Cary
Nick and I both kept busy over the next few weeks. For him, it was important not to waste one
minute of the time he had left. For me,
it was necessary to take my mind off everything that kept running through it
whenever I had time to think.
I continued to work at the clinic, but I was already starting to
hate my new job because it kept me away from Nick. I had no choice but to keep working, though;
I needed the money, and I needed the health insurance benefits. I was facing major surgery and the
possibility of further treatment after that, and the process of retrieving and
freezing one’s eggs sure isn’t cheap, either.
But I was doing it, anyway, because it was the one thing that put my
mind at ease.
While I was at work, Nick spent his days with the guys or other
friends in the business, planning the release of his second and final solo
album and the Backstreet Boys’ last tour that would follow it. The album, called I’m Taking Off, was set to come out on Tuesday, the twenty-fourth
of May, but its release had been overshadowed by the news that Nick’s cancer
had returned and was incurable.
The phone had been ringing off the hook ever since his publicist
had issued a statement, as offers for interviews and messages of support came
pouring in. Nick finally had to turn off
his phone and insist that close friends go through me if they needed to get a
hold of him. He granted only one
interview, an exclusive with Oprah, who had always been good to the Boys. She flew out to LA for an intimate,
one-on-one interview with him at home, rather than forcing him to fly to
Chicago to sit down in front of her live studio audience. The segment aired during her show on a
Wednesday in mid-May.
On my way home from work that afternoon, I stopped by the pharmacy
to pick up prescriptions for both Nick and myself. For Nick, stronger painkillers, to take the
edge off the headaches and back pain he was experiencing more and more
often. For me, a set of hormone
injections, which I had to give myself to stimulate my ovaries into producing
extra eggs that could be extracted and frozen.
As I stood at the counter, waiting for the pharmacist to fill both, it
struck me how strange and sad it was that while I was planning for my future,
Nick was preparing for his death.
Try as we might to forget, there were reminders everywhere. His face was splashed all over the tabloids
at the check-out counter, professional pictures of him looking fit and healthy
juxtaposed with paparazzi photos of him snapped when he was bald and gaunt,
under headlines in big, bold print that said things like BACKSTREET BOY’S CANCER CRISIS
and NICK
CARTER: ONLY WEEKS LEFT TO LIVE! The magazines made me sick, so I tried not to
look, but while I was still standing there, staring into space, I suddenly
heard his voice, singing, “I close the
door… like so many times, so many times before…”
“Inconsolable” had started playing over the pharmacy’s speakers.
I swore someone was trying to torture me. That song hadn’t even been played on the
radio when it new, yet they were going to play it here, in the pharmacy, now, when
Nick was dying and I was struggling just to hold it together?
“Baby, I don’t
wanna waste another day… keeping it inside, it’s killing me… ‘cause all I ever
wanted comes right down to you, to you...”
I fought back tears as I handed the pharmacist my credit card
without a word. My hand shook as I
scribbled my signature on the receipt, and I fumbled with the two white sacks
he slid across the counter to me.
“Thanks,” I choked, then turned and hightailed it out of there. I could still hear Nick’s voice belting, “I’m inconsolable…” as I escaped into
the California heat.
I broke down in the car – the sporty black Benz Nick couldn’t
drive anymore. I buried my face in my
hands to block out the stares of people in the parking lot and sobbed over the
steering wheel. Was this how it was
always going to be, after he was gone?
Would I be going about my day as usual, only to be startled by the sight
of his face on a magazine cover or the sound of his voice over a speaker?
I knew the time would come when it meant the world to me to have
his memory so well preserved, through all the pictures and videos and
recordings he would leave behind. But
right now, it was like pouring salt into an open wound. He wasn’t even gone yet, but I was already
anticipating the pain of losing him. It
would only get worse before it got better.
I drove back to Nick’s condo in a stupor, the silence broken only
by the sound of my sniffling, as I tried to regain my composure. I checked my reflection in the rearview
mirror before I got out of the car; my tears had dried, but my eyes were still
red and puffy. There was no way I was
going to be able to hide the fact that I’d been crying from Nick, but I grabbed
the pharmacy bags anyway and took them upstairs.
The condo was quiet when I let myself in. I found Kevin sitting out on the balcony by
himself, just staring into space. “Hey,”
I said quietly through the screen door, but he still jumped, startled. I could tell he’d been deep in thought.
“Hey, Cary, how are ya?” he said, recovering quickly.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
“No, it’s fine; I just didn’t hear you come in.” Kevin stood up and came in through the screen
door. “Nick’s taking a nap. He had a headache.” He said it casually enough, but I saw the
seriousness in his eyes when they met mine.
