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Chapter 125

Over the next few months, it was hard for Nick not to get depressed, as Claire planned her wedding, coming to group less and less because there was always something to be done on Saturday mornings. “Well, my mom’s coming into town to take me dress shopping,” she’d say one week, “and we really need to get an early start.” Or, “I’ve got to sit down and finalize the guest list, and then I need to find out about ordering invitations.” Without meaning to or wanting to, Nick was sure he’d heard every last detail of her wedding with Jamie.

The support group became his solace, as he went there week after week without her. He rarely let anyone know of the pain he was going through when it came to seeing the woman he loved getting ready to marry someone else, because it was not the kind of pain the group dealt with. It was not the kind of pain the others were going through, or so he thought. Theirs was a different kind of emotional pain, coupled with a physical one he knew all too well. But it helped him to hear them talk about it, reminding him that his life could be worse. He didn’t have Claire, but at least he had his health. That was good, right?

Sometimes, he wasn’t sure. Somehow, despite all the pain and fear he’d experienced when he was fighting cancer, it had still been easier to get up in the morning when he had hope of a future with Claire someday. Her presence had made it all bearable. Her love, almost worth the pain.

But now it was all over. The physical pain, the clawing fear, and Claire’s love.

These days, he just felt numb.

The support group made him feel. Even though it sometimes hurt, listening to others describe their pain, a pain he knew all too well, the gentle ache deep in his heart reminded him that he was alive.

Sitting in the group week after week, he’d come to know the regulars well. He saw the same faces in the circle every session, and he knew the stories behind each of them. Jack, or Grandpa Jack, as the younger generations called him, had prostate cancer, as Nick had learned the first week. His doctor had told him it was an advanced case, inoperable, but he’d been receiving radiation treatments to hopefully shrink the growth. He faced cancer the way Nick imagined he faced every obstacle that was thrown his way – with optimism and nerve. “My wife acts like this is the kiss of death,” he’d said once with a chuckle. “Made me start comin’ to this group cause she said I don’t talk about my feelings enough and that I wasn’t ‘accepting’ this. If ya ask me, she’s the one that ain’t accepting it. I’m just fine with whatever comes my way. Everyone that knows me knows I won’t go down without a fight. But I’m gettin’ to be an old codger, and if the good Lord decides it’s time for me to go meet Him, then I’ll go.” Nick hoped the Lord wasn’t ready to meet Jack yet because he really liked the old guy.

Deb, the woman Jack had warned him about on the first day, was every bit as annoying as Jack had made her out to be. She had beaten osteosarcoma, a type of bone cancer, in her twenties and lost her leg below the knee as a result. Ever since then, her life had revolved around three things: 1) training for the Paralympics, 2) giving motivational speeches in schools across the state, and 3) attending support groups like these and inflicting her words of wisdom upon generations of new cancer survivors. She had accomplished so much with her one leg and one-hundred percent determination that she made Nick inferior, and hell, he had performed on stages across the world on one leg. She was always offering to give him running lessons and the like, but he always politely refused, not sure he could stand listening to her for more than one hour a week.

Unlike Deb, Ike and Evelynn McIntire usually kept very quiet at meetings. They were a married couple in their late eighties, and Evelynn, who was withering away from leukemia, looked so frail that Nick felt a surge of relief every time he saw Ike pushing her wheelchair into the conference room. He seemed to be in good health and just came to the group to support his wife. They seemed like one of those cute old couples who did everything together and knew everything about each other, having been married so long, and it made Nick’s heart ache whenever Ike talked about his wife, calling her “my Evvie.” They were a couple truly in love, even after all these years, and it seemed only death could separate them.

There was another married couple that came to the group meetings together. Their names were Jeff and Lacey, and they were young, barely even thirty, and newlyweds, having been married for less than a year. Jeff had been diagnosed with a brain tumor, and through the radiation to shrink it and surgeries to remove pieces of it, Lacey stood by his side. Of the two, she was the one who spoke up most often in groups and asked more questions than anyone there. She seemed slightly neurotic, but with good intentions, always wanting to learn as much as there was to know about her husband’s condition and help him as best she could.

