After we left Idyllwood, I drove Nick back to my dad’s house with just enough time for me to say goodbye to Hambelina and load our stuff into the car. I was glad we had to rush; it didn’t give either of us much time to dwell on what we had seen at the nursing home.
I called Jessica to let her know I was in town - I didn’t mention who I’d brought with me - and would be driving back to Highland Park with my dad and her. She suggested dropping off the rental car now and riding up in her SUV, so half an hour later, my dad and I stood in the Enterprise parking lot, waiting. Nick was still inside, finishing the paperwork for the rental, and I hoped Jess would pull in before he came out so I could get the full effect of her surprise when she recognized him.
I was in luck. She must have been excited because, for once, Jess was on time. She swung into the parking lot in a big, silver SUV and waved frantically over the steering wheel as she slowed to a stop in front of us. I could hear her music pulsing through the closed windows. She turned it down before I opened the front door, probably for the benefit of my dad. She knew I loved it; we always sang at the top of our lungs when we were together in a car.
“Hey!” I said, sliding into the passenger seat, as my dad threw Nick’s and my bags into the hatchback and climbed into the seat behind me.
“Cary!” She let out a girlish squeal and leaned over to hug me, as best the front seat would allow. “I’m so glad you made it down! It’ll be a million times more fun driving up there with you in the car.”
“What, Jessica? You mean you weren’t looking forward to a road trip with just Cary’s dear old dad?” joked my father, grinning from the back seat.
“Nooo!” Jess laughed. “That’s not what I meant! I always have fun with you around, Frank. You’ve always been the cool dad.”
He seemed pleased to hear that. Jessica Matthews - now Jessica Powell - was my best and oldest friend; we’d been two peas in a pod since first grade. While we weren’t alike in personality - she was a lot more outgoing and funny than I was - we had a lot of the same interests. Even when we weren’t in the same class at school, we’d taken dance classes and ice skating lessons together. We both sang in the school choir and auditioned for the musicals and did duets for solo and ensemble contest. After high school, we both went to Millikin, which was a small, private, liberal arts college right in town. It was known for its music program, but we went the practical route and chose majors we would actually use - nursing for me, marketing for Jess. Even after college, when I had moved to Springfield and her to Champaign, we’d kept in touch. Now we were both back home in Decatur. She was settled, with a house and family of her own, while I was flitting around the country, chasing a dream. In a way, I was as jealous of her as she was of me, but we were equally happy for each other, too.
“Well,” said Jess, looking over at me, “are we ready?”
My door was still open. “Not yet. We’re waiting on one more. He’ll be out in a second.”
“He’ll?” Jessica’s eyebrows shot way up, disappearing under her swooping bangs. “Who did you... oh my God!” Her blue eyes got as round as saucers, as she stared past me, and I knew Nick had walked out. I turned to look and saw him striding across the parking lot, looking around.
“Nick!” I called and waved through the open door. He spotted me, smiled, and quickened his pace toward us.
“Oh my God, Cary, you brought one of them home with you?” Jess asked in an incredulous whisper. “It is just one, right?” She suddenly craned her neck, looking all around and checking her mirrors, as if the other Backstreet Boys might suddenly jump out from behind the other cars.
I laughed. “Just Nick.”
“You are sleeping with him, aren’t you?” she hissed, her eyes flashing accusingly at me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my dad lean forward in the backseat, apparently as curious to hear my answer as Jess was. “No,” I said, loud enough for both of them to hear. “I’m not. We’re just friends.”
“Yeah, right. Jeez, Cary, I can’t believe you’d bang a Backstreet Boy and not - hi!” she squeaked suddenly, as Nick opened the back door and got in behind her. She beamed at him in the rearview mirror, then twisted around in her seat to peer into the back. “I’m Jessica.”
“Nick. Nice to meet you,” Nick said, smiling that smirky, crooked grin that could make any girl weak in the knees.
Jess turned back around, her cheeks pink. I watched with amusement as she fumbled with the keys in the ignition, before realizing the SUV was still running. She jammed the gearshift into drive, and the SUV lurched forward as she hit the gas pedal too hard. She was totally flustered, I realized with amusement, marveling at the effect Nick had on women. That was some talent he had, turning typically cool and competent women like Jessica into total ditzes.
Jess wasn’t even a fan anymore, though she had been once, and maybe that was what had rattled her. She had always loved pop music and pretty boys, whereas I listened to oldies and preferred traditional tall, dark, and handsome gentlemen. When the Backstreet Boys had emerged on the scene with “Quit Playing Games,” Jess had jumped right on the bandwagon and eventually dragged me onboard with her. That was the fall of 1997, when we were starting our senior year of high school. We used to carpool to school together, and she had dubbed their CD onto a cassette for me and would blast it in the car, until I had the thing memorized and couldn’t help but love it.