I nodded and held up the bags in my hand. “I have some new pain meds for him. Hopefully they’ll help.”
“Good. Hopefully he’ll take
them.”
I frowned. “He hasn’t been
taking his pain pills?”
“You know how he is.” Kevin
gave me a long-suffering look. “He wants
to work; he wants to plan and rehearse for this tour. The meds make him loopy and knock him out
worse than the cancer does. Personally,
I think he’s pushing himself too hard, but he swears this is what he wants to
do with the time he has left, so I guess we’ve gotta support him in it.”
“Yeah… I guess you’re right.”
I gave Kevin a sad smile, which he returned wearily. He looked ragged and somehow older than I’d
ever realized. There were lines around
his eyes and wrinkles on his forehead that I’d never noticed before, like all
this stress and worry had etched them there permanently. I looked at him and remembered when I’d
thought he was the most attractive man in the world, he and his cousin. Now I saw them both as nothing more than
mutual friends. I only had eyes for
Nick.
Kevin let himself out, and I went back to check on Nick. He was sound asleep, stretched out on his
back in bed with his arms crossed over his chest. For a minute or so, I watched its steady rise
and fall as he breathed. I could have
stood there for hours, just staring at him, but I forced myself to walk away.
I changed clothes and flopped down in front of the TV in the
living room, where I had set the DVR to record Nick’s Oprah episode. I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to watch it
or not, but I decided I might as well get it over with, while Nick was
asleep. I knew I would be a wreck by the
end of the show.
Sure enough, I cried through the entire interview, as Oprah asked
Nick to reflect on his life and share his thoughts on death. They sat facing each other on the same
balcony where I’d found Kevin, the ocean view behind them, and Nick kept
turning to stare at it as he composed his answers to her questions.
“Are you afraid?” asked Oprah, and Nick looked out at the water,
licking his lips. He took a long time to
answer, maybe because he was teetering between “yes” and “no” himself, but when
he finally did, he sounded amazingly self-assured.
“I’m not afraid of dying. I
think that the fear of death is really just fear of the unknown, and I’ve
always been a risk-taker, the kind of person who welcomes change and likes to
try new things. So I’m not afraid of
dying itself. I have no idea what’s
waiting out there for me, but I’ll find out.”
Oprah nodded. “I’m sure
your courage in the face of cancer will inspire other people who are going
through the same thing, Nick, but you’ve also had such an impact on so many
people’s lives through your music. Is it
a comfort to know that, no matter what, you will live on through the legacy you
leave behind in this world?”
Nick was much quicker to answer that one. “Absolutely.
I want to be remembered, not for my death, but for my life. When they hear my name, I hope people will
hear my voice. I hope they’ll keep that
part of me alive by listening to my music for decades to come.”
“Speaking of music, you’re releasing an album next week, a solo
project?”
I smiled through my tears, as I saw the way Nick’s whole demeanor
changed at the mention of his album. His
posture shifted, he sat up straighter, and his whole face seemed to glow with
enthusiasm. “Yeah… it comes out on the
twenty-fourth; it’s called I’m Taking Off.”
“Is that something you started before you got sick or while you
were sick?”
“I’d been working on some stuff for it before I got diagnosed, but
the bulk of the writing and recording I did this past winter, after going
through treatment. It was something I
came back to because I really needed a project to not only take my mind off
what I’d been going through, but to help me get back to feeling like my old
self again. And it really did help. This album is totally ‘me.’ It’s not about me with cancer, because that’s
not how I see myself, even now. It’s
about me as a person and all the other experiences I’ve had in my life –
relationships, struggles, triumphs, everything.
It came together during the hardest time of my life, but I couldn’t be
prouder of the result.”
“It sounds like you created this album mostly for yourself, but do
you see it also as sort of a parting gift for your fans?”
Nick tipped his head to the side, then nodded. “Yeah, sure.
I hope they’ll enjoy it, and like I said, I want it to be something they
can remember me by when they listen to it.”
I wasn’t smiling anymore. I
thought of my near breakdown in the pharmacy and wondered how I could possibly
stand to listen to any of his music after he was gone. I’d heard I’m
Taking Off, and it was amazing, but hearing it in the future would only
take me back to this time and this terrible pain.
On the TV, Oprah was saying, “Some people may question your
decision to go on tour during your cancer treatment and now, when you know you
only have a few months left. Would you
say you’re doing that more for the fans, or for yourself?”
Nick licked his lips again, then wiped the corners of his
mouth. “Really, it’s for both. I mean, I wanna go out on a high note and
give the fans one last great show to celebrate the life and career I’ve had,
but I wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t something I really wanted to do. The stage and the road have always felt like
home to me; I feel best when I’m performing.
