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 shown 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 a while 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 jet lagged.” 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.
***
