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Chapter 55

The following night, Claire padded down the stairs in a comfy pair of pajama pants and the same scruffy leopard-print slippers she’d had for years, having resigned herself to a quiet Saturday night in, for lack of anything better to do. Dianna, who was usually up for a ‘girls night,’ had a date with some guy she’d met through work, so Claire figured she’d hear all the details about that over the phone later.

For now, she sank down onto the couch in front of the TV and picked up the TV guide that lay on the coffee table in front of her. Leafing through it, she scanned the night’s television offerings. Lots of scary movies on, she noticed – Halloween was just over a week away. Which reminded her, she’d get to see Nick in a week. He was flying her out to LA on Friday for a long weekend and had promised to take her to a Halloween party she’d never forget.

Smiling at the thought, she turned on the TV and started flipping through the channels, waiting until something caught her eye. A movie was starting on HBO, so she left that channel on. She supposed she should have changed the channel when she realized what it was – a horror movie called Saw that she vaguely remembered coming out in theaters the year before – but after watching for a few minutes, she was too caught up in it to turn away.

By an hour into it, she was too disgusted to pop herself some popcorn and so on edge that when her cell phone rang, she jumped, her heart skipping a beat. Letting her breath out in a shuddering gasp, she steadied herself, trying to calm her racing heart, and reached for the phone. She checked the caller ID and was relieved to see Laureen’s name and number appear – there was no way she would have answered it if it had been a number she didn’t recognize.

“Hello?” she said faintly, turning down the volume on the TV.

“Hey, Claire!” came Laureen’s chipper voice. “What’s up?”

“Oh, not much, just scaring the crap out of myself,” answered Claire, casting a dark look at the television screen. “How about you?”

Laureen laughed. “Uhh, not too much. Just calling to see if you wanted to go to a movie or something. Tim and I were supposed to go, but he’s not feeling well, so…”

“Yeah, sure!” said Claire, brightening. “Can we maybe see something light? A comedy or something?”

“Sure, sounds good. You want me to come pick you up?”

“Yeah, that sounds fine. You remember where I live, right?” asked Claire teasingly.

Laureen giggled. “I sure do. I’ll be there in half an hour, and we can catch a 9:00 show, okay?”

“Cool. See ya in a bit,” said Claire and hung up. Tossing the phone aside, she looked down at her frumpy, pajama-clad self and groaned. Aww man, I have to get dressed again?

***

“Thanks for calling me, Laureen; I needed to get out of that house for a couple of hours,” said Claire as Laureen navigated the familiar streets back to Nick’s house. The two had gone to see a new comedy that had just opened in theaters the day before, and Claire had enjoyed it immensely. She liked movies that made her laugh much more than ones that left her freaked out and paranoid. Being scared could be fun, but not when she was facing a whole night alone in a gigantic house that was still new to her.

Speaking of which… she thought, as Laureen turned into the long driveway that led up to Nick’s house. The lights outside the mansion blazed brightly, but it still looked somewhat ominous to Claire as she thought back to the movie she’d been watching before. Don’t be ridiculous, she scolded herself, but she couldn’t keep her mind from conjuring up the frightening image of the freakish, oversized clown mask worn by the killer in the movie. In Saw, he’d lurked in the darkness of people’s closets, waiting to abduct them and subject them to his twisted games. Despite all rational thoughts, she couldn’t help but shudder.

As Laureen pulled her car around the circle at the bottom of the driveway and lurched to a stop in front of the house, Claire turned to her impulsively and asked, “Hey, you wanna come in for a drink or something?”

Even in the dim light, Claire could see Laureen’s whole face brighten. “Yeah, sure!”

Claire had the suspicion that Laureen was more excited about getting to go inside Nick’s house than she was about having drinks with her, but she didn’t care one bit; she was glad for the company.

They got out of the car and walked up to the front door, which Claire unlocked and then held open as she ushered Laureen in. “Wow,” breathed Laureen as she stepped into the foyer.

Claire giggled as she shut the door behind them, locking it again. “Want the grand tour?”

“You bet I do!”

Claire took her all through the house, walking her through some rooms, giving her peeks into others. They ended in the kitchen, where Claire put her hands on her hips and said thoughtfully, “So… what do you want to drink? I could make margaritas, or we have beer, of course, and I think a few different bottles of wine… or we could run to the store and grab some ‘bitch drinks’ or something.”

“A margarita would be good, if you don’t mind,” said Laureen.

“No, sounds good. My friend Dianna and I make ‘em all the time, cause she doesn’t like beer,” Claire chattered on, as she got out the blender and the tequila and started mixing the ingredients. “Hey, would you open that cupboard and get down a couple of margarita glasses?” she asked over the hum of the blender. “They’re lime green – yeah, there you go,” she added, as Laureen brought a couple of thin-stemmed glasses down from the middle shelf of one of the cupboards. “Thanks,” she said, shutting off the blender and eyeing her concoction.

“No problem,” chirped Laureen. She reached up to close the cupboard door again, then paused. “That’s a lot of medicine,” she commented.