We’d gone to our first concert together the following summer, in St. Louis. But Jess was fickle; after that, she moved on to *NSYNC, then gave up boybands altogether, as we graduated college and they faded from popularity. I’d dragged her to one of their Up Close and Personal shows five years ago, when they were promoting their not-yet-released comeback album, Never Gone. But I could tell then that it was just a nostalgia trip for Jess; she had no real interest in following their career anymore. She was going to the concert tonight more for me than for them.
Yet I watched the way her eyes kept flicking up to the rearview mirror as she drove and knew it had nothing to do with checking traffic. She was checking out Nick. I couldn’t blame her; he was looking fine that day, in a white t-shirt that showed off his tan and his tattoos, and a pair of dark wash jeans. Between how good he was looking and how chipper he’d been acting all day, it was almost possible to forget the real reason I was with him. This trip really had been a much-needed break for me, not only from the tour, but from the treatment. I wondered if he felt the same way; maybe that was why he had come home with me.
The three-hour drive back to Highland Park was long and unusually quiet. We made small talk, but I got the sense that the other three were all a little uncomfortable in each other’s presence. Jess and I did most of the talking, to each other. Eventually, she turned up her music again, but she didn’t sing. She must have been self-conscious in front of Nick.
When we finally got to the venue, Nick called Howie to find out where the guys were and managed to direct us to a back entrance, where Jess stopped to let the two of us out, then went to find parking. “Call me when you get parked,” I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “I’ll come find you and sneak you into soundcheck.”
Nick and I found where the tour buses were parked and dropped off our stuff. We had time to kill before soundcheck, but I didn’t want to spend it on the bus like the other guys. It was a gorgeous day; the sun was out, and the temperature was in the low eighties, but there was so much shade, it felt even cooler. The Ravinia Festival, as the venue was called, was not a festival at all, but a big park with a large concert pavilion, where we’d be performing, and two smaller theaters on the campus. It was surrounded by trees and had a wide, open grassy area for picnics. It looked beautiful, and I was eager to explore.
“I’ll let you do your thing,” said Nick, when I asked if he wanted to walk around before they let all the fans in for the show. “You should catch up with your dad and your friend without me around.”
Maybe he knew Jessica was just dying to hear me dish out all the details of our summer romance on the road - which was what she, like everyone else on the tour, seemed to think it was. I grinned. “You’re not afraid of me spilling secrets?”
He gave me a look. “As long as you’re not letting the secret slip, I don’t care what you say. Go have fun. I’m gonna chill on the bus for a while.”
Even when he was feeling good, he seemed to tire easily. I left him to lie down in the air-conditioned bus and went out to meet my dad and Jessica. As we strolled around the park together, my dad lagged a few steps behind, letting Jess and I get a little girl talk in.
“So tell me,” she said, hooking her arm through mine and reeling me in close. “What’s the deal with Nick?”
My stomach bottomed out, and my first panicked thought was, She knows. How could she tell something was off, when no one else seemed to suspect too much? Was it that Nick had lost so much weight? Did he look sicker than I realized? I saw him every day; maybe I just hadn’t noticed the subtle changes in his appearance that probably looked severe to an outsider. Or maybe it was me... Jess knew me better than almost anyone; maybe I’d given something away with my body language, without even realizing it.
I glanced guiltily over at her and tried to play dumb. “What do you mean?”
“What do you mean?” Jess mimicked me, rolling her eyes. “Don’t you dare try and act innocent, missy. You know what I mean. You and Nick Carter... are you, or aren’t you?”
I felt an enormous sense of relief, like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. She didn’t suspect anything, except the same thing everyone else did: sex. She still thought we were just sleeping together. “My dad is right behind us!” I hissed, but I couldn’t keep from grinning.
Of course, Jess mistook my smile for an admission of guilt and gloated, “Ha! I knew it! You lucky bitch! God, I knew he just wanted in your pants! I told you, didn’t I? Jeez, Cary, it’s like you’re living one of those damn fan fiction stories I used to read... ‘Mary Sue was a down-on-her-luck aspiring singer, about to give up on her dream, until she landed an audition for the Backstreet Boys’ opening act. One look was all it took for Nick to fall head over heels in love with her. But will their love survive the tour?’”
I groaned. “Oh my god, are you kidding me? Where do you come up with this stuff?”
She laughed. “Are you kidding? There used to be stuff just like that all over the internet, delusional teenyboppers writing out their fantasies of becoming a famous singer and falling in love with their favorite Backstreet Boy. You’re the real deal! You’re Cary Sue!” That cracked her up even more; she threw back her head and cackled loudly enough that some nearby picnickers turned their heads to look at us.
