Cary
In the
middle of the crowded airport, I buried my face in my dad’s shoulder, closed my
eyes, and breathed in the familiar scent of him, the scent that reminded me of
home, family, and my childhood, while he squeezed me tight. His hugs were so much more powerful than his
words, conveying all the feelings that he had a tough time expressing out loud. “Love you,” he said, as he finally released
me, but he didn’t have to. I already
knew.
“Love you,
too,” I replied, beaming up at him with too-bright eyes that were stinging with
unshed tears. I will not cry, I told myself, knowing it would only make it even
harder to turn and walk away. “Have a
safe flight!” My voice was shrill. “Call me when you get home.”
My dad
grinned. “I’ll text you.” He sounded so proud of himself.
I giggled,
swiping at the corner of my eye.
“Okay. I’ll text you back when I
get to Florida.”
He
nodded. “You’re gonna have the time of
your life, kiddo. See you in a few
weeks.”
“Alright…
bye, Dad.” I forced myself to turn
away. As I started toward my gate, I
looked back once over my shoulder to see him striding off in the opposite
direction, the same duffel bag he’d had since the early nineteen seventies
slung over one of his thin shoulders. It
was the only luggage he’d brought, packed neatly with three changes of clothes
and his shaving kit. He was a simple
man, my dad.
It meant
the world to me that he had left the familiarity and routine of his simple,
Midwestern life to fly all the way out to Los Angeles to see me perform in the American Idol finale. He’d stayed for three days, and I’d showed
him as many sights as I could in the time I had, in between last-minute
rehearsals. Now the show was over, and
we were heading out on separate flights.
His would take him back home, mine to Miami, where I would meet Nick. The tour started in two days.
It had been
a long time since I’d experienced such a whirlwind of emotions. I was excited, but I was exhausted. I was glad American Idol was over, but sorry to see it end. I would miss the friends I’d made there, but
I couldn’t wait to meet the Backstreet Boys.
At the same time, I was looking forward to the tour and, yet, dreading
it. I was nervous about performing and
anxious about the secret I’d been charged with keeping. I kept hoping Nick had come clean with the
guys in the few days they’d spent in New York, but I was willing to bet money
he hadn’t. He was just too damn
stubborn.
I couldn’t
wait to see him again, but I missed my dad already. It had been much harder to say goodbye to him
this time, probably because we’d had such a short time together, and it would
be three more weeks before I made it home to see him again. I realized that if any sort of career
opportunity came out of this tour, it would be like that all the time. I couldn’t be a professional singer living in
central Illinois. I’d have to relocate,
permanently. That was a scary thought;
I’d never lived further than an hour from my dad.
I pushed
the thought out of my head. I was
thinking way too far ahead, counting my chickens before they had hatched. The opening act gig was essentially a ruse, I
reminded myself. I’d gotten it not
because of my singing talent, but because of my nursing skills. Nothing would come of it, except perhaps a
friendship with Nick – if I didn’t end up killing him first.
I texted him from the gate, as I waited for my boarding
call. “I’m at the airport, almost on my way!” I started to type, “How have you been feeling?” but decided that was too much of a
nurse thing to say. I wanted to be the
friend, the fellow singer, for awhile longer before I went back to being the
nurse. So I deleted it and put in its
place, “Can’t wait to see you.” I sent that one.
His reply
came quickly; he must have been bored. “Right back atcha. See u soon.”
I
smiled. It was silly how just a simple
text from him could still make my stomach flutter with butterflies.
When the
boarding call came, I powered down my phone, gathered my purse and carry-on
bag, and joined the line of passengers waiting to get on the plane. When I handed my boarding pass to the
attendant at the counter, she scanned it and then looked up at my face, a smile
of recognition lighting up hers. “You’re
from American Idol!” she cried,
forgetting the pleasant, but professional tone of voice that matched her crisp
uniform.
Caught
off-guard, I smiled back and nodded. I
wasn’t used to being recognized in public; on American Idol, you live in such a
bubble world that there’s hardly a chance for you to be noticed out doing
something normal. Now that the show was
over, though, I supposed it would be happening more often, especially once I
had the added publicity of touring with the Backstreet Boys.
The
attendant didn’t ask for an autograph or anything, and I was glad; I would have
happily given her one, but I didn’t think the line of people behind me would be
so happy about that, so it was just as well.
Working at LAX, she had to take boarding passes from celebrities all the
time, so I was surprised she had even bothered to acknowledge me. I wasn’t a celebrity; I was a reality TV show
contestant. There’s a difference.
On the
plane, I found my seat, grateful that it was in first class. It would be nice to have room to stretch out
and enough privacy that I could take a nap on the flight. I felt the way I had after a tough finals week
in college, both physically and mentally drained. Last night had been fun, the excitement of
the show and the huge after party that followed. I’d celebrated with Lee, commiserated with
Crystal, agreed with all the other cast-offs who said they were sort of glad
they hadn’t made it to the top two, after witnessing all the pressure that came
with it, and stayed up far too late, partying and drinking. I was a little hungover and a lot
sleep-deprived, though I’d done my best to be chipper and not cranky in front
of my dad.
