“She still has a high fever,” a tearful Carrie had told him outside in the hall. “And her breathing is getting worse. Dr. Rodrigo’s afraid she’s getting pneumonia.”
And now, sinking heavily into the chair at Claire’s bedside, Nick could attest to that. Even though she was on oxygen, Claire seemed to struggle for every breath. He remembered how they’d sedated him and put a tube down his throat to help him breathe when he had come down with pneumonia and wondered if fate had the same thing in store for her. He didn’t envy her one bit, for that had sucked, but then again, if it helped her to breathe better...
“Claire?” He spoke her name in whispery tones, resting the back of his hand against one of her flushed, feverish cheeks. Letting out a soft moan, she opened her eyes, and her cracked lips turned up in a hint of a smile.
“Hey, you,” she said softly.
He started to ask how she was feeling, then remembered how much he had grown to loathe that question himself, so he simply replied instead, “Hey yourself. Been up to much?”
“Oh yeah... a buttload...” She closed her eyes momentarily, as if to recharge herself, and then opened them again.
He chuckled. “I’m sure. The nurses probably can’t wait for you to get better and get out of this place. I’m sure you’re a total pain in the ass to have around – am I right?”
“You... you know me,” slurred Claire, her voice thick, as if she were speaking through a mouthful of taffy. Smiling, Nick wrapped his hand around hers. Her hand was ice cold, and as he slid his fingers in between hers, he found them to be clammy and slick with cold sweat... butter fingers.
“Your hands are like ice,” he commented. “Are you warm enough?”
“Hot,” she murmured. Yet she was shivering beneath the thin blanket that covered her.
“Do they let you eat ice cream up here?” he asked offhandedly. “That’d cool you off.”
“Mmm... ice cream,” she mumbled. “With... caramel sauce.”
He snickered. “Mm, yeah... and whipped cream, right? Gotta have that.”
“And... a cherry... on top.”
“Naturally.”
“We could... go and get some...” she mumbled.
“For sure. We will as soon as you’re out of here, ‘kay?”
“No... now.”
“I wish,” he chortled, “but I doubt that would fly with your doctor.”
“No, ‘sokay,” she insisted, weakly raising her head from her pillow. “Just lemme... get my... shoes... here... hold my jacket... and then...”
He realized she was delirious and wondered what to do. “Claire?” he called her name loudly. “Honey, stay with me here. You’re in the hospital, you remember? Claire?” But she was quickly growing more agitated, twisting restlessly on the bed and trying to sit up. The beeping of her heart monitor began to accelerate, and his own heart raced with panic. “Claire, no,” he said quickly, gently easing her back down onto the bed, gripping her shoulders, holding her there while she moaned and tried to escape his clutches. “Shh, calm down,” he soothed, but it did no good.
“Home,” she murmured, looking wildly around the room with blank eyes that lacked any sign of recognition. “Wanna... go home...”
“I know, Claire, I know, but you can’t go home yet. You have to get better first. Lie still,” Nick urged her, having no idea if her fever-poisoned brain was even processing his words. “Sweetheart? Please, relax.” Her heart monitor was beeping incessantly now, and he was scared. What was going on? Why was this happening to her all of a sudden? Was it the high fever?
He considered running out of the room to find a nurse, but he was afraid to leave her there alone, terrified she would pull out her tubes and IV’s or try to get out of bed and fall. The last thing she needed to do was make her condition even worse.
“Claire!” he hissed, lightly patting her cheeks, trying to get her to come back to him. “Claire, look at me – it’s Nick, can you hear me? Claire?”
Finally, her trembling body began to relax, and she collapsed back against the bed, her eyes shut. “Claire?” he asked uneasily, afraid she had passed out. But her eyes popped open again at the sound of his voice, and her eyes scanned the room before coming to rest on his face. He searched them nervously and whispered again, “Claire?”
“Nick?”
He let out a breath of relief. “Thank God. You just scared the crap out of me.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind,” he smirked. She offered him a blank sort of smile back, but then her face contorted in pain, and she let out a groan. “How ya doing?” Nick asked, unable to help it. She looked like she was suffering. He grabbed her hand again and gave it a squeeze.
“I hurt... so bad,” whimpered Claire, and Nick felt a stabbing pain shoot through his heart at the sight of tears welling up in her pale blue eyes.
“D-do you want me to go find a nurse?” he asked unsurely. “Maybe you could get some more pain meds or-“
“No.” Her voice was weak, but her grip on his hand was surprisingly strong. “Don’t go yet.”
“Claire, I’d be right back, I just-“
“No.”
Nick sighed, sagging in his chair. “Okay,” he said finally. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.” She smiled slightly, but he could tell she was still in an unspeakable amount of pain. And there was nothing he could do about it, nothing but stand by and watch her go through it. He was powerless, and it was killing him.
“You should go to sleep,” he told her in a soft voice. “Maybe you’ll feel better after you rest a bit.” When she grimaced in disgust, he realized he sounded exactly like Kevin and Brian. “Sorry,” he apologized with a smirk. “I know that’s the last thing you wanna hear, especially coming from me.”
“Got that right,” she rasped.
He smiled sadly and helplessly said, “I just... I wish there was something I could do to make this easier for you.”
“You are. You’re... here. That... that makes it... better,” whispered Claire with a wan smile.
He was forced to look away from her, feeling tears burning in the corners of his eyes. He blinked them away furiously, determined not to let himself fall apart on her. She needed strength right now, and he had to be strong, had to keep himself together for her sake.
He pretended to look at the clock on the wall, but its face was blurred with tears, and he could barely make out the time. “It’s been ten minutes, I think,” he said softly, not wanting to leave, yet almost desperate to get away from her, just long enough to compose himself. “They’re probably going to kick me out soon.”