Carlos and Nadine both came to the meetings alone. Carlos was a divorced, middle-aged businessman who wore a bad toupee and still smoked several packs a day, despite his lung cancer. “My therapist recommended this group,” he’d said once, and Nick suspected that was the only reason he came. He rarely talked, and Nick wasn’t sure he even listened half the time, but he always came.

Nadine was younger, in her thirties, and married. The only reason she came alone was because her husband was always at home with their three children, all girls. She had an advanced case of ovarian cancer and looked exhausted all the time, as if she could pass out at any moment, but still she came, every week, and talked about everything she was going through – how tired the treatments made her, how upset her girls got when she was too sick to play with them or tuck them in at night, how afraid she was that she would never get to see them grow up. Listening to her talk made Nick depressed, but she was so open and honest and sweet about everything that he could feel nothing but compassion for her. “My husband gets upset when I talk like this, but I know you all understand. Just having you to share it with helps,” she told the group once, and so Nick, like the rest of them, listened.

Jessie was another big talker, though less depressing to listen to. She was only seventeen-years-old and starting her senior year of high school totally bald from chemo, but in remission from Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. She was an eternal optimist, usually cheerful, despite being so young and facing such a scary disease. She’d confessed once that sometimes she cried alone in her room about what was happening to her, but that all she had to do was remind herself that there were other people going through worse, and then she’d wipe her tears and go on with her day. She still had the resilience of a young child, someone who could fall and skin her knee, burst into tears, and be smiling again two minutes later, a fresh Scooby-Doo band-aid covering her wound. Nick admired her attitude, wishing he could have been that way after he was diagnosed.

He’d been wary of Jessie first, afraid that she, as the lone teenager, would be the first to recognize him and make a big deal out of it. But despite her childlike spirit, she was actually very mature, as he’d learned one day after group, when she came up to him and said, “Hey, Nick? I’ve been meaning to tell you this for, like, weeks, but… I just wanted to say, I’ve liked your music ever since I was a little kid.”

Nick had blinked in surprise, having not realized she had even recognized him, for in the month that he’d been coming to meetings, she’d never acknowledged him as Nick Carter, the Backstreet Boy. Perhaps she had always realized that it was not the place, that here, he was just Nick, just another person who, like her, had faced cancer. Because of that, her compliment had meant that much more to him.

Carol had been standing nearby that morning, and when Jessie had gone, she had touched his arm and leaned into him, saying in a low voice, “You know, my girls would probably riot against me if they knew I’ve been coming to a meeting with one of the Backstreet Boys every Saturday and haven’t told them.”

Nick’s head had turned to look at her, with even more surprise. “You know who I am?” he’d asked. Carol had several decades on Jessie; she was probably around fifty. He knew there were plenty of middle-aged Backstreet Boys fans, but also plenty of people her age who probably didn’t have a clue who he was.

She had chuckled, smiling. “I’m surprised it took me so long to figure out. You looked familiar the first day you came to group, but I didn’t place you right away. I should have though; a few years ago, it seemed like every girl in my class had your face plastered across folders and notebooks and t-shirts. I’m afraid I don’t know your music very well - I only have sons, and they’re both grown-up, not exactly your typical Backstreet Boys fans. But,” she added with a wink, “I do know who you are.”

That day, Nick had learned more about Carol than he had the first few weeks of group. She was a teacher, seventh-grade English literature, and a mother of two sons, who were out of college. She had breast cancer and also went to a support group for just that. She’d just had a mastectomy, which he sensed she was still very insecure about, though she never really came out and talked about it in group. She was another one who was usually quiet in the group, but he’d had some conversations with her before and after meetings and found her to be a really nice, easygoing woman.

During one meeting, in early September, Carol announced that she only had one more week of chemotherapy treatments to go. Afterwards, as everyone was getting ready to leave, she leaned over to Nick and said, “I could go for a milkshake after this. What you said over the summer, about drinking milkshakes when your mouth is sore – it really works. I’ve been making my own at home, but today, I feel like going out. Where’s your favorite place to get a milkshake?”

Nick could think of a lot of places, but the one that stood out was the one introduced to him by the person who had given him the bit of advice about milkshakes in the first place. “I know of a place,” he said. “It’s a pizza place, actually, but trust me, they make great shakes too. Leonardi’s – you heard of it?”