As I waited
for the plane to take off and the flight attendants to come by with the drink
carts so that I could sleep and not be bothered, I thought again of Nick. If I was this tired, after a couple of weeks
of rehearsal leading up to this one, really long, really emotional night, how
on earth did he think he was going to make it through a whole tour? I was used to a fair amount of stress, given
my day job, and I knew he was, too, but the difference was, even if I wasn’t
used to the rigors of tour life, I knew that, physically, I could handle
it. I was in pretty good shape. I was healthy. Nick wasn’t, and I didn’t think he had really
accepted that yet. He’d been doing the
treatment without a whole lot of complaining, and he’d done well with it so
far, but I didn’t think he realized it probably wasn’t going to be smooth
sailing the whole way, especially once he was on the road and not lying around
his condo all the time.
I’d tried
to warn him, but that’s the thing about denial – no amount of telling or
lecturing or warning can change the person’s mind. They have to change their own mind. I’d made up my own mind that I would be there
as a support, until Nick came to his senses and changed his.
***
He was
waiting at the airport in Miami when my flight landed. I followed the stream of passengers from the
plane to the baggage claim area, and there he was, waiting a safe distance away
from one of the baggage carousels. He
was wearing a jacket and leaning against a pillar with his head hanging down, a
baseball cap low over his eyes, but I recognized him instantly and walked over.
“Hey,” he
said, flashing a crooked grin from underneath his cap. “You made it.”
I
smiled. “Here I am,” I replied,
spreading my arms. I remembered hugging
him goodbye in Los Angeles and wondered if I’d get a hug in return, but he made
no move toward me.
“They just
turned on the baggage thing a few minutes ago,” he said. “Your stuff should start coming out soon.”
“Oh. Good.”
“Flight
okay?”
“Yeah, it
was fine. I slept most of it,” I
admitted, laughing.
He
chuckled, too. “That’s the best way to
do it.”
While we
waited, I studied him out of the corner of my eye, mystified. Was he always so tough to read? One minute, he seemed friendly, and the next,
aloof. Did the mood swings just come
with the territory of being who he was, hiding what he had, and worrying about
what he was about to do? I wondered. It
had to be stressful, trying to keep his illness a secret and go about his
hectic life like everything was normal.
It was stressing me out already, and for me, the charade was just
beginning.
“How did
everything go this week?” I finally asked.
There were people milling around near us, but no one was too close, and
no one was paying much attention. Their
eyes were all fixed on the endlessly turning carousel, waiting for their
luggage to start sliding out of the chute.
“Fine,” he
said nonchalantly. Then, “We were pretty
busy.”
“Sounds
like it. I saw you on The Early Show. You guys sounded great.”
“Thanks.” He smirked.
“It ain’t easy sounding good that early in the morning.”
“Early
wake-up call, huh?”
“Way too
early. I’m still jetlagged.” There it was, the denial again. It wasn’t jetlag making him feel run down,
and we both knew it. Even with the brim
of his cap shielding his eyes with its shadow, I could tell he looked
tired. In the fluorescent lighting, his
complexion seemed pale, and his weight loss showed in his face, where the skin
looked pinched and pulled across his slightly sunken cheeks. With a little makeup and styling, he could
look vibrant, the way he had on The Early
Show, but without, he looked haggard and sallow.
“What’s on
the agenda for the rest of the day?” I asked, hoping he would have time to
rest.
“Nothin’
much. The other guys aren’t in town
yet. Brian’s still back home in Atlanta,
and Howie and AJ are up in Orlando visiting their moms. So it’s just us tonight.”
As eager as
I was to meet Brian and Howie, I didn’t mind the sound of that at all.
Once we’d
picked up my luggage, we took a cab back to the hotel where we’d be staying the
next three nights. My room was down the
hall from Nick’s. He pointed his door
out as he helped me carry my luggage to mine, then said, “I’ll let you get
settled or whatever you need to do. Come
on over if you wanna hang out later.”
He left it
at that and went back to his room, while I took a look around mine. It was a nice room, not a suite or anything
fancy, but it smelled clean and looked tastefully decorated, with a big, comfy
bed, a large, flatscreen TV, a well-stocked mini-bar,
and plenty of pillows and extra towels.
I wondered what Nick’s looked like by comparison, but figured it would
sound like a lame excuse to go knocking on his door right away. He’d extended the offer to come down, but
he’d also said “later,” and I wasn’t sure if he really meant it, or if he was
just being nice. We had hung out plenty
in LA, but it was kind of unavoidable when we were living in the same condo,
where I was essentially the hired help, the live-in home nurse. Not that he necessarily treated me that way,
like I was his employee, but did that make us friends? I wasn’t sure.
In my day
job, the line between patient and caretaker was clearly drawn, and I knew not
to cross it. I was friendly to the
residents I cared for at the nursing home, but they weren’t my friends. To think of them that way would only make it
harder to treat them and even harder to lose them – like losing my grandparents
all over again. I’d learned that the
hard way. I knew better now. Care with compassion, but don’t get too
close. That was the rule.
But with
Nick, it was different. There were no
rules, and that scared me. In this
situation, I didn’t know where exactly the boundaries lay, yet sometimes I felt
like I was crossing into dangerous territory.
Maybe staying with him in LA had been a bad idea. I’d gotten too comfortable around him,
started to feel as if we were
friends. But I couldn’t forget that I
was also a fan… and a nurse… and the keeper of a deep, dark secret. You combine friendship with fan worship and a
hidden, life-threatening illness, and you might just have a recipe for
disaster. Or, at the very least, a
really awkward situation.
I should
have kept my distance. I should never
have gone down to his room. But the rest
of the day and night loomed ahead of me, an endless string of hours to spend
trying to entertain myself, and in the end, the boredom got to me. So I wandered down the hall and knocked on
Nick’s door. I had no idea when I
entered the room that I would spend the rest of the night there.
***