“What’s so funny?” My dad’s voice carried from behind. “I feel like I’m missing out back here.”
I glanced back over my shoulder and shook my head, rolling my eyes. “You don’t wanna know, Dad, trust me.”
“No, seriously,” giggled Jessica; she was on a roll now. “You’ve got the sex, the romance... all you need is the drama! You know, something to shake things up, put the relationship in jeopardy. A love triangle... the reappearance of the jilted ex-lover... an unplanned pregnancy. Or maybe something tragic, like a bus crash or a terminal illness. I mean, herpes is incurable, right? It’s the gift that keeps on giving...”
She babbled on, and I’m sure Paris Hilton’s name was mentioned at some point, but I blocked it out. The words “terminal illness” had sent me into a mental tailspin, and all of a sudden, I was about to lose it. I looked away, knowing I couldn’t hide the emotion, that if she saw the look on my face, she would know.
Thankfully, right there in my line of sight was a ladies restroom. It was my saving grace, my sanctuary. “Hang on - I gotta pee,” I blurted. “I’ve had to go since we were in the car. Be right back!” Somehow, I managed to choke all that out, and I made a beeline for the bathroom, hoping she wouldn’t follow me.
To my relief, the bathroom was large, and there wasn’t a line yet. I darted into the very last stall, slammed it shut and locked it, and rested my forehead against the back of the door. I took a huge, shuddering breath and released it shakily. My heart was pounding, and my face suddenly felt like it was on fire. Was this what Nick went through, I wondered, every time someone mentioned something that reminded him of the horrible secret he was keeping? Or was I just the neurotic one?
Tears pushed at the back of my eyes, but I fought them, knowing if I broke down in this bathroom and let myself cry, I’d never stop. And when I cry, it’s obvious. My face gets all red and blotchy. My eyes get bloodshot and puffy. There’d be no hiding it. So I managed to hold back the tears, but when I finally came out of the stall, flushing the toilet for effect, I had a pounding headache.
The bathroom was empty, so I took my time at the row of sinks, staring at my reflection in the mirror. In the unflattering fluorescent light, my face looked flushed and shiny. I pulled my compact out of my handbag and powdered my cheeks and nose. It helped a little. But I could still see the secret in my eyes; they stared back at me, accusingly.
How can Nick do this? I asked myself. How can he be around his friends, every day, and lie to them like this, every day, and pretend nothing’s wrong, every day?? Some days were easier than others; today, by all accounts, should have been incredibly easy. Nick was off chemo, well-rested, and feeling good, but still, I was struggling with it. How did he do it on the other days, the chemo days, the days when he felt like shit and could barely drag himself out of his bunk, let alone perform? How had he pulled it off for three months? I had barely survived three hours!
I finally washed my hands and forced myself to leave the bathroom, knowing the longer I stayed, the more suspicious Jess and my dad would get. They were probably already wondering what was taking me so long. “Sorry,” I said, when I met up with them outside. “I really had to go.”
Jessica gave me a wry smile. “Isn’t frequent urination a symptom of certain STDs...?”
“Hey, look, ice cream! Do you guys feel like ice cream? I want ice cream before soundcheck,” I babbled, pointing. When in doubt, changing the subject works. I knew my dad could always go for ice cream. I practically dragged him towards the ice cream place, a big, round, wooden pavilion called Carousel. By the time we got our cones, Jess seemed to have dropped the subject, and before we finished, I heard the distant drumbeats and amplified music that meant the guys’ soundcheck was about to start.
I led the way back to the concert pavilion, eager for the distraction. I supposed that was how Nick did it, too: he just used the soundchecks, the concerts, the after parties, the whole tour, to distract himself from the illness he was hiding and everything that went with it.
***
It was a good show that night, not just for Nick and the guys, but for me, too. For the first time all tour, I knew there were people in the audience who were there to see me - not the Backstreet Boys, not the other Idols, but me, just me. It was an amazing feeling. The crowd had never cheered louder when my set was over, and for once, I didn’t think it was just because that meant the Boys would take the stage soon.
After I changed, I went and found my dad and Jess in the audience. “You were wonderful, sweetheart,” my dad told me, squeezing me tightly.
“Freaking amazing,” Jess added, smothering me with a hug of her own.
For me, just having them there was the wonderful part, even if it did make it that much harder to keep Nick’s secret. I was glad when the Boys’ part of the show started and sorry when it ended. I fought back tears again as I hugged my dad goodbye. He and Jess had a three-hour drive home that night, and we had a six-hour drive to Clarkston, Michigan. It was back home for them and back on the road for us. Back to the tour bus. Back to the cancer treatments.
Back to reality.
***