“Leonardi’s…” she repeated, thinking. “Is that… is that that old brick building on Hernandez? Low to the ground, sort of shabby-looking?”

Nick nodded. “That’s it. Doesn’t look like much, but the food’s awesome.”

“You know, I’ve driven by, but I don’t think I’ve ever stopped to eat there. I think I will,” replied Carol with a smile. “Would you like to join me? As a way to celebrate the end of chemo? It’d be my treat…”

Nick considered a moment, then returned her smile. “Okay. But let me treat,” he offered. “I just finally got off the prednisone I’ve been taking all these months… so it’s a celebration for me too.”

“Well, then… let’s celebrate!”

***

Sitting across from each other in a booth at Leonardi’s, Nick and Carol sipped milkshakes and made small talk. When they ran out of that, their thick shakes still mostly full, they found their way to deeper conversation.

“So, if you don’t mind my asking, what’s the latest with the Backstreet Boys?” asked Carol, arching sparse eyebrows. “Are you even still together? I’m sorry,” she went on quickly, “I’m getting old; I don’t keep up with my MTV anymore. I don’t know these things.”

She winked, and Nick laughed. He was all too used to meeting people who were surprised to hear the group was still together. Though his medical problems had made headlines in the music world, the last two Backstreet albums were really just blips on the map compared to their earlier releases. They’d been mentioned in articles and on TV during the usual promotional periods, but apparently they’d flown just off of much of the public’s radar. Then again, he supposed that was how it had always been – bad news filled the headlines, while good news was only mentioned in minute blurbs at the bottom of pages. It was the bad stuff that piqued people’s interests, and those who were not Backstreet fans to begin with probably cared more about his personal troubles than his career’s successes.

But he knew Carol wasn’t like that. She was just a middle-aged woman who had too much other things going on in her life to pay attention to pop groups like the Backstreet Boys. Smiling, he answered, “That’s okay. Lots of people ask. Anyway, yeah, we are still together, actually. We just finished up a tour this past February, and hopefully we’ll start working on a new album next year. We haven’t really talked about it; I guess it’s been a little delayed cause I’ve been sick most of the year.” He shrugged, inwardly feeling guilty for it, though he knew it was irrational and stupid. “The other guys have got a lot going on in their own lives too, though.” He thought about all of their big announcements. Kevin’s child… AJ’s marriage… Howie’s girlfriend. With so much going on in their personal lives, maybe the next album would be delayed longer.

Carol smiled back. “Well, that’s great! Touring, and a new album – how cool! You must love what you do.”

“I do,” Nick said honestly, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. There were a lot of aspects of his career that sucked… the crazy schedules, the long hours on the road, the lack of privacy… but when it all came down to it, he did love it. He knew that not everyone got to do something they were truly passionate about for a career and that he was lucky to be able to do just that. Even when his health was shit and his love life cursed, at least he was blessed in one area of his life. “I can’t imagine not singing, being on stage.”

Carol took a sip of her milkshake, watching him thoughtfully over the lid of her glass. “It’s amazing that you’re still doing all of that after going through what you have. Did your cancer slow you down any?”

Nick chuckled wryly, instantly flashing back to the months he’d spent languishing around his house, mourning the loss of his leg and doubting he’d ever stand on a stage again. “Oh yeah, definitely,” he said. “I tried to work through it at first… a lot of the album we put out in 2004 was recorded when I was on chemo for the first time. But after I lost my leg, it was really hard to get back on stage.”

“But you did, right?” Carol pointed out. “That’s inspiring… if you could get back up on stage in front of all those people and perform, then I know I’ll be able to stand up in front of my classes and teach again.”

“So you’re not teaching now?” Nick asked, then realized it was a stupid question.

“No,” said Carol, with a wistful expression. “I kept going to school after I was diagnosed last spring, partly because I felt an obligation to my students, and partly just because I knew I’d drive myself crazy if I just stayed at home with all of that on my mind. As a teacher, you don’t have much time to think about your own problems; there’s always too much going on. I like to stay busy. But I decided not to go back at the start of the year… not right away anyway. I’m hoping to go back after Christmas, but for now, I’m just taking some time off to recuperate. Everyone, from my husband to the administrators at my district, thought that would be for the best. I’ve been so run down from the chemo that I think I’d just be cheating my students if I tried to teach them now… you need lots of energy to be a good teacher, and I just don’t have it these days.”