Music’s like an escape for me – you know, it gets me out of my own head
and takes my mind off everything else that’s going on. So focusing on the album and the tour has
been good for me.”
I remembered what Kevin had said before he left. “I
think he’s pushing himself too hard, but he swears this is what he wants to do
with the time he has left, so I guess we’ve gotta support him in it.” He was right, but so was Nick. Even if it hastened his death, this was good for him. I could see that now. Music was what made him happy, made his life
worth living, and if he wanted to keep making music until the end, at least, as
Nick put it, he would go out on a high note.
When the interview ended, I hurried into the bathroom to wash my
face and dry my tears. My eyes still
looked bloodshot and seemed to be in a permanent state of puffiness. I tried not to cry in front of Nick, but I
did a lot of it behind closed doors these days.
I think Nick probably knew. I was
sitting on the closed toilet seat, taking deep breaths and trying to get myself
together, when I heard him knock.
“Hey, Care, you okay in there?”
The sound of his voice made my stomach clench. “Yeah!” I called back, trying to keep my
voice steady. “I’ll be out in a
sec. Just… giving myself my shot…”
I don’t know why I bothered to lie. I guess I hoped I could pass my tears off as
tears from physical pain, instead of the emotional kind. But Nick called me on it right away. He opened the bathroom door, which I hadn’t
bothered to lock, and stood there in the doorway, holding up one of the white
sacks from the pharmacy. “These shots?”
Sheepishly, I returned the smirk he was giving me and snatched the
bag out of his hand. “I knew I was
forgetting something,” I said lamely, and even though I knew he was onto me, I
took the injection kit out of the sack and busied myself with preparing the
syringe. It was actually a relief to
have something else to focus on, something else to do. Nick just stood there and watched, so I put
him to work. “Hold this,” I said,
handing him the filled syringe, while I swabbed my belly with an alcohol wipe.
He wrinkled his nose at it.
“You gotta stick this thing in your stomach?”
“Uh-huh. It won’t be bad;
it’s a tiny needle.” I sounded way more
casual about it than I felt; I wasn’t looking forward to the injection at all,
but I didn’t dare complain about it in front of him, not after all the painful
treatments he’d suffered through.
“Here.” I held out my hand for
the syringe, pinched an inch of flesh around my bellybutton, and plunged the
needle into it. To my relief, it barely
hurt. “See? Not so bad,” I said, as I pushed down the
plunger.
Nick still shuddered. “It
looks bad. Glad it’s not me this time.”
I flashed him a quick smile and started cleaning up.
“So what’s wrong?”
I stopped and looked at him, knowing my red eyes had given me
away. “Do you really have to ask? I watched Oprah.”
He grimaced. “That bad?”
“No, you were incredible! I
could never have given an interview like that.”
I had stayed out of the way while Oprah was there, not wanting to be on
camera. Just meeting her had made me starstruck,
but the thought of sitting down for an interview with her terrified me. Nick was far braver than I’d ever be.
“Thanks. I didn’t watch
it. I don’t think I want to.”
I shrugged. “I probably
shouldn’t have. I mean, look at
me.” I forced a laugh, wiping my eyes.
He gave me a crooked smile and held out his arms. As soon as I was in them, the tears started
flowing again. “You don’t have to hide
it from me, you know,” he said as he hugged me, running his hand up and down my
back. “Trust me, I know how hard it is
to pretend everything’s fine when it isn’t.
I don’t want you to pretend around me.”
I nodded, my throat too clogged up to speak.
“I’m sorry,” he added in a low voice. “I’m sorry for putting you through this.”
This time, I shook my head.
“Don’t,” I choked out. “Don’t
apologize. You have nothing to be sorry
for.”
“I took advantage of you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I whispered back, my head resting against his
shoulder. “I fell in love with you. And regardless of how you really feel about
me, I’m here because I want to be here for you.”
“Look at me, Cary.” I
lifted my head to look up at Nick, who met my eyes and stared into them
intently. “I love you. Honestly, I don’t know if it’s in the way you
want or deserve, but I do love you. I
just wish we had more time to let that love grow and see where it takes us.”
You know that old song “Smile” that goes, “Smile, though your heart is aching.
Smile, even though it’s breaking”?
I’ve always thought those lyrics were so sad, but that was just what I
did – smiled, even though my heart was breaking.
“Me too.”
And Nick smiled sadly back, then dipped his head and kissed the
tears off my cheeks.
I clung to him tightly, wishing I’d never have to let go.
***