Close Match Read online

“I’ll have the announcement made now. I’ll let people know we’ll be starting in five…”

  “There’s no need for that,” Simon joins us. “Give me the mic.” His face is strained with anguish as he takes in my mother. “I’ll go on stage and tell a story about what happens after.”

  “But…nothing happens after! John Thomas is going to freak.” Pasquale sputters.

  “Let him,” Simon says harshly. “Where’s the damn mic?”

  Within seconds, Simon is entering the side stage and weaving a soft tale about how mother and daughter reunited in time for Michael to ask for her hand in marriage. Even as the EMTs roll their stretcher urgently toward my mother, I hear him say, “The most important thing is to remove all the obstacles preventing you from finding love.”

  The audience gives him another standing ovation.

  When he’s done, Simon comes straight to us. My mother has an oxygen mask over her face. They’re ready to wheel her out. Simon kisses her cheek and murmurs, “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

  She blinks her eyes at him before darting them over to me. Her mouth tries to move underneath the mask. I hush her. “Shh, Mom. Whatever it is can wait. I love you. I’ll be with you soon.” Squeezing her hand, I ask the EMTs, “Which hospital is she going to?”

  “NYU,” one tells me.

  “We’ll be there in less than thirty minutes. Keep her safe,” I order. Simon slips his arm around me as the EMTs wheel my mother to the waiting ambulance.

  “She’ll be okay,” Simon’s whispers.

  “She has to be.” But I’m so worried. How on earth did she go from singing her soul out one minute to collapsing the next?

  “Come on, Linnie. Let’s get this over with so we can get to her. Bris is going to be a wreck by the time we get there.”

  Knowing that’s the truth, I exit stage left, still shaking. When it’s time for my mother to come out, the calm announcement about my mother’s fall backstage is met with a standing ovation.

  She’d love it, I think with a teary smile.

  Simon and I meet in the middle. I sink into a deep curtsy while he regally bows. We do this four more times; the waves of applause keep coming. Usually, I’d be overwhelmed with the audience’s response.

  But it’s all I can do to stop myself from running offstage to get to my mother.

  The minute the curtain closes, I dash off, with Simon hot on my heels. “There’s a car waiting for you,” Pasquale calls out. “Blue BMW out the back door.”

  Fluttering my hand at him, I only stop in my dressing room long enough to grab my purse. Knowing our costume designer will likely have a meltdown over us leaving with show property, I mutter, “Like I give a shit,” to myself.

  Simon utters a distracted, “Hmm?”

  “Asia’s reaction to us taking the costumes off set.”

  “I agree.”

  Twenty of the most hellish minutes of my life later, we’re jumping out of the car and racing into the crowded hospital emergency room. Simon texted Bristol when we were close, so she’s waiting for us. She races into Simon’s arms the minute she sees him before reaching an arm over for me. We’re in a tight little huddle before she whispers, “I’m so scared.”

  We’re buzzed through the door. Simon and I quickly get a wristband attached so we can move into and out of the ER. “What are they saying?”

  “They’re running tests. They think it might be a stroke or a heart attack.”

  I stop in the middle of the hallway. “Mom? The woman eats like a damn rabbit and is in terrific shape. Are they crazy?” This is completely unbelievable.

  “That’s what the cardiologist said, Linnie. They just took her for testing.”

  “So, we have to wait?”

  Reaching for the pins placed around my head to hold the red curls in place, I begin plucking them out. I need to be me, Linnie, not the actress Evangeline Brogan, when I face what’s going to happen. “How long did they say it’s going to take?”

  Bristol checks the clock on the wall. “A few hours.”

  “Let me text Pasquale and see if he can drop off some clothes for us. He can take these back because there’s no way I’m making it to tomorrow’s performance.”

  “Me either,” Simon declares, wrapping Bristol in his arms.

  Pasquale assures me he’ll have both Simon’s and my street clothes here in half an hour. He also wants an update on Mom, which I can’t give him.

  I wish someone would come in and give it to me.

  * * *

  “Hello. I’m Dr. Pilcher. I’m the head of Cardiology here at NYU. Are you the family of Brielle Brogan?”