Claire glanced up, realizing she’d had Laureen open the cupboard that contained, among other things such as the margarita glasses, the prescription bottles containing all of the medications she had to take. A few chemotherapy drugs, which were much milder than the IV kind she had used to take, as well as immunosuppressant drugs that kept her from rejecting her brother’s bone marrow. She swallowed a small handful of pills morning and night, but it was nothing compared to the amount of medication she’d taken before and immediately after the bone marrow transplant. Still, she knew the sight of all those bottles could be intimidating.

“I know,” she said wryly, making a face. “That shelf actually looks kind of sparse; usually there’s a few bottles of Nick’s stuff there too.” Seeing Laureen pale, she added, “Don’t worry… I know it looks like a lot, but it’s pretty standard. We’ll both have to take this stuff for at least a few more years, just as a precaution, you know.”

Laureen nodded. “I figured. Just… wow.”

Claire gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah… well, now that I’ve probably gone and depressed you… margarita?” She offered Laureen the glass she’d just filled with the light yellow mix. Laureen laughed, easing any awkwardness that had risen, and took the glass, immediately raising it to her lips.

“Mm, you know how to make them,” she said, swallowing a sip.

“Thanks,” smiled Claire, pouring her own. They took the drinks out onto the back deck. The October heat had fallen with the sun, and it was quite pleasant outside. Conversation flowed easily between the two of them. Claire was still getting to know Laureen, but she was really friendly and easy to talk to.

“So how are you and Tim doing?” Claire asked after awhile, curious to know what Laureen thought of Tim now that she’d been dating him for a few months.

Laureen smiled. “Good. He’s a really sweet guy.”

“Yeah, he’s nice,” Claire agreed. “Are you two getting pretty serious then, or...?”

“I dunno,” Laureen replied with a shrug. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say I think he’s, like, ‘the one’ or anything… but we’re having fun together.”

“That’s good; I’m glad,” Claire said, and she genuinely meant it.

Laureen smiled again. “Thanks. I’m really happy for you and Nick too. I’ve always thought you’re the luckiest person in the world, getting to be with him, but he’s pretty lucky to have you too, you know. I mean, he’s been through so much… I’m glad he’s found someone who makes him happy.”

Claire returned the smile, touched by that comment. “Thank you; that means a lot to me,” she said. “I wish the rest of his fans would feel the same way, but I dunno - they probably all hate me for marrying him.” She rolled her eyes, remembering what Nick had once said: “In their eyes, every other woman I date is evil and will only hurt me, and of course they are the ones who will treat me right.”

“We’re not all like that, you know,” Laureen spoke up after a moment. “Backstreet Boys fans, I mean.”

“Well, I didn’t mean you,” Claire replied quickly, hoping she hadn’t offended her. “I know you’re not like that!”

“No, I know. I’m just saying… most of the other fans out there are like me. We like the guys for their music first and foremost… looks are only secondary. Maybe some of us do crush on them and fantasize about them, but it’s just that – a fantasy. And we can separate that from reality. We know we’re not going to marry any of them or anything like that. I know there’s still some crazy fans out there that are like that, but most of us aren’t!” Laureen insisted.

“I-I’m sorry,” apologized Claire, caught off-guard. “I didn’t mean-“

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Laureen cut her off quickly and rather grudgingly. “I didn’t mean to go off on you. It’s just… I dunno, that whole teenybopper thing is such a stereotype. Whatever negative stuff you’ve heard about Bsb fans probably comes from the few psychos who give us a bad name. Any crazy fan stories from Nick and the guys – again, probably just isolated incidents. And most of those kinds of girls have grown up and moved on by now anyway. It’s just not like that. That whole stereotype of the rabid teenybopper is what gives Backstreet Boys fans a bad wrap, and it’s really annoying to the majority of us, who are actually sane. I don’t even tell a lot of people I’m a Bsb fan because there’s such a stigma attached to it!”

Claire nodded slowly, still surprised by this outburst. She’d never heard Laureen sound anything but cheerful, and she felt bad for saying whatever she had said in the first place. “I see what you’re saying,” she said. “Honestly, I just… didn’t know. I don’t really know any other fans besides you, and I guess most of what I’ve seen and heard about is what you were describing – the teenybopper stuff. I’m glad you’re not all like that though… those kinds of people scare me.”

“Trust me, we’re not,” said Laureen firmly. “And the fans don’t hate you. They don’t know enough about you to decide what they think of you.”

“Oh.” That was a good thing… wasn’t it? Maybe not. “Just wondering, how do you know all that? Do you have a lot of friends who are fans?”

“Nah, not really, but I see stuff online. Websites and message boards where people post and stuff.”

“Really?” Claire was suddenly curious. It had never really crossed her mind to search for stuff about herself on the internet. “Fans talk about me online?”

“Well, now they do, ever since everyone found out Nick was engaged.”

“What do they say??”

Laureen laughed. “You wanna see?”

“Well… yeah!”

