Chapter 17

Griffin

I winced and coughed as the doctor eased the fiber optic scope out of my nose.

“Sorry.” She set the device carefully on the tray and pulled off her gloves.

I asked, “What do you think?” as best I could with drug-numbed vocal cords.

“You have a little growth there. I think it’s likely just an inflammatory polyp. Those need to be removed, but recovery is usually straightforward. However, it’s a bit irregular so, just to be safe, we should do a biopsy.”

“How?” I ignored the wash of fear that went through me. She said, “Just to be safe.” You’re fine.

“I use a different endoscope that’s a little bigger, so I can feed a small grabber down the channel and take a tiny chunk or two.”

“Bigger?” I put a hand to my nose where numbness and irritation combined in annoying ways.

She chuckled. “You’ll be—”

The exam room door popped open and a nurse stuck her head in. “Dr. French? Steven’s bleeding again.”

“Crap.” She bounced to her feet and turned to the nurse who’d been assisting. “Tanya, set up a recheck appointment for Mr. Marsh for an endoscopic biopsy.” She squeezed my shoulder in passing. “Don’t worry too much. It’s likely just routine.” Her sneakers thudded on the floor as she rushed out.

I blinked in confusion at the nurse. Tanya gave me a smile and wheeled the tray out of the way. “All right, let’s look at the schedule.” She sat in front of the computer terminal. “Oh, look, Dr. French has a cancellation two weeks from tomorrow. What do you think?” She angled the screen toward me.

I didn’t have to get out my phone and check to wheeze a groan. “I can’t. I’m performing that weekend.” Rocktoberfest was the one thing I couldn’t shift. “Is there something else?”

“Three weeks later. That puts us into the second week of November.”

“I thought you guys weren’t too busy.”

She laughed. “That was last week. Our appointments have been filling up fast, as people hear we can do better than the usual delay. Another few weeks and we’ll be booked as far out as everyone else. Do you want November fifteenth?”

“Yes, I’ll take it.” I made note of the date and time. “It’s probably better to do that after my performance anyhow, right? Do I have to not talk or something after the biopsy?”

“No, you should be fine. Like today, no eating or drinking for an hour afterward until the topical anesthetic wears off. Occasionally the biopsy spots bleed a bit but it should be very minor. Probably smart not to shout or sing loudly for a couple of days after.”

That made me feel better about not running back for the test two days before my performance. No way did I want to hold back on this maybe-last big show. “Okay. I’ll see the doc in a month, then.”

“You’ll get a confirmation of the biopsy date by email and text, and we can send a postcard.”

“Hell, do all the things.” I didn’t think I’d forget, but once in a while, I pulled some bonehead mistake and wondered if premature senility was rushing up on me. Reminders never hurt.

“I have you in the system. You can head on out. We’ll bill you for today. Remember, nothing by mouth for an hour.”

“Right. Thanks.”

The early October weather had taken a turn toward cool and gray, with rain threatening. I zipped up my hoodie as I headed for the bus. The wind ruffled my hair and I unfolded my second-best beret from my pocket, crammed it on my head, and pulled the hood over it. I wasn’t getting bald . Not really. Just a little thin on top, and I didn’t like the chill. Too many years living in LA. I paused to wonder how I’d handle an Iowa winter.

I’ll have Lee to keep me warm. The thought made me smile.

Speaking of… I’d promised to call as soon as I was out of the appointment. Having someone worry about me was a new feeling, and I was both warmed and a bit hedged-in by it. One of the few pluses when I was facing my trial was doing it alone, no one else to worry and be tense and afraid, no one to put on a brave face for, no one who was pained or ashamed by what I’d done. If I’d been with Lee then… I couldn’t decide if the hugs would’ve been worth putting him through all that. Probably not.

Lee answered on the second ring. “Yeah? What did she say?”

“She thinks I have a polyp. Something inflammation. Might need surgery to remove it later but I have to not sing after that, so I’m not rushing to do it.”

“She didn’t mention tumor or cancer?”

His voice had cracked on the words, so I hedged a bit. “She said recovery should be straightforward.”

“Did she biopsy it?”

“Not today. Might do that in the future.” That was another little fudge, but I would tell him when the date got closer. He’d been freaking out all the last week, and a month of that would kill both of us.

