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Chapter Thirteen / 2013


Abbey

I fell asleep at some point, laying on Matty's bed, clutching Gator to my chest, and I was awoken by my phone vibrating at my hip in my pocket. I scrambled for it, panic coursing through my veins, my eyes darting to the window to confirm it was only just the break of dawn. "Hello, hello?" I bumbled over my words, heart racing, my hand shaking. Calls at the break of dawn, calls in the middle of the night, calls at times that were not normal times -- these calls were one of my greatest fears.

"Abbey? It's Monica Potter."

Calls from Monica Potter at the break of dawn or the middle of the night were even worse. These kinds of calls made my heart stop altogether.

"Is he okay?"

"He is now, but I need you to come in as soon as possible."

"I'm on my way."

I hung up, and, still clutching Gator mindlessly, I rushed out of Matty's bedroom, leaving the light on and everything as I fled down the hall, kicked my feet into my shoes and snatched my purse and keys from the table by the door. I felt like a crazy person as I rode the I-40 westbound to the Vandy district, my knuckles white from clasping the wheel so tightly. I parked and ran across the parking lot, a woman with a four foot stuffed alligator in her arms. Inside, the receptionist desk wasn't even occupied yet - that's how early it was. And Phil was absent from the elevators, probably still asleep in his room on whatever floor he was actually supposed to be on. The doors parted on Matty's floor and I ran down the hallway, Gator's tail wagging behind me, straight to Matty's room.

As I rounded the curtain, my heart in my throat, I found him laying there peacefully asleep, but his hospital gown open, his little chest on display, new monitor sensors stuck all over it, a machine beeping loudly beside him. I stared at it for a moment, trying to regain my bearings, watching the green line tracing his heart beats on the gray screen.

I dropped Gator onto the foot of his bed shakily and turned back to the hallway, fighting tears of relief and fear simultaneously as I clutched my sweater around me and hunted for Monica Potter. When I found her, she was leaning against the nurse's station, writing something in a giant binder.

"What the hell happened?" I demanded. My voice fought not to break as I spoke the words.

Monica closed the binder after finishing what she'd been writing and turned to me. "There was a slight incident, but he's stabilized now," she said slowly.

"What kind of incident?" I asked, voice definitely breaking this time.

Monica took a deep breath, "His blood pressure increased to dangerous levels and his heart --" she paused, searching for the words she wanted to use, " -- paused."

"Oh my God." I covered my mouth.

"It was only for a moment. We got him going again right away." Monica put her hand on my shoulder. "He's okay. Do you hear me?"

I was squeezing my eyes shut, tears pouring down my face. "Oh my God," I murmured.

Monica pulled me into a hug. "He's okay, Abbey."

I pulled away from the hug after a moment, fanning my face. The air felt cold on my skin where the tears had been. I took a shuddering breath. "What if he -- I was just -- I would've slept through -- oh God."

"Abbey. It's okay."

"I can't believe I left him here alone and he could've --"

"Abbey." Monica's voice was firm, "You can't be here all the time. You have to work, you have to sleep."

"I can sleep here," I argued. "I could've been here if I'd come here after work, I could've been there for him. I could've held his hand."

Monica was looking at me with sad eyes.

"I need to go be with him," I stammered, and I turned and walked back to Matty's room. He was still asleep when I got there, and I lowered myself into the chair in the corner of the room, hugging my knees to my chest. The alarm clock glowed with it's neon red letters in the darkness, and the green line cut across the gray screen, casting it's color around the room, across Matty's face as he slept peacefully.

I stared at him for several long moments.

Then I dialed Nick's number.

"Mmm?"

"Nick?" I was whispering. "Nick, it's Abbey."

"Abbey?" He sounded instantly more awake. "Hey, what's the matter?"

"Hey... Matty's --"

"Is he okay?" A tone of panic filled Nick's voice and even though panic isn't a good thing, it felt good that he felt it. Because it meant he cared.

