Page 93

“My nerves,” Seamus says. “My brain has trouble controlling them, so I get tremors. And occasional spasms. And sometimes, I just can’t move the way I want to. It’s like I’m being grabbed by an invisible force, and it’s shaking me. The pills numb my nerves just enough to give me back control. But only for a little bit.”
Anna thinks about the way his hands shook as he gave her the pill. Looking back on it, there must have been a hundred instances in which she’d noticed a tremor but thought nothing of it.
“How long has this been going on?”
“A few years.”
Seamus says it with such forced nonchalance that Anna suspects it’s been longer. She edges closer to him, a newfound concern simmering in the pit of her stomach. “So, before we met?”
“Yeah.”
“After this, we’ll find you a doctor. A good one.”
Seamus levels his gaze at her. “With what money?”
“That doesn’t matter. We’ll find the money. And then we’ll get you the best doctor and he’ll be able to cure you.”
“There is no cure.”
“But there has to be,” Anna says.
“You think I haven’t looked? I’ve been to all the doctors, Anna. I’ve tried all the treatments. Some of them helped, for a little while, at least, but then soon I’m right back to where I was.” Seamus also moves to the edge of his seat, reaching a hand out to Anna. She takes it, alarmed by the way it trembles between both of hers. “That’s why, when your aunt wrote to me, I wrote back. And that’s why it was important for us to do this now. I’m running out of time to bring justice to the people who killed my brother.”
“Of course there’s time,” Anna says.
Seamus lets out a long, frustrated sigh. “You don’t understand.”
“But I do! Yes, you’re sick—”
“Anna, I’m dying.”
The rest of what Anna intended to say dries up, leaving her momentarily speechless.
“The last doctor I saw gave me five years at the most,” Seamus says. “Probably less. Soon the pills won’t be enough to stop it. I’ll need help walking. Then I’ll be in a wheelchair. Then it’s just a matter of time before the illness takes over completely.” Seamus turns to gaze out the window. The sun has cracked the horizon, painting his face in shades of pink and gold. “I meant it when I told you my future is just a swath of black. It’s the truth, Anna. There is no future for me. Not much of one.”
Tears well up in Anna’s eyes. She quickly wipes them away, trying to be strong for Seamus’s sake. But it’s hard to be strong in the face of so much loss. Her brother. Her parents. Aunt Retta. She can’t lose Seamus, too.
“I’m not going to give up,” she says. “And I’m not going to leave your side.”
Seamus shakes his head. “You say that now—”
“Because I mean it. We’re bound together by what happened to our brothers. And that bond will remain long after this trip ends.”
Seamus stands, lifts Anna off the bed, and pulls her to him. When he kisses her, the act is so sudden and unexpected that it makes Anna seize up. Feeling her tense, Seamus lets go.
“I’m sorry,” he says, backing away.
“Don’t be,” Anna says. In truth, she’s the one who’s sorry. She wishes she could bring herself to reciprocate Seamus’s feelings. But he was right after their lone, misguided night together. It’s all too sad. “I wish—”
Seamus stops her with a raised hand. “Don’t say anything more. Please.”
Anna nods and returns to the edge of the bed, giving Seamus the space to regain his composure. He takes a deep breath and stretches, his face emotionless.
“I should check on our patients,” he says before dipping a hand into his uniform pocket.
Anna watches his hand move inside the pocket, the fabric bulging then retracting. Seamus checks his other pocket before moving on to the one on the inside of his jacket. Soon he’s patting himself down like he’s both cop and criminal.
“What’s wrong?” Anna asks.