They went back inside and, after refilling their drinks, parked themselves in front of Claire’s computer. Claire sat off to the side, watching as Laureen typed a URL into the address box on her internet browser, which brought up an online Backstreet Boys forum. She surfed through tons of links to different threads before clicking on one, opening up what appeared to be a discussion about Nick’s engagement.

“There ya go,” said Laureen, scooting aside and letting Claire sit directly in front of the computer monitor.

“Thanks,” Claire murmured absently, her eyes already flying across the screen. She was both surprised and relieved to find that, just as Laureen had said, most of the comments were pretty positive. Some people wanted to find out more about her; others didn’t care who she was, as long as Nick was happy with her. Most of their posts were much more centered on Nick than her, which was how it should be.

There were also some negative posts, many of them coming from the same user, ParisHiltoNTampaBayFan, who kept calling her ugly, calling Nick stupid, and saying that if Paris Hilton were still alive, she would be a much better match for him.

“Don’t mind that girl,” said Laureen, pointing to the girl’s screen name. “She’s one of the crazies.”

Claire chuckled. “Good to know.”

“But see, except for her, it’s not so bad. And once they get to know you, they’ll have nothing but nice things to say about you. Just be friendly when you’re on tour with Nick,” Laureen advised with an encouraging smile.

Claire returned her smile, but inside, she did not feel as confident. On tour with Nick… Of course they would tour after their album was released, assuming things went well. That meant Nick would be on the road and away from home for weeks, maybe even months. And what about me? she wondered. What would she do? Neglect her job and spend a few months riding around the country on a tour bus, living out of a suitcase and sleeping in hotel room after hotel room? Or stay at home by herself and just miss him, the way she was now?

Neither choice sounded particularly appealing. Of course she would want to be with Nick, and she liked traveling to an extent, but she also liked her job and didn’t want to lose it. And she was such a homebody… everything she knew and everyone she loved was here. Everyone but him. There was a reason she’d never moved far from the area in which she’d grown up. It was her home. Then again, this hardly felt like home without him. She’d miss him like crazy if he went off on tour without her. How did the other Backstreet wives do it??

She took a deep swallow of her margarita, letting the strong, icy cocktail numb her mind. She didn’t want to think anymore tonight… not about touring with Nick, nor how his fans felt about her. And she certainly didn’t want to think about the freaky clown-headed guy from that movie.

She still had a decent buzz going by the time Laureen went home and she went to bed, but that didn’t stop her from dreaming as she slept. She awoke bathed in sweat and trembling from a nightmare about the Saw killer bursting out of the deep walk-in closet in her and Nick’s bedroom and grabbing her, just as he had the little girl in the movie. Not fully awake yet, she instinctively reached over to Nick’s side of the bed and groped around, searching for him. But her hand was only met with empty space.

As she sat up and pulled the covers around her shaky body, she felt just like that scared little girl. Even half-asleep and still a little tipsy, she knew that no masked psycho was going to jump out of the closet and attack her, just as she’d known deep down that there was no monster living in the closet of her bedroom in the house she’d grown up in. Still, she longed for the comfort of Nick’s warm, safe embrace, just as she’d wanted nothing more than a hug from her daddy when she was little and afraid of the dark.

Scooting to the very center of the bed, she drew her knees to her chest and hugged them instead.

***

Two thousand miles away, Nick woke to find himself trembling as well, his stump twinging with phantom pains that had surely been brought on by the dream he’d just had. No, not just a dream – a nightmare. His worst nightmare, in fact – a dream about the recurrence of his cancer. He’d been having them every so often for a long time now, especially after his lung surgery the previous December, but they had become more frequent lately. Maybe it was because of Casey, whose leukemia had relapsed after almost five years of remission. Maybe it was because things in his life were looking so good at the moment – maybe he was destined for another downfall. He’d sure had enough of them in recent years.

He tried not to let the dreams worry him because physically, he felt great, better than he had in years. Yet he would be lying to himself if he did not admit that the nightmares left him upset and nervous. No matter how good he felt or how clean his tests looked now, the cancer could always come back. It had for Casey, and it could happen to him too. He had to get through four more years before they would call him cured, and even then, was it a guarantee? Nothing was truly guaranteed.

Though he’d been drinking earlier that night, he was wide awake now and too agitated to go back to sleep right away. He stretched his leg out beneath the covers, crossing over onto what should have been Claire’s side of the bed. He wished she were there. She would have rubbed his back and bugged him about the bad dream until he had no choice but to tell all. Sometimes – a lot of the time, actually – he hated revealing his innermost feelings and fears like that, even to her. But this… this was something he would have had no problem talking to her about. Especially her, for he knew without a doubt that she would understand. Surely she had the same worries from time to time.

But Claire was practically on the other side of the country and probably sound asleep at this hour. His eyes spotted his cell phone, plugged into its charger on the nightstand, but he resisted the urge to pick it up and call her. Instead, he got up and fumbled around for his crutches, then shuffled into Howie’s kitchen to find something to eat, unaware of the fact that back at his own house in Tampa, Claire, too, was wide awake and yearning to hear his voice just as much as he needed to hear hers.

***