“Okaaay. Well, if she’s not worried enough to pursue it immediately, that’s a good thing.” I heard him sigh. “A very good thing. I’m so glad. What are you doing the rest of the day?”

I’d seen my parole officer yesterday, so I could please myself right now. “I think I’ll go to the cat café, have a brew— well, after my hour wait time is up— and pet some kitties.”

“I envy you. I need to go deal with a new supplier who keeps sending the wrong things. I swear, they might be cheaper but when you add in the time I spend fixing their clusterfucks, I don’t think it’s a win.”

“Sorry to hear it. Will I see you after work?”

“Are you kidding? I’ll be there as soon as I can get free and cleaned up.”

“You could bring some clothes to keep at my place,” I suggested, not sure if he’d go for it. “Shower off and change there. Less driving.”

“Maybe.” He hesitated. “Mom’s doing better lately so I don’t have to check in as often. So maybe.”

“Whatever works for you,” I said easily. “See you when you get there.”

The café was half full in the middle of the afternoon. The staff greeted me with fist-bumps and smiles, and showed me posters they’d made for my benefit concert on Sunday. Their artist had created coloring book versions and they’d begun posting the crayoned-in ones on the walls. Since I still had thirty minutes before I could eat and drink, I sat down with a poster and a box of crayons. I was giving myself a rainbow beret and beard when my phone rang.

Chaser Lost’s “Tree in the Forest” ringtone. I answered. “Hey, Pete, since when do you call me?”

“Since you got crappy at answering my texts and messages. Any changes for next week?”

“Coming in Saturday. Eight-whatever time my plane is scheduled that I can’t actually remember.”

“I’ll be there.” His tone warmed. “Gonna be awesome to see you.”

“Same.” I hesitated. “Hey, did you or any of the band ever have vocal cord nodules?”

“Nope. Been lucky.” He paused. “Oh, crap, don’t tell me.”

“Yeah. It’s not too bad yet. My pitch still seems good, can’t hold the notes quite as long. A bit raspy on the tone.”

“You’re still going to sing?”

“Absolutely. As long as I won’t embarrass myself. I can give my voice a real rest afterward.”

“Okay, you know your body. Anything we can do?”

“I changed up the set list. Let me email it to you.” I got into my mail and sent the info winging off. “Went more folky and less hard rock. Not as good a fit for the venue, maybe, but I’m trying to avoid voice strain. I think this all triggered when I performed a bunch of harder songs from Hawk Untethered in a row.”

“Sucks. That’s some of your best work. But sure, we’ll run through the new list a few times before you arrive. Keep the practices to a minimum.”

“You’re the best.” I was so lucky, really. “Can’t wait to see you and everyone.”

“You’ll be blown away. Quinn cut his hair and shaved off his beard. We tell him he looks like an aging boy band drummer now.”

“Can’t wait,” I repeated.

“See you then.”

I stuck my phone into my pocket, bought coffee and a donut, and watched the clock until I could have them. A pair of half-grown black and white cats romped across the floor, mock-battling, tails fluffed to bottle-brush, until they suddenly declared a truce. Both cats leaped up into the hammock of a climber and they began washing each other’s fur. I smiled.

It occurred to me that I was happy. I mean yeah, the vocal cord thing was a bitch, but I was sure it was nothing. A temporary hitch. I had a cup of great java, a chocolate fudge donut, a wonderful man who would spend the evening with me, a huge concert on the horizon, and a room full of cats.

Linda Bellingham will never have any of those again.

The thought still hurt, but it didn’t suck me down in a dark hole like it would’ve two months ago. I desperately wished I’d done something different, anything different. But no one won by having me jump into a grave alongside her. If I kept living, and working, and singing, I could help these cats. I could send her kids more money, maybe. I could make Lee feel good. Help his mom, Harvey, Owen.

I finished my snack, colored the cartoon me’s shirt pink, and passed the finished product over to be displayed before making my way home.

***

The cat café concert went off without a hitch. Yeah, Lee gave me some shit about performing but I told him the ENT doctor had no objections. I didn’t tell him I hadn’t mentioned anything for her to object to. A little creative license. She hadn’t said anything about not singing.

The café was packed full that night, hitting the fire marshal’s limit, and other folks gathered in the street outside, looking in the windows. The owner had left four of the most mellow cats in the café to wander around and charm the guests, and even before I started singing, all four were spoken for. He gave a me nice intro, saying far more flattering things than I deserved, and a lot of cell phones were out recording the whole concert. My manager would’ve had a fit. Good thing I fired her.