  We all jump up from where we’ve been sitting uncomfortably in the cramped cubicle where Mom’s supposed to be returned. “Yes. Can someone please tell me where my mother is?” I demand.

  “Come with me and I’ll take you to her.” His voice is brisk, and he turns out the door. Bristol scrambles off Simon’s legs to take my waiting hand. Simon grabs our bags and quickly follows.

  “Ms. Brogan,” the doctor begins, but I snap. My patience is at an end. It’s been hours of waiting with no answers.

  “My sister is here too.” I nod at Bristol. He looks abashed and checks his chart.

  “Of course. I’m sorry. Ms. Brogan, Ms. Todd, You both were aware of your mother’s previous drinking issues?” We’ve reached a set of elevator banks. After the doctor pushes the button, he catches Bristol’s and my unsurprised faces. Although my mother’s drinking was over long before Bristol was born, the stories were legendary. “I’m not surprised. Even if her medical records don’t show it, it’s often hard to hide heavy drinking from children. There was undetected long-term damage to her heart, but her medical charts don’t show she was on any medication which makes her condition all the more dangerous.”

  “What condition?” Bristol whispers fearfully. I grasp her hand so hard, I might be crushing her delicate bones, but she doesn’t begin to protest.

  We all step into the elevator. When the doors close, Dr. Pilcher turns to us to ask more questions. “Was she ever a smoker?”

  “Years ago,” I answer. “She gave it up when it started to impact her voice.”

  He doesn’t respond but takes notes on his tablet. My patience at an end, I beg, “Can you please just tell us what’s wrong with our mother?”

  “Let’s get to a private room and I’ll explain fully.” The doors to the elevator open. We pass by a sign that indicates we’re in the Cardiac Care Unit. Approaching a U-shaped desk, Dr. Pilchner calls out, “Bobbie, is family care room six open?”

  “Yes, Doctor. Do you need anything else?”

  “Not right now.” He begins to lead us down the corridor to a room labeled FC-6. He holds the door for us, and we step inside. “This room will be for your exclusive use,” he tells us kindly.

  Bristol flops down onto the couch; Simon drops next to her. I take one of the chairs. Dr. Pilchner remains standing. Feeling both appreciative and apprehensive, I gesture to the other chair. “Doctor, please. Have a seat. I imagine whatever you’re going to say can’t be any easier standing.” Bristol’s head snaps toward me before turning toward the doctor.

  With a sigh, he perches on the end of the remaining chair in the room. “Before we get started, this may be tremendously misplaced, but your mother has provided decades of entertainment to my family.” His hard demeanor softens. “I took my daughter to celebrate her graduation from high school to see Powerhouse. Ms. Brogan was magnificent.”

  Feeling both pride and dread, I do what my mother would have wanted me to do. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to let her know.”

  His eyes close behind his wire-rimmed frames. “Ms. Brogan—”

  I interrupt. “Evangeline.”

  He nods. “Evangeline, your mother had what is called a STEMI myocardial infraction.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, Bristol shakes her head in confusion. “In English, please,” I beg.

  He takes a deep breath. “She ha
s a complete blockage of several of her coronary arteries. We have her stabilized for now. We need to perform bypass surgery as soon as possible to try to save her life.”

  The world slows around me. Pilchner is droning on about whether or not my mother has a living will. Bristol is sobbing into Simon’s shoulder hysterically. And me? I’m wondering when I’m going to wake up from this nightmare and be able to tell my mother about it before we go on tonight to sing.

  Because that’s what this is—a living nightmare.

  Blindly, I reach down for my purse. Digging through it one-handed, I pull out my cell. We each had all the necessary paperwork drawn up through our lawyer, Eric Shea, years ago to protect our money. While we were there, I vaguely remember him having us sign paperwork just in the event something like this happened. Mom laughed at him and said, “Darling boy, I’m going to live forever.”

  With a pain in my heart that makes me wonder if I’m not having my own heart attack, I scroll through my contacts. One ring, two. A male voice answers on the other end, brusquely, “Ms. Brogan, what can I do for you?”

