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Chapter Eight / 2013... and a little 2008


Nick / 2008

I put my hand on my chest. The guys were still going through the dance moves, but there was something going on inside me and I suddenly couldn't breathe. I glanced over at Howie, AJ, and Brian, all out at center stage. What would happen if I keeled off right here, right now? My eyes floated to the fans, who were utterly unaware of the discomforting tightness behind my chest wall. I'd fall into them, I realized, like falling into an ocean from a high cliff, and I'd be engulfed by them and I'd probably drown down there on the general admission floor. The heel of my hand dug deeper into the skin of my chest. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, which shot a striking pain through me.

I winced.

A couple of concerned fans' eyes met mine when I reopened my eyes.

But as suddenly as the pain came, it went, and I realized I could breathe okay again and I ran off towards the fellas.

Despite the fact that it'd felt like a lifetime standing on the edge of the stage there, teetering between life and death, it had actually been less than a couple beats in the song and they barely noticed my disruption to the choreography. Howie flung his arm around my back, pulling me into a group hug as the fans all cheered.

Nobody but me knew how close I'd come to passing out.

It was a month later I was diagnosed with cardiomyopathy and I finally started to become the person I was meant to be.


Nick / 2013

I laid in bed staring up at the ceiling while Lauren slept. She snored, but only a little, in a quiet way. I appreciated the warmth of her body beside me, but was glad she wasn't all tangled up around my limbs like she usually was when she cuddled or whatever. I needed the space to breathe at the moment, I was feeling overwhelmed enough without her on top of me. Just knowing she was there was enough.

I'd often wondered over the years how many kids I'd unknowingly fathered. It was one of my greatest fears, to be honest, that during my more promiscuous years of coke and booze I'd proliferated like Genghis Khan or something. I frequently had nightmares that eventually they'd all come out of the woodwork to seek revenge on me, like an army of living Chucky Dolls, pissed off at their delinquent, deadbeat dad. And now I knew that there'd been at least the one.

Maybe, I thought, some part of my subconscious had known. I mean I'd managed to hang onto her phone number for seven years. That in itself was a miracle. I was a professional at misplacing phone numbers and things like that, but somehow hers had stuck around, like I'd deemed it more important than the others. Like the hook-up had meant more. Maybe that's why she'd floated to the forefront of my mind every now and then. I thought about how I'd sat in the van in Europe, running my thumb over the numbers on the book cover. Even as recently as that, I'd thought of that night.

Lauren had been so gracious about the whole thing. She'd sat with me, listened while I rehashed what I knew of the story, and we'd laid down and she'd just been there beside me without getting too close or being too clingy. AJ told me once, when my sister Leslie died, about this Jewish custom where they just go and sit with a person who's in mourning - it's called sitting shiva or something like that - and that's what it felt like Lauren had done for me. Not because I was particularly in mourning, but because I just needed someone to sit by me and be there.

She really was an amazing woman, amazing how she knew exactly what to do to be everything I needed.

I wondered what she'd think of me and the choices I made from here on out in the situation. Like, what if I decided to go back to the hospital and pull Matthew Steele into my life and become a real dad. What would she think of me then? And what if I didn't? What if I decided to forget the whole thing, let the kid live out the rest of his life without me? Would she think less of me for being too much of a coward to face the changes that his existence would make in my life?

I let out a deep breath. That was the real question right there, I realized. Would I be a coward for running, if I ran? Or would it be the only fair thing to either of us - me or him - given the amount of time that we were talking about him hangin' around for?

Then I had a scary thought. What if I was the reason he was sick? I mean, I was diagnosed with a heart condition about a year after he was born. What if my weak heart got passed on to him somehow through some crazy ass DNA strand thing? What if them knowing my medical history could help repair him, could help save his life? I ran my hand across my chest, even though it wasn't hurting, I could picture how it felt when it got tight and my heart stopped functioning right. It was a terrible feeling. Was that how he was feeling all the time?

I glanced over at Lauren. She was fast asleep, her face peaceful.

