Close Match Page 5

  Veronica turns away. “Now’s not the time, Linnie. It’s just a little to help calm me down.” Yeah, I believe that like I think I’ll start drinking cilantro smoothies.

  Then again, if it would cause my mother to wake up, I swear I’d swallow those damn things every day and never complain.

  “Was she?”

  “Who?”

  “Mom. Did she start drinking again?”

  “Jesus, Linnie, how can you sit here and ask me that?

  “Because if there’s anyone she’d have taken even a single sip with, it would have been you. You wouldn’t have been angry in the same way we would have.”

  Appeased, Veronica admits, “True. But if she was drinking, it wasn’t with me.”

  Sniffling, I push back. “I’m sorry, but I had to know. Bris will ask…”

  “And you didn’t want her hurt,” she surmises. I nod. Then as a peace offering, I say, “You know if you want Stefano here, you can ask him.”

  As if I’d gone down on my knees and begged for forgiveness for my assumptions, Veronica’s peals of laughter clears the slate between us. “Oh darling, if you think that adorable piece of man meat is going to offer me solace, then you are so wrong. Being near Brielle does that.”

  Reaching out to squeeze her hand, I whisper, “I know.”

  My heart feels lighter now that I know my mother hadn’t fallen back into her alcoholic habits, something that almost cost her everything when I was a young child. Maybe she will pull through.

  Maybe just knowing we’re all here pulling for her will give her star enough energy to brighten again.

  Seven

  Evangeline

  I’m afraid to open the door.

  It’s not like I can’t see into my mother’s cubicle since it’s made of glass, but sliding open the door is taking a level of courage I’m not entirely sure I have. Closing my eyes, I lay my head on the cool glass while I grip the handle tight in my hand. Even when my father was in a little cubicle like this when he died of cancer, I didn’t feel this level of terror. When he passed, all I felt was an overwhelming sadness of a life being cut too short by a disease that wreaked havoc on his body.

  After blinking back the burning in my eyes, I pull the handle. I’m hit with the scent of antiseptic and the persistent monotony of pings from the machines keeping my mother alive. “God, Mom,” I choke out as I quietly close the door behind me. “This isn’t your best look. It won’t go with your new Judith Lieber at all.”

  I want her to sit up and make some smart remark at me. Instead, I take inventory of the incision I can just make out at her collarbone disappearing down beneath her gown that’s loosened at her neck. Wires are attached everywhere, not to mention the IVs. There are two poles pumping fluid into her body, including—I wince—bagged blood. When Bristol asked about it earlier, she was told it wasn’t uncommon for cardiac patients to need some blood as there might be some bleeding due to the internal incisions.

  I’m horrified by the thought my mother could still be bleeding.

  But more than anything, it’s the ventilator making its hiss and sigh sound that’s gutting me. Even though it’s keeping her breathing, that damned machine is stopping my mother from drolly replying to me, “Darling, I had no idea about being sick. Stop making such a big deal about it.”

  At least that’s what I want her to say. The ventilator pushing air into her lungs is preventing her from confirming my suspicions. In the meantime, I weave my fingers through the hand with the least amount of wires and squeeze. Hard.

  “You got a standing ovation last night, Mom. You were—are—brilliant. You’re everything. There was no one on that stage who didn’t see it was the performance of your career. I’ll never play another part I’ll be prouder of than this one.” Lowering my head to the side of the bed, I whisper, “How am I supposed to get back on that stage without you?”

  I don’t get an answer.

  “You and Bris? You’re more than just family; you’re my best friends. You’re two of the people I trust, and in our business, that’s two more than most people have. We’re so blessed, Mom. We have Simon and Bris’s baby coming. We have family, but we need you. You have to…”

  I’m interrupted by a screeching so loud, it mimics the feedback from a microphone gone awry.

  Suddenly, Mom’s twitching on the bed. “Mom? Mom, it’s me, Linnie. Can you hear me?” I squeeze her hand so hard. I have to be digging the IVs in uncomfortably, but I don’t care.

  Maybe she heard me and is waking up.

  The door flies open to her room. Two nurses dressed in dark blue come running in. “Ms. Brogan, please step back.”

  “She’s waking up,” I cry out, overjoyed but confused at the grim