  Dully, I respond, “My mother’s in the hospital with a heart attack. I need her living will paperwork immediately.”

  There’s a long pause before he responds much more gently, “Find out the fax number of the floor you’re on, and they’ll have it within fifteen minutes. If that’s not soon enough, let me talk with the doctor.”

  Blindly, I hold out the phone to Dr. Pilchner. “Here. It’s for you,” I say, right before I fall out of the chair. On my knees, I crawl toward my sister and her boyfriend. We’re a huddle of whimpering tears while my mother’s doctor gives our lawyer the information he needs, puts my phone down, and leaves the room.

  All without saying another word to us.

  Six

  Evangeline

  “She kept saying she was fine.” My voice is flat. “Every time we’d ask, she blew off our questions.”

  It’s seven thirty the next day. After keeping Mom stable through the night, Dr. Pilchner said her best chance of survival was to attempt a coronary bypass surgery. He warned us it might take close to six hours; the damage to her arteries is so extensive.

  It’s only been about two hours since the procedure began, but I’m already freaking out.

  “We can’t make it go any faster,” Bristol says practically.

  I love her; I do. But practicality is absolutely not what I want right now. I want a million chocolate bars. I want to scrub up and hold my mother’s hand. I want to lose myself in dancing…oh, shit. Gulping, I turn to Bristol. “Did you call Veronica?”

  Gaping, Bristol accuses, “I thought you would have. You’re the one who’s her goddaughter, for Christ’s sake!”

  I groan knowing there’s no dance class, no choreography on stilettos, no demeaning comment while I’m at her barre that will make up for the fact I didn’t call her last night when all of this went down. Looking at my watch, I mutter, “I’ll call her now. I’m fucked no matter what, but at least she’s not in class yet.”

  Bristol lays a gentle hand on the side of my face before saying seriously, “Make sure you pull your phone away from your ear. You know how she is when she screeches.”

  Good advice.

  Slipping my phone from my jeans, I tap in my godmother’s number. “Linnie, I don’t have time. I’m late for class. Stefano kept me…let’s just say tied up last night.”

  Ew. I did not want to know that. “Veronica…”

  “I hope you’re ready for an intense jazz class today, my darling. I plan on working those thighs…”

  I try to break in. “Veronica…” But she prattles on.

  “Sometimes, I wonder if you’ve been on the stage too long, my darling. Your form used to be better.”

  Finally, I’ve had it.

  “Aunt Veronica!” I yell. There’s dead silence on the other end.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispers. There’s a note of fear now in her voice. I’m not surprised. I haven’t called her “Aunt” since she started denying her age, which was right about the time she divorced her second husband, the godfather I no longer speak to.

  “Mom…” I have to force the words out. “Mom’s in the hospital. She…heart attack. In surgery.” My voice is choked with tears.

  “Where are you?” Veronica demands.

  “NYU. Cardiac Care Unit.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She disconnects the call.

  “I just hope she doesn’t bring Stefano,” I mutter as I slip the phone into my back pocket.

  “Why would she do that?” Simon asks, catching the tail end of my conversation as he comes through the door.

  “Because she’s banging him,” I find a detached sort of amusement as he fumbles handing me my skinny vanilla latte over that announcement. For all his global worldliness, there are just some things Simon can’t process. The antics of my godmother happen to be at the top of the list.

  Bristol laughs. “Did Mom know?”

  I shrug. “No idea. I only found out two days ago when she made me dance with him in class.”

  Simon looks disgusted. “Your sadist godmother—and yes I can say that as I’ve taken her classes—made you do a pas de deux with her lover?”

  For the first time that day, I smile. “What does that make Pasquale for making me kiss my sister’s baby daddy every night?”

  Simon and Bristol exchange a smile before my sister pulls out the hand she’s been sitting on all morning. “Don’t you mean his fiancée?” she whispers.

  My mouth falls open. Shoving my cup on a nearby table, I lunge for my sister to catch her close. “Oh, I’m so happy for you.” The tears that have been trickling since Mom fell in my arms last night start right up again.

