- Text Size +
Chapter 32

As soon as she pushed the door open, Claire was blasted with heat. “Ugh,” she groaned, shielding her eyes against the blinding afternoon sunlight as she strode quickly across the parking lot. Even in tennis shoes, she could feel the heat rising from the pavement beneath her feet, and the humid air was practically suffocating. “Nothing like a June day in Florida,” she muttered to herself as she climbed into her car, leaving the door open while she quickly stuck the key into the ignition and turned the air conditioning on full-blast. She shifted uncomfortably on the hot seat as she waited for the car to cool down. At least the a/c in this old junker still works, she thought with relief, holding her hand over one of the vents to feel the refreshing rush of cool air.

When the interior of the car was tolerable, she shut her door and buckled her seatbelt, shifting the car into gear. She cranked up the radio before backing out of her parking space, trying to brighten her mood. It’s Friday, she told herself, tapping her fingers against the wheel in time to the music blaring from her speakers. Be happy.

Easier said than done. As she turned the car in the direction of home – Nick’s home, that was – she was anything but happy. It had been one of those days at work: difficult children who refused to open their mouths; patients who appeared to have not brushed their teeth in years, let alone flossed; not to mention Tim and Laureen’s constant flirting all day long – in the break room, up and down the hall, at the clock behind the front desk. It had only taken a week after she had speculated about them hooking up for the inevitable to happen. Laureen had pulled her aside Thursday afternoon on her way out and, beaming, told her the “good” news – Tim had asked her out on a date for the following night. Big surprise. Claire had wished her well, and apparently, things had gone well, for now, two weeks later, they were still at it – the flirting, the shared smiles, suave lines from Tim, and giggling from Laureen. As likeable as Laureen was – and Tim was not a bad guy either – Claire found the whole thing slightly nauseating. I hope we didn’t act that way, she found herself thinking every time she saw Tim, trying to remember if she’d gone through that giddy phase at the beginning of their short relationship.

Needless to say, when two o’clock finally rolled around, Claire was ready to get away from the office. If only she felt like going home…

As much as she hated to admit it to herself, there had been many days in the past two weeks when she had not wanted to go home. The first few days after she’d moved in with Nick, she had raced back to his house after work, looking forward to a relaxing evening at home with him. What she had not been looking forward to, nor expecting, was spending night after night with a pouty, pitiful version of her boyfriend.

Nick, to say the least, had had a rough three weeks.

Sunday, the day she’d brought him home from the hospital, had been fine. He’d pleasantly helped her unpack the rest of her boxes and get things put away, and they’d both had a nice visit with Howie, who had stopped by on his way back to Orlando that afternoon. That night, he’d braved the staircase on his crutches, and they slept upstairs in his king size bed, purple sheets and all.

Sunday, it seemed, had been the calm before the storm.

She’d come home from work Monday afternoon to find him in a downright foul mood. “What’s wrong?” she’d asked cautiously, when she’d found him sitting on the floor of is den, directly in front of his big screen TV, playing Playstation. He hadn’t even looked at her when she’d walked in, let alone say hello. “Nick?”

“Shitty day,” he’d mumbled finally, without tearing his eyes away from the TV.

“Why shitty? What happened?”

Neither “a lot,” nor “nothing” would have sufficed as an answer, for, as she found out, it had been a combination of both. He’d about killed himself that morning, slipping and almost falling in the shower upstairs, which did not have handles on the wall like the ones that had been installed in the shower downstairs. According to him, that had been the most interesting part of his day. He went on to complain – about going up and down the stairs on crutches, about how there was no food in the house, about how there was nothing to do and how he’d been bored all day.

The rest of her afternoon and evening were hectic – she’d gotten groceries, changed the sheets on the bed downstairs so that they could sleep there as long as he was still on crutches, and called about having a safety handle put in the shower upstairs. By the time all that was done, she was exhausted. So much for a relaxing evening.

The rest of the week – and the two weeks after that – had not been much better. Nick was frustrated and angry and taking it out on her, as she was the only one around. He refused to leave the house as long as he could not wear his artificial leg, and so naturally, he was bored, and the boredom made him moody, and his moodiness made him completely unpleasant to be around. Sometimes she tried to cheer him up, and sometimes she succeeded. Other times, there was nothing she could say or do to bring him out of the storm cloud he seemed to be living in, and sometimes she didn’t even feel like trying.

That afternoon felt like it was going to be one of those times. She parked her car in the drive and hurried up the walkway to the front door, anxious to get out of the heat and into the house. The air-conditioning would make it seem welcoming, even if Nick wouldn’t. She unlocked the door and walked inside, quickly pushing it closed behind her. “I’m home!” she called automatically, as she strode through the library and stuck her head into the living room. No Nick. She wandered through the other rooms downstairs, looking for him, and finally found him slumped in his bed, staring glassy-eyed at the TV.