Nick gave her a sympathetic smile. He didn’t know much about teaching, but he knew what she was talking about. His favorite teachers in school had always been the ones who were energetic and enthusiastic, the ones who really seemed to enjoy the subjects they were teaching. Though there were lines around her tired eyes, giving her face a haggard appearance, he could sense a hint of zeal behind them and imagined that she had once been that kind of teacher, before cancer had taken its toll on her body and spirit.

She reminded him of his own English teacher in sixth grade, one of the few teachers who had seen his creative potential and believed in him. He had never been a great student – he just wasn’t what you would call “book smart” – but Mrs. Insausti had loved the poetry he’d written for her class and told him how creative and talented she thought he was. At the time, no one else seemed to think he’d amount to much, but here he was, sixteen years later, with numerous song credits to his name. The first time he’d seen his own name in the credits of one of his albums, he’d smiled and thought of his sixth-grade teacher, wondering if she was proud of how far he’d gone since leaving her class.

Returning his attention to Carol, he said, “Chemo does drain you, but eventually you’ll start to feel like your old self again. Then maybe you’ll feel like going back.”

Carol sighed and smiled. “I hope so.”

Nick slurped some of his shake. “You must like kids, huh? I mean, since you’re teacher and all.”

“Oh, of course. I love kids,” she replied, adding with a laugh, “My sixth-graders keep me young.”

Sixth grade… Nick was struck with a sudden thought. Casey would have been in sixth grade last year. If he had lived, he’d have just started seventh. The thought made a lump rise in Nick’s throat as he imagined Casey’s classmates progressing on through junior high without him, growing up while Casey remained forever a child in the memories of those who had known him.

“That’s a good age,” he commented, remembering Casey, wise beyond his eleven years, yet still with the refreshing innocence of childhood. Nick had never expected to get so attached to the kid, but whenever he thought of him like this, he missed him. Casey had seemed almost like another little brother to him, someone he would have done anything to protect. But in the end, he couldn’t. No one could.

Carol smiled. “Yes, it is. A lot of people are afraid to teach middle-schoolers, but I love them. They’re at that great in-between stage, old enough to have their own distinct tastes and personalities and ideas, but still young, you know?”

Nick nodded. Clearing his throat, he said, “I had a friend who was that age when I knew him. He was a cool kid. Really brave and tough, but sweet. He would have been in seventh grade this year, but… he died, about a year-and-a-half ago.” Carol’s face took on a pained expression, but, feeling he should explain, Nick continued, “He… he had cancer too; I met him through Claire… you know, my friend Claire? Yeah… she used to go and read to the kids on the cancer floor sometimes, and that’s how she met Casey.”

“That’s sweet,” said Carol with a sad smile. “What a nice idea, reading to the kids. That’s something I could do, while I’m not teaching.”

“The kids seem to like it, or at least Casey did.” Nick shrugged. “I’m not much of a reader, at least not out loud. Claire’s a lot better at it. I’m sure you’d be good too; you probably get a lot of practice with that.”

Carol smiled again and nodded. “I do.” She paused, twirling her long spoon through the melting whipped cream in her milkshake, and then asked, “I hope this isn’t too touchy a subject, but I’m just curious – were you and Claire together when you were sick?”

Nick thought the question sort of odd, but he answered anyway. “Not officially,” he said and briefly told her about him and Claire, how they had met and become friends, how she had been there for him through everything, and how they’d finally decided to give a romantic relationship a try after his last relapse. “… So by the time we were actually together, I was in remission.”

Carol nodded, pursing her lips. “It must have been nice, though, to have someone who could really understand what you were going through, and vice versa.”

“Exactly,” agreed Nick, smiling wistfully. “What we had was definitely special.”

Carol’s expression matched his, tinged of sadness and longing, but when she started talking again, he realized her sadness wasn’t just for him and Claire. “I wish my husband could be more like that. My breast cancer has hit him so hard… sometimes I think he’s had a harder time coping with it than I have. He’s a typical man – doesn’t like to show emotion or talk about his feelings. You know. Over the last few months, he’s just shut everything up inside of him and slowly pulled away from me.”