  “I decided if I waited for the perfect moment, it might never come. So, I went with the right one,” Simon murmurs. His arms wrap around us both.

  “Mom’s going to be so thrilled.” My ordinarily husky voice sounds shredded, but I don’t care. For one minute in the last ten hours, I’m happy.

  I’ll take it.

  Who knows when I’ll get to feel this way again?

  * * *

  “The surgery was difficult, Evangeline,” Dr. Pilchner runs his hands over his salt-and-pepper hair. “Your mother has significant tissue damage to her heart as well as the blockage to her arteries. If it weren’t for her healthy lifestyle, this would have happened years ago.”

  Bristol’s engagement ring is cutting into my hand. “What can we expect?” I ask bravely when I feel anything but.

  “When you’re able to go into her room, she will be on a ventilator and strapped down for her own safety should she wake up. Please, one at a time except for Bristol; she and her fiancé are permitted to go in together. If anything happens and the medical team comes in, you move out of the way. Immediately.” Pilchner’s voice is firm.

  Veronica comes forward. “How long do you expect her to be in the ICU?”

  “If we’re lucky, four days.” We all gasp. That’s an incredibly long time. “As I said, the damage was extensive.” Suddenly there’s a loud beeping in the room. Pilchner curses and turns. “Excuse me, I would wait, but this is an emergency.”

  “Is it Mom?” I ask fearfully.

  “No” is all he says before he disappears out of the room. I fall into Veronica’s arms while Bristol is swept to the couch by Simon.

  We’re all quiet for a few minutes before I say, “You two should go in first; tell her your news.”

  The fluorescent overhead light glints off the diamond on Bristol’s hand. “Are you sure, Linnie? I mean, if it wasn’t for you…”

  I shake my head. “It wasn’t me operating on her that has her holding on. Take Simon. Go. See Mom. Tell her. Maybe it will help her wake up sooner.” Besides, I want to talk with Veronica about what she knew about my mother’s health.

  There’s an impatient quality to the silence in the room until a fresh-faced young nurse knocks on the door. “I h
ave the doctor’s orders to take a family member down to see Ms. Brogan.”

  I wave toward Bristol and Simon, who are already standing. “Dr. Pilchner said they could go in together,” I tell her with an edge to my voice.

  Checking her tablet, she looks at my sister and says, “Of course. I’m Cara. I’m one of your mother’s nurses on the floor this afternoon. How are you holding up?”

  Bristol answers shakily, “I’ll be better once I can see my mother for the first time in a day.”

  Cara makes an appropriate clucking sound, and they disappear. Once I figure they’re out of earshot, I turn on Veronica like a wolf on fresh meat. “Did you know?”

  Her brows lower in confusion. “Know what?”

  “It was her drinking that made this so much worse.” Veronica’s face pales.

  “You’re kidding, right? Brielle was one of the healthiest people I know.”

  Mentally letting out a relieved sigh, I pull her to the couch and tell her everything Pilchner told us. “You heard what he said, Veronica. She should have been gone by now.” My voice breaks on the last words.

  “Come here, Linnie.” I dive into her arms like I used to do after I didn’t get a role when I was a little girl. “It will all be okay,” she murmurs as she strokes her tiny hands over my long hair. But this close, I can smell memories: the sweet musk of her perfume, the mint of her breath, and the underlying tinge of alcohol. God, it’s like a flashback to sitting in Mom’s lap when I was a toddler. I push away, unable to bear it.

  “It hurts so bad,” I curl into myself as my chest heaves up and down.

  “I know, sweet girl. And just like your mother, you feel so much. You hide it behind this mask.” She brushes her fingers across my cheek. “It makes you so good on the stage and so difficult everywhere else. You don’t release it in quite the same way.”

  I pull out away from her touch. Her fingers fall between us, leaving an awkward silence I don’t attempt to break while I order my thoughts. Finally, I let out a tired sigh. “When did you start again?” I feel like I’ve asked her this question a million times over the years. No matter what, she just can’t seem to stay on the wagon.