“Hey,” she said simply, offering him a tight smile.

“Hey,” he replied, glancing up at her only briefly. “How was work?”

“Eh,” she shrugged, knowing that response was enough to say it all. He was used to hearing the horror stories that came from days like this. “How was your day?”

“Eh,” he mimicked her. No surprise there.

She came further into the room and perched on the edge of the bed. “So,” she said, finding his foot beneath the pulled-up covers and giving it a pat, “not-so-great days for both of us, huh? We should make up for it by having a great night tonight.”

He finally looked at her, giving her a crooked smile. “What do you wanna do?”

“I dunno… maybe go out?” she asked, raising her eyebrows hopefully.

Immediately, he shook his head, just as she knew he would. “No.”

She couldn’t help but sigh. “Nick… don’t you want to go out? You’ve been cooped up in this house for weeks!” The only times she could remember him going out in public were for doctor’s appointments – a follow-up for the infected ulcer, and his regular check-up with Dr. Kingsbury. Both appointments had gone well. The antibiotics he’d been taking had done their job, and his infection was gone by now, although the ulcer was still healing, making it impossible for him to wear his prosthesis yet. There had been no unpleasant surprises in the oncology clinic either – all his tests had come out normal, and he was still in remission.

“Yeah, and do you think I’ve enjoyed that? That I wanted to spend the entire month of June this way?” he retorted sarcastically.

“No one’s making you stay at home, Nick,” she argued. “If you don’t want to spend all your time at home, then don’t! Let’s go out and do something tonight.”

“I don’t want to go out like this,” he grumbled, looking away.

“Well, not like that.” He looked like he hadn’t even showered that morning; his hair was disheveled and greasy-looking, and he was dressed in a rumpled, ratty old t-shirt. She was willing to bet he was only in his boxers beneath the covers, just the way he slept. She wondered if he’d gotten out of bed at all that day, other than to use the bathroom and raid the kitchen. “You’d have to get dressed and comb your hair first.”

He shook his head, his face contorting into an expression of pure irritation. “Damn it, Claire, don’t play dumb. You know what I mean.”

“You mean without your fake leg? Is that what you mean? Because I think that’s ridiculous. You can get around fine on crutches, and if you’re worried about what people will think… well… don’t be!”

He looked down, and she followed his eyes to the space on the left side of the bed, where his missing leg would have extended. She waited silently for him to look back up, to say something. When he finally lifted his chin, she saw that his cheeks were slightly red, and she could barely make out his words when he mumbled quietly, “It’s not that easy.”

“I know it’s not easy,” she replied, softening her voice. “But you have to get over this, Nick. You have to learn to go out in public and be confident in yourself, whether you’re wearing your leg or not. Do you really think it matters that much whether or not you have it on? People are going to stare at you no matter what – because you’re famous, because you’re a Backstreet Boy, not because you have one leg. And I know you’ve got to be used to that, because that’s been happening for years.”

She thought her point was perfectly logical, but he just shook his head. She sighed, her patience wearing thin. She did not have it in her to keep battling with him over this, not tonight. “Fine,” she said, standing up. “Stay here then. I’ll see you later.”

“Where you going?” he called as she briskly left the room. She did not answer. She didn’t know where she was going either. All she knew was that she had to get out of the house, or she was going to go crazy.

She was beginning to worry that he already was.

***

He heard the front door slam and her car start. Moments later, she pulled out of the drive, her taillights casting a red glow through the window of his darkened room. As soon as the lights faded, he leaned forward and put his face in his hands. “Good going, Carter,” he muttered to himself, raking his fingers through his hair as if they were claws.

He hadn’t seen Claire all day, and not five minutes after she’d come home from work, he’d argued with her. He hadn’t seen her since she’d stalked out of his room hours ago, and now she was gone. Who knew when she’d be back. So much for doing anything together that night. He knew he’d blown it; it was his fault she had left.

Nick sighed. The last few weeks had been some of the dullest of his life, nothing like he had expected when Claire had finally agreed to move in with him. It would be fun, he had thought, living with her, being able to spend as much time as he wanted with her. But, of course, that was not the way it was. She worked most weekdays, and he was left at home, alone and bored, with nowhere to go. And when she came home, they didn’t hang out nearly as much as he wanted them to.

“I’m tired, Nick; I just want to stay inside and relax,” she’d say, when he asked if she wanted to get in the pool with him. “I can’t, Nick; I need to make us something for dinner,” she’d sigh, when he suggested they watch a movie. “Nick… I have errands to run,” she’d explain, when he just wanted to talk to her. “Come with me?”