I sang my best acoustic material, mostly from my second album, and a lot of the crowd sang along with old favorites. The donation jar on the counter ended up stuffed with bills.

Walking to Lee’s car at his side, high on the performance, I was stopped over and over by fans. I signed papers and phone cases and arms, and drew the line at boobs. The mood was warm and celebratory, but I heaved a relieved sigh when I was in the car and Lee pulled away from the curb.

“They really like you,” Lee murmured.

“Yeah, I guess. There were more people than I expected.”

“Did you ever have to have a bodyguard?”

I chuckled. “Hell, yeah. For about fifteen years from the end of the Wings of Ice tour until after Day Trip . Not full time, like around my apartment, but if I was performing or on a tour, there was always at least one guy. Or gal, though I only had a female bodyguard once. She was great. If I’d hit it really big, she’s who I’d have hired.”

Lee raised an eyebrow at me. “Must’ve made it hard to get laid on tour.”

I tipped my hand back and forth. “Some. If I’d been deep in the closet then yeah, guys on the down-low are screwed by the surveillance. Or sadly, not screwed. For me, it was the NDAs and the hassle more than anything. I could pick up a guy in a club and bring him to the hotel but ‘read this whole form and sign on the line before we fuck’ is a major boner-killer.”

“You haven’t made me sign an NDA.”

“I trust you. If you decide to spill the tea about me, it’ll only be because I deserve it.” I watched the streetlights flicker across his face, highlighting a curve of his cheekbone, his full lower lip, the hint of red in his shadowed hair. “NDAs are for hookups, not the man I hope to keep in my life.”

“I have a feeling a lot of famous people have been burned by that assumption.” But Lee smiled.

At my building, I dug my keys out, balancing my guitar and mic stand. “Could you get the door, babe? Maybe the mail too?”

“Sure thing.” He held the outer lobby door for me, stopped by my mailbox to dig out a handful of envelopes, then held the inner door.

I smiled as I passed. “I’m glad you’re here.” To make my point clear, I licked my lips.

He laughed as the elevator arrived. “Aren’t you tired after that performance?”

“Not really. Performing revs me up. Takes me a while to come down afterward and that was a low-key event. No hot lights, no screaming, no dancing, no exhaustion.”

“Just cats.”

“Excellent cats. I could totally get used to them being part of my shows.” I waited till he opened the apartment, then led the way inside, putting my guitar case on its stand.

Lee shut the door, set the mail on the kitchen counter, then froze, picking up one piece. “Hey, this is a reminder for a biopsy appointment.”

“Well, yeah.” I’d tried to hydrate during the show, but I poured myself a big glass of water and sipped it. My throat felt… okay. A bit dry, a little thick and scratchy. Not worse than it had been. “I told you she might want to do one.”

“This is dated five weeks from now.”

“First workable date.” I went and took the card from his hand, pinning it on the fridge with a magnet. “I guess they’re kind of booked out.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Lee paced three steps, whirled and came back. “For a tumor biopsy? In a vulnerable location? Why didn’t she do it right then while you were in the office. You said she did endoscopy. Why wait?”

“I think she was going to, but then she had some kind of emergency, so she told the nurse to reschedule it.”

“Fuck.” Lee turned again. “And you sang tonight. You’re going to do Rocktoberfest? What if the mass bleeds? You know it could seed the tumor lower in your throat, turn a simple surgery into a complicated one?”

I didn’t like the shaky feeling in my stomach and that made me angry. “The doctor didn’t say anything about that. I told the nurse I was performing on the first biopsy date and she pushed it later and said nothing about don’t sing or don’t wait. They should know better than you.”

“Wait.” Lee came and stared into my eyes. “What first date?”

I wished I hadn’t mentioned it, but I wasn’t going to lie. “They offered me a date in two weeks, but it’s in the middle of Rocktoberfest, so I couldn’t make it. November was the next available.”

“Oh, hell no.” Lee poked my chest with his finger. “You’re not playing those games with your health. First thing Monday morning you call them and tell them you’ll take the early date.”

I stepped back. “Excuse me? Who made you the boss? Anyhow, it’s probably not available anymore. They were booking up fast.”

