to locate Aidan in the gallery. He had two eager entertainment reporters interviewing him in the aisle. Melinda, the girl who’d masqueraded as Vanessa’s assistant was speaking in hushed tones to Winslow O’Leary, who gave me a friendly nod of the head.
When Melinda’s detailed reporting of Ms. Vanderhoff’s behavior hit US Magazine, Vanessa required the services of two public relations specialists, and three attorneys. She’d been too busy since to interfere with our lives.
Jax Wagner and Judge Foreman entered the courtroom, taking two seats—on my side of the courtroom.
Aidan must’ve sensed me watching because he turned away from the reporter, who I thought might topple over, she was so front-side-heavy. He flashed me a killer smile before heading in my direction. He leaned over the balustrade and kissed by cheek before taking his seat. I heard the reporter sigh; O’Leary chuckled, and Melinda rolled her eyes.
So much for professionalism. Fletch was studying me curiously. “It’s a pity they fawn over him anymore.”
“What’s so pitiful about it now?”
“Before you came along, watching him was fun. He can lay the charm on so thick before you know it you’re on a sugar high. I realize now it was all a game to him. On some level, it’s always been you, no matter how many women there were, they never captured his attention the way you have. When he said he was going to marry Vanessa, I thought maybe the capacity for gut wrenching love wasn’t in his make-up.” He guffawed at himself. “It wasn’t that he wasn’t capable of it, it was that he was already in love with someone. I’d just never witnessed it.”
The bailiff entered the courtroom, followed by the judge, and we stood. I whispered to Fletch, “Talk about hiding another side of yourself. You’re a closet romantic, Mr. Fletcher.”
“No, you were right the first time we met. I was a cave-dwelling-narrow-brow-dim-witted-ass-hole. But the love of a good woman will change both a beast and his perspectives.”
I was able to smirk before Judge Marston dropped his gavel calling the court to order. He took in the courtroom. “Mr. Fletcher, Mr. Caster, before we begin this proceeding, I wanted to note, on the record, that I have met Ms. Tucker before. It amounted to a brief introduction by my wife on the street. We had no conversation except for an exchange of niceties and we never discussed a rule of law or any cases.”