“No.” It was always a ‘no,’ and by now, she’d stopped asking. She came and went, taking care of things he knew he should be handling himself. Or at least helping her with. She rarely complained, but he was afraid she was unhappy. And it was all because of him.

He knew that. He knew he was being selfish – and ‘ridiculous,’ according to her.

But she didn’t understand. She didn’t know it was like to feel like a freak, to look like a freak, and to be stuck at home for fear of being treated like a freak. And that’s what would happen, he felt sure, if he went out to normal places like this, his stump bared for the world to see. People would stare at him, their eyes filled with sympathy, or worse, disgust. He couldn’t stand the idea of it.

Claire’s words returned to him: “I know you’ve got to be used to that, because that’s been happening for years.”

It’s not the same, he thought. Sure, he’d attracted attention in public for years, but until recently, for a good reason. People watched him because he was famous, because he was talented, because they thought he was good-looking. Now they would only watch him because he was different, because he was diseased, because he was disabled. Admiration would turn to pity, devotion to repulsion.

As long as he could hide it, he was okay. There were people who would recognize him and remember what had happened to him, but as long as he looked “normal,” it didn’t matter as much. But that was impossible now; he couldn’t hide it until he could wear his leg, and that couldn’t happen until the ulcer finished healing.

As soon as it does, I’ll take her out… I’ll make it up to her, Nick vowed. I’ll make up for everything…

***

“… I just had to get out; I couldn’t stand the thought of yet another night stuck at home, watching him mope around.” Lifting her head out of her hands, she peered at Amber and asked meekly, “Does that make me a bad person?”

“Aw, honey…” Amber offered her a sympathetic smile. “Of course not. Everyone feels that way from time to time. It’s just part of living with someone. You love ‘em to death, and yet, sometimes, they drive you crazy. You think I never get sick of your brother from time to time?”

Claire smiled across the table at her sister-in-law, glad she had decided to come over. After her argument with Nick, she’d gone straight to the phone and called Dianna, hoping for a nice “girls night” out on the town. But Dianna had a date that night. So did Laureen, who was going out with Tim again. Envious of them both, Claire had finally ended up calling her brother and inviting herself over to his place, desperate to get out of Nick’s house. Now she sat sipping a tall glass of iced tea in the cozy kitchen of Kyle and Amber’s home, a small two-bedroom ranch that was perfect for a young, married couple.

“What, sick of me? Never,” Kyle denied impishly, sticking his head into the kitchen. “Is this strictly a man-hating conversation, or can I sit down?”

“Sit,” Claire said. “We’re not man-hating; we’re just discussing my man.”

“Yeah, so what’s going on with your man anyway? Troubles in paradise?” She’d been pretty vague on the phone with him… all she remembered saying was something to the effect of, ‘I need to get out; can I come over?’ Good big brother that he was, he’d simply replied, ‘Sure. See you in awhile.’ No questions asked… until now.

“Kind of,” she answered, a sick feeling entering her stomach as soon as the words left her mouth. “The last few weeks haven’t been at all like what I expected…” And she launched into what she’d just gotten done telling Amber, how Nick was driving her crazy, the way he lay around the house all day like a hermit, refusing to go out or do anything. “… And he’s so needy lately. The first couple of weeks, he would pounce on me as soon as I got home from work and want to hang out with me. Which is great, but… I dunno, sometimes I need my ‘me’ time, you know? Or I have places to go and things to do, and he just wants me to stay at home with him. I know he’s just bored, but… it’s like he doesn’t understand that I have a life outside of him, that I have other priorities too. Someone has to run the house, because he sure hasn’t done much of that lately. Frankly, I don’t know how he’d survive if I wasn’t around. I’m the one who’s been getting the mail, buying the groceries, making dinner, cleaning-“

“Wait, you’ve actually made him dinner?” Kyle interrupted her, raising his eyebrows. “Well Jesus, no wonder he’s been so down lately. I would be too, if I was stuck with you as a cook. Are you sure he’s not just sick from whatever you’ve been feeding him?”

“Oh, shut up,” Claire rolled her eyes. “I’m not that bad. And somebody’s gotta do it. If it were up to him, we’d just order take-out every night.”

“And what’s wrong with that? He can afford it.”

She made a face. “Take-out every night? Blech. And anyway, you’re missing the point.”

“No, I get the point,” said Kyle. “And I understand why you’re mad. But look at it from his end – he hasn’t had an easy time of it either. Do you think he wants to be stuck at home all day, not doing anything?”

Claire looked up at her brother in surprise; he sounded just like Nick. “He’s not stuck,” she said carefully. “He’s choosing to stay at home. He’s not an invalid; he could go out and do things if he wanted to.”