“Aargh!” Lee knotted his fingers in his hair. “If so, you ask them to put you on a wait list. Cancel Rocktoberfest and tell them you can come in any day, any time, first available. Take care of your goddamned life!”

“You’re making a big fucking deal out of this.”

“Because it is a big fucking deal. Do you know the survival statistics for squamous cell carcinoma once it metastasizes? A tumor can kill you.”

“It’s a polyp. A nothing. The doctor was pretty sure.”

“If she was really sure, she wouldn’t have scheduled a biopsy.” Lee yanked on his hair, then knuckled his eyes. “Look, Griff, for me? Do this for me if you won’t do it for yourself. I saw Alice deal with a dozen major health crises that started minor but there was nothing we could do to prevent them. You have a chance for prevention. Or at least early intervention. Fucking take it!”

“I’m not cancelling Rocktoberfest. I’m committed. Pete and his band are practicing my songs. The tickets are sold and I won’t renege on a commitment.”

Lee’s lips twisted. “How many of the fans are going to the Fest just to see you? There’s lots of other bands. They won’t miss you that much.”

My breath whooshed out of my lungs like I’d been punched. I felt dizzy and my chest ached. “Oh, nice. So glad you support my work.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He glared at me. “I meant one concert isn’t worth dying for.”

“And keeping my word? Not to mention the money. My health insurance is shit. I have a six-thousand-dollar deductible before it pays a penny, and because it’s based in California, everything here is out of network. If I need surgery, I’ll need that money.”

“Are you lecturing me about medical debt? Seriously? Mom lost everything but the house before the state began covering Alice. But we never put money ahead of her health.”

“How nice for you,” I drawled.

“Fuck you. There are other ways to get money. Admit it. Even now, you can’t put your health or me and my heart above performing as Griffin Marsh, the rock star.”

“This isn’t about you!”

The cold, dead look in Lee’s eyes as he stepped away made me want to call back those words. “No, I guess it isn’t. I guess I don’t matter enough to be part of your real life.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I don’t care. It’s obvious. I’m not sticking around to watch you play stupid games with your life. You want to stick your head in the sand and play the ‘it’s just a polyp’ game? You want to put a cheering crowd ahead of medical advice? You do that. But don’t expect me to hang around for the crash. I’m gone.” He whirled and stomped to the door.

“Lee, wait!” I held out a hand. My fingers trembled and my vision blurred.

He eyed me like I was a rotting piece of fish. “Will you skip Rocktoberfest?”

“Maybe I don’t have to,” I babbled. “It’s just a few days. Maybe I can get a wait-list biopsy slot some other time.”

“Are you going to California on Friday and singing for a week?”

I didn’t say anything because the answer had to be yes. Pete and Chaser Lost were expecting me.

“That’s what I thought.” Lee shook his head. “You’re never going to put anything ahead of performing, are you? I was a fool to think you might.” He opened the door, slipped through with an agility that belied his size, and was gone.

“Wait.” The word caught in my throat and I wasn’t sure he heard it. Either way, his footsteps thudded off down the hall.

Wait…

I sank into a chair, feeling like I’d been whiplashed. How did I go from on top of the world to Lee charging out the door? My whole body ached, like the verbal blows he’d landed had been physical.

Surely he’d be back any minute. Surely he’d realize that asking me not to do Rocktoberfest for his ridiculous paranoia— what if it’s not paranoia? I shushed that obnoxious inner voice. Lee had to see he was asking too much. I’d promised to stop touring. I’d told him I was putting down roots in the community.

I am putting him first, as much as I can. I’d committed to Rocktoberfest long before we’d met up again. He couldn’t expect me to break my word, just because he asked me to.

Or could he?

I’d never had a real, healthy relationship, other than maybe with Lee all those years ago. I didn’t know what was too much, what was love and what wasn’t healthy. Maybe I was supposed to sacrifice everything for what Lee wanted. He’d lost so much. Could I blame him for not wanting to take any slightest chance?

Maybe if he came back and walked through the door and asked me again…

I dropped my face in my hands and sat there, every muscle tense. And I wasn’t sure if I was more afraid he would come back and ask again, or he wouldn’t. In the end, my fears didn’t matter. When I dragged my ass to bed in the small hours of morning, Lee hadn’t returned.