I got up, sliding off the bed, and grabbed my sweatshirt from the chair in the corner, kicking my shoes on. I snuck down the stairs to the foyer, grabbed my keys, stubbing my toe on a table I hadn't expecting, and slipped out the door. It was a little rainy, the drops falling steady but not big or harsh yet. I slid into the car and put my keys in the ignition, hoping the sound of the engine wouldn't wake Lauren up.

The car headlights cut through the night as I drove north on the 65 toward downtown. The Batman building lit up the sky with it's two blue spires. Traffic was dead, as it should be at two in the morning. When I took the Demonbruen exit, I wove through the numbered aves until I made it to the Vanderbilt complex and drove under the catwalk that stretched between the emergency clinic and the children's hospital. I swept my car into a space and hopped out, heading inside.

Visiting hours were way over, but I didn't want to give myself time to chicken out of this, so I walked past the receptionist as naturally as I could, like I belonged there, like I'd been there all along and I'd just stepped out for a smoke or something, and I took the elevator up to Matthew Steele's floor. When the elevator dinged open, I had the best stroke of luck I'd had yet -- James stood before me, staring down at a clipboard, wearing a white lab coat. He looked up in surprise.

"Hey Doogie Howser," I said, stepping off the elevator and spinning him, wrapping my arm over his shoulders, "Can I borrow you for a quick second?"

He blinked in surprise, "Uh.. yeah, of course. Is everything okay, Mr. Carter?" he asked. Concern furrowed his brow and he glanced around, as though looking for the camera crew, either for the Christmas Miracle taping or maybe for Punk'd or something.

"I just gotta talk to, like, a doctor or something, and you're the perfect one. Do you have an office we can go to? It's important. It's about Matthew."

James nodded and waved me to follow him. We walked down a corridor and he turned into a small office area, the one where I'd met the reps from Christmas Miracle earlier that day. Along one wall were a couple offices off the main one. Each labeled with a different MD's name and credentials. James waved me to one of the chairs facing the main desk. "I'm just an intern," he explained, "I don't have my own office like Dr. Potter."

"You'll have one eventually," I said.

James smiled, "I certainly hope so, that's the dream." He paused. "Mr. Carter, how can I help you?"

I leaned against the desk. "I need to know if there's any connection between what Matthew has and one of the parents having been diagnosed with cardiomyopathy," I said.




Abbey

"The kid at table two just spilled orange juice all over the place," grumbled Kiki, the other overnight waitress. "Everything - including the fucking kid - is sticky." She threw her hat onto a counter in the back of the kitchen and came out onto the back step with me, yanking a box of cigarettes out of her pocket.

"I hate when people smoke," I said pointedly.

She shoved them back in her pocket. "I hate when people exist," she replied.

I hugged my knees to my chest.

"Hey what's the matter with you tonight anyways?" Kiki asked. "You've been quiet. Everything okay with Matty?"

I nodded.

"You sure?"

I kept my eyes trained on my toes. "I saw his father today for the first time face-to-face since the night I got pregnant," I admitted. My hands cuffed my ankles and I rubbed the round bone that stuck out above the sides of my sneakers. "He didn't know until today that Matty even existed, and he did the math and... he looked like he was gonna be sick, then he ran off."

Kiki let out a low sigh. "Men," she complained.

"Yeah," I said.

"You think he'll come back?"

"Doubt it," I mumbled.

"You gonna go after him, get some child support or something out of him at least?" Kiki asked.

I shook my head.

"Stupid if you don't girl," she commented.

"I don't really blame him. I mean, I never called him and told him, I never put any effort into finding him. But he showed up today and I couldn't just let him walk away without giving him the chance." I hesitated. "Dr. Potter says I'm going to be lucky if Matty lives through the holidays. I actually was looking at children's caskets online last night." I looked up at the night sky, my eyes filled to the brim with tears I was struggling not to shed.

"Oh God, honey," Kiki wrapped her arms around me. "I'm sorry. And here I am bitching about the kid at table two when you've got real problems that have nothing to do with sticky orange juice. I'm so sorry."

I shook my head.

"Matty's a strong kid, maybe he'll surprise you and pull through," Kiki suggested.

I nodded.

"Miracle happen all the damn time," she continued.

"I know," I croaked.

Kiki rubbed my arms and leaned her head on my shoulder.

Tears streamed down my cheeks, silently.