Nick’s stomach clenched as he studied her. From the way she talked, he got the impression this wasn’t something she had shared with many people, yet had been desperate to talk about. Determined to listen, he asked, “How so?”

Carol sighed. “Well, first he stopped coming to my appointments with me. He came to the first few, but I know he was uncomfortable with everything, so I didn’t push the issue when he quit insisting on coming. I guess I thought maybe it would be better that way; I didn’t want him to have to see me in pain. But then things just got worse. After I had my mastectomy, all kinds of people came to visit me in the hospital… my sons, other relatives who live close, my friends, colleagues, our pastor… but my husband was barely there. He dropped by every day, but he always had some excuse to leave early… usually something at work. Last year, he had already started thinking about retirement, but now he’s thrown himself into his work again. I think it’s just an excuse to stay away from the house, away from me. I’ve been so sick and overly emotional since my surgery and since I started chemo, I know I’m no picnic to be around.” She chuckled humorlessly, but then, to Nick’s dismay, her eyes filled with tears. “But… but he’s my husband,” her voice broke. “He took vows… he promised to love me ‘in sickness and in health,’ right? But since I’ve been sick, he hasn’t shown it. He can barely look at me anymore. We haven’t even…” She stopped and shook her head, blinking away tears. “I’m so sorry; I shouldn’t be burdening you with all of this. We barely even know each other.” Laughing, she added, “I bet you didn’t come here expecting to have your ear talked off by a silly old crying lady, did you?”

Nick didn’t smile. His chest was aching for her, this quiet, kind woman who had just broken down in front of him. “No, it’s okay,” he said quickly. “We’re in the support group together; that’s what I’m here for.” He managed a sympathetic smile, reaching out to pat her hand, wishing he knew what to say to make her feel better. He could relate to how she felt – after he’d lost his leg, he had worried about the same thing, that Claire would pull away, not wanting to waste away her life with someone who was as broken and depressed as he had been. But Claire hadn’t. He’d even pushed her away, and still, she’d come back to him. He was luckier than Carol, to have had that kind of support from the person he loved.

“You know, I’ve never brought this up in group before,” Carol mused.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know… I guess it’s just hard, to talk about something so personal. Who wants to admit they’re having problems in their marriage? Especially in front of people like Ike and Evvie, and Jeff and Lacey. And even the ones who don’t bring their spouses seem to have good marriages, from what they’ve said during meetings.”

Nick nodded, picturing the couples she spoke of, who always came to group meetings together. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed of it, though. It’s not your fault. It sounds like it’s your husband that’s got the problem, not you,” he pointed out.

“I know,” Carol sighed. “But still, it’s me that this is happening to, and if I wasn’t sick, I think we’d still be fine. I just hate feeling helpless, not being able to control what happens to me. I’d give anything to be well again so that I could be the kind of wife he wants, the kind of wife I used to be, but I’m just so tired…”

Nick nodded his understanding, but inside, he couldn’t help but think maybe she’d be better off without the guy. What kind of husband abandoned his wife when she had cancer? But he didn’t think it was his place to start putting those thoughts into her head. He didn’t know her husband; he barely knew her.

Still, the situation reminded him of another couple.

Claire and Jamie.

Hadn’t the prick done the same thing to Claire? They weren’t engaged then, of course; they weren’t even dating, but still, they had once been in love, and he had still ditched her when she had first gotten sick. To this day, it still made Nick mad. What a jackass. He had been there for Claire when she was sick, through her bone marrow transplant and everything, and Jamie had not. Yet who was she marrying? Jamie, and not him. It wasn’t fair. The realization made him angry, both at Jamie and at Claire. She was making a huge mistake. But again, it wasn’t his place to tell her. She would just think he was being jealous.

He swallowed his anger and looked at Carol. “You should talk to Claire sometime,” he told her. “Her boyfriend did the same thing when she first got sick; he freaked out and ditched her. But… but I guess he eventually grew up and came around, because he’s the one she’s marrying.” His eyes dropped to the tabletop as his blood boiled with loathing for Jamie.

Carol blinked in surprise. “Really? Wow… that’s unexpected. What do you think about that?”

Looking back up at Carol, Nick shrugged and smirked. “How much time do you have?”

***