“It’s no picnic trying to get around on crutches,” Kyle pointed out. “And maybe he doesn’t want to go out in public and have people stare at him.”

She cocked her head to the side; how was he doing this? It was like he was reading Nick’s thoughts. “Well, of course not, nobody would want that. But… but…” She sighed and shrugged helplessly before finally continuing, “he needs to get used to it. Well, not used to it, but… he needs to not let it bother him so much. He can’t waste a month of his life hiding in his house every time something happens and he can’t wear his artificial leg. Because something like this is bound to happen again, at one point or another.”

“You have a good point, and if you tell him this later, he’ll probably see that too. But it’s not that easy to just ‘get used to it.’ I can’t even imagine what it would be like to go through what he has.”

“I know… none of us can.” Claire shook her head. “But he’s come such a long way in the past year, and just when I thought he’d gotten his confidence back, wham, this happened. Now he’s acting worse than he was a year ago, right after it happened.”

Kyle nodded. “You may not think it, but in a way, this is probably harder to handle now than it was a year ago…”

“What are you talking about?” Claire asked incredulously. This was nothing compared to what he’d been going through a little over a year ago.

“I mean the whole not-being-able-to-walk thing. He had to have spent months learning to walk again last year, and then, when he was back on his feet and thinking that was all behind him, this happened, and for the time being, that ability has been taken away. He’s back to where he was last year. And trust me, that’s depressing.”

He was speaking from experience, she realized. During his sophomore year of high school, Kyle had torn his ACL at football practice. It took arthroscopic knee surgery, days on crutches, weeks of physical therapy, and months of rehabilitation before he had fully recovered from the injury. He’d gone back to playing football for the last two years of high school and made the college team his freshman year, only to suffer the very same injury in the second game of the season. That had marked the end of his football career.

“I understand,” she said. “It’s like you with your knee…” Or me with my leukemia, she realized. In a way, it had been harder to hear that she had relapsed, than to get the diagnosis in the first place. She had already been through so much… sitting in the doctor’s office, hearing that it had all been for nothing and that she would have to go through more treatments, had nearly broken her. Was that what it was like for Nick, not being able to use his leg after he’d worked so hard to get used to it?

Kyle nodded. “Give him a break, okay. He may be being difficult now, but he’s probably just frustrated. And you trying to get him to snap out of it and have a better attitude probably isn’t going to help things much. Just give him time and wait it out… I’m sure things will change once this is all behind him and he’s back on his feet.

“You’re right,” said Claire. “I’m sure everything will get better soon.” It has to, she added internally. It just has to.

***

Claire left Kyle and Amber’s house late that night feeling much better than she had when she’d arrived. Their talk had helped her more than she’d expected it too, reassuring her that her feelings were normal, that Nick’s actions were understandable, and that everything would work out before too long.

Nick’s house was dark when she got back, and she crept in quietly, locking the door behind her and checking to make sure the security system was turned on before she started through the house, flipping on lights on her way. After circling through the empty living room and kitchen, she headed for the front bedroom. The door was closed, and she knocked softly before pushing it open a crack. All the lights were turned off, as well as the TV, but as she opened the door wider, allowing light from the hall to spill in, she could just make out a large lump beneath the bedcovers. She tip-toed into the room, silently approaching the bed. There he was, curled on his left side, sound asleep.

He looked so peaceful when he was sleeping, she thought as she studied his features, just barely visible in the dim light. She was glad, for he had been anything but at peace when he was awake. She bent down, casting shadows over his face, and placed a feather-light kiss on his smooth forehead. “I love you,” she whispered, gently smoothing back his hair.

She left the room briefly to shut off the lights she had turned on all around the house and then returned. Ducking into the bathroom, she washed her face and brushed her teeth. She undressed quickly in the darkness of the bedroom and pulled on one of his old t-shirts before climbing carefully into bed beside him. He did not move, and the steady up and down movement of his back and shoulder as he breathed told her he was still immersed in sleep. She snuggled closer to him, spooning him from behind and draping her arm lightly around his torso.

Just give him time and wait it out, Kyle had told her.

I will, she thought with resolve. I’ll wait for you, Nick… and you’ll get through this. Things will be better soon.

With that thought repeating in her head, she closed her eyes and let the comforting sound of his slow, deep breathing lull her to sleep.


I will be the answer at the end of the line
I will be there for you while you take the time
In the burning of uncertainty, I will be your solid ground
I will hold the balance if you can’t look down

If it takes my whole life, I won’t break, I won’t bend
It’ll be worth it, worth it in the end
Cause I can only tell you what I know
That I need you in my life
When the stars have all gone out
You’ll still be burning bright

Cast me gently into morning
For the night has been unkind

- “Answer” by Sarah McLachlan


***


AN: Thanks to Susan for the song! :)