“I know,” she said regrettably.
“Can I do anything for you before I go?” offered Nick, looking down at the bed and not at her, still trying to avoid her eyes.
There was a pause. And then, one single, simple word.
“Sing.”
Nick recoiled. “What?” he asked, not sure he’d heard her correctly.
“Sing,” she repeated, and finally, he forced himself to look at her face, thinking she had gone delirious again. But when their eyes met, he knew right away that she was totally with it.
“Y-you want me to sing?” he asked uncertainly.
“Yeah... I’ve never... heard you... sing. Not... not live... anyway. I want you to... sing... for me,” she murmured, gazing at him earnestly.
He wrinkled his nose. “Sing what?”
“Something from... your album.”
He shook his head. This was not a good idea. He’d barely sang a note in months, and the last time he’d sung in front of another person was when he was in the studio with the Backstreet Boys, shortly after they found out about his cancer, three months earlier. No, this was definitely not a good idea. “I can’t, Claire,” he said almost pleadingly, hoping she’d take back her request. But she didn’t say a word, just looked at him with those large blue eyes, her lower lip protruding in a slight pout. And he was stuck.
“What do you want to hear?” he sighed grudgingly.
A smile lit up her swollen, pallid face. “Blow Your... Mind.”
He blinked. “What?! Claire, I can’t s-” But one look at her face told him right away that she was kidding; her eyes were now sparkling with laugher and making him feel incredibly foolish. Blushing, he muttered, “Okay, so you were kidding. Never mind then.”
“No... I still... want you to... sing. Sing... whatever... you want.”
He shook his head, his cheeks flaming red. He had sung a capella with the guys on the spot millions of times, but that was a lot different from this. Still, he knew he could not let her down. A sick realization told him this could be one of the last times he would ever talk to Claire, one of his last opportunities to be with her. He had to make the most of it and give her what she wished, just in case he never had another chance.
And so, he cleared his throat, and, relying strictly on the natural talent God had possessed him with, opened his mouth to sing, settling on the first song from his solo album that popped into his head.
“I stare at your face,
Into your eyes.
Outside there's so much passing us by,
All of the sounds,
All of the sights,
Over the earth and under the sky...”
The sounds coming from his mouth were nowhere near perfect, especially the way they were muffled by the mask he was forced to wear on his face... it was certainly not “the voice of an angel” or whatever the fans said about him (or maybe that was Brian?). But to his ears, he sounded surprisingly decent, and all it took was seeing the entranced look on Claire’s face to keep him going.
“Too much cold and too much rain,
Too much heartache to explain.
“Who needs the world when I got you?
Switch off the sun, the stars, and the moon.
I have all I need inside of this room.
Who needs the world when I got you?”
He was fully into it now, losing himself in the music, the moment. He owned it, and he knew he better never let it go. He only had one shot, and he couldn’t miss his chance to blow. Because opportunity comes once in a lifetime.
“I walk on the street,
Talk in the dark.
I see people’s dreams just falling apart.
I open my arms,
Tried to be true.
Seems like my only truth is you.
“Am I wrong,
Or am I right?
All I want is you tonight.
“Who needs the world when I got you?
Switch off the sun, the stars, and the moon.
I have all I need inside of this room.
Who needs the world when I got you?
“Who needs the stars so bright and the grass so green and the morning light?
Who needs the wind to blow and the tide to rise?
Who needs it... I don't know.
I don't know.
Yeah...
“Who needs the world when I got you?
Switch off the sun, the stars, and the moon.
I have all I need inside of this room.
Who needs the world when I got you?
“Who needs the world when I got you?
Switch off the sun, the stars, and the moon.
I have all I need inside of this room.
Who needs the world when I got you?
Who needs the world when I got you?”
When he was finished, he looked down to see that Claire had fallen asleep, her expression peaceful, a hint of a smile on her lips and a trail of tears staining her cheeks. He smiled a little, not considering it a bad thing that she had gone to sleep in the middle of his song. That pain that had etched itself into her features had vanished, and for that, he was relieved.
Silently, he rose from his chair, knowing that he’d been there far past the ten-minute limit. He turned to the door and was startled to see the young nurse Samantha standing there, decked out in an overlarge surgical gown, cap, and mask, her eyes the only visible part of her face. And, as he walked sheepishly up to her, intending on apologizing for staying so long (and hoping his singing hadn’t disrupted any other patients), he saw that they were bright with tears.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I lost track of time.”
He could tell she was smiling beneath her mask. “Trust me,” she said, blinking. “It’s okay.” Laying a hand lightly on his arm, she walked him out of the room, shutting the door tightly behind them. Once in the hallway, she turned to him and said in a hushed voice, “What you did in there was absolutely beautiful, Nick.”
He felt his cheeks turn bright red and left his mask on, trying to hide it. “Nah...” he muttered modestly. “It probably sounded like crap; I haven’t sung in months. Sh-she just asked me to, and I... I didn’t want to let her down.”
“You didn’t,” Samantha said, pulling off her mask to reveal her smile. “And I’ll tell you, you certainly made my day.” With a wink, she grinned and walked away to get back to work, leaving him alone in the hallway, feeling a little stupid and a little flattered at the same time.
He left the hospital that day with a lightness in his step, wondering if he should rehearse that night in case Claire expected a whole concert when he returned the following afternoon. Maybe he should practice the “Everybody” dance, in case she wanted to see that as well?
He chuckled to himself, only kidding about the rehearsing, but fully intending to be at the hospital at the same time the next afternoon.
But a phone call early the next morning would change all that.
***