"Yeah he's okay. He had an incident tonight, I just -- I needed someone to talk to."

Nick was quiet a long moment. "Where are you?"

"The hospital. I don't think I'm ever going to leave it again."

"I'll be there in a few minutes. Gimme like fifteen." He hung up the phone.

I slid my phone back into my pocket and I sat there in the dark, staring at the monitor, letting it remind me over and over and over and over again that Matty was okay.




Nick

When I walked in the room, Abbey looked small. She wasn't the kind of person that normally seemed small. She was a mother, and all that entails to go along with it was built in. She always seemed on the verge of charging to protect her young, like a bear or a bull moose. This was the first time that she'd really looked weakened and it was a terrible sight. Her hair was a mess, her eyes all puffy and red, her cheeks stained with tears, folded into a chair in the corner of the room, asleep in the chair, clutching a stuffed alligator.

I stood just at the corner of the curtain and glanced between her and Matty in the bed. His eye lashes were fluttering slightly, like he was about to wake up. I hesitated and slowly made my way around the big heart monitor at his side and sat down in the chair Abbey usually occupied. Matty's eyes flickered open slowly and struggled to focus on me for a moment. I slid my hand up and took his hand.

He stared up at me. "Hi," he croaked. His throat sounded raw and he put a hand on it, wincing.

"Hey," I whispered. "You okay?"

He blinked a couple times, thinking, then he nodded slowly.

"Your mom called me," I whispered, "She said you had some troubles during the night. She's over there in the corner, I think she's asleep."

Matty tilted his head to look. "She has Gator," he croaked.

"Gator's pretty cool, buddy," I said.

"He's my favorite," he said.

"I can see why," I answered. I paused and took a deep breath, "So... new gizmos, huh?" I waved at the monitor.

"Yeah," he answered.

I nodded. "What happened?"

Matty took a shaky, shallow breath at sounded like it was probably intended to be a deep one, but he'd run out of lung capacity to hold a whole deep breath. He winced again. Then he replied slowly, "I think my heart stopped working for a minute."

"Were you scared?" I asked.

He shook his head no.

"I would've been scared," I said.

"Eventually it'll stop working," he explained, "And it won't get fixed. Then I'll be scared." He paused. "I think Dr. Monica thinks that's gonna happen soon."

I swallowed. I didn't know how much about his condition he knew. I glanced at Abbey.

"Mom thinks it, too," he said, "And the nurses." He paused, staring up into my eyes. "And you."

"What do you think?" I asked because I didn't know what else to say.

Matty shrugged. "Maybe."

"You can't think that," I said, shaking my head. "Why do you think nobody tells you about what they think?"

"Because I'm a kid."

"And because it's documented like a billion times a trillion-million that when people who are sick don't know they're sick they feel better then when they know," I said. "Sometimes thinking you're sick is worse then really being sick because you stop trying to be better."

Matty nodded slowly. "I'm kind of tired of trying to be better, though," he replied. "Do you ever feel like that?"

I had. Many times. During tours, when I was in my drunken-drugged stupors and I had to do meet and greets and concerts and fan events and interviews I struggled everyday to make myself seem better than I was. I fought and fought and fought to keep my sickness a secret form everyone, refusing to admit that I had a problem. And finally, one day, I'd become sick of trying to be better.

I knew exactly what he was feeling.

"I'm sorry you have to feel like that," I said quietly.

Matty swiped away tears from his eyes. "It wouldn't be so bad," he said, "If I wasn't worried about my mom."

"Worried about your mom?"

He nodded. "Whenever I have a trouble like tonight, when she knows I'm okay, she hugs me and she says stuff like what would I do without you? And I'm scared because I don't know the answer to tell her so she knows what she does without me."

The words were deep - too deep for a six and a half year old to ever have to think about - and yet...

"She'll be brave," I said.

He looked at me searchingly.

"She'll be brave because you taught her how to be."

He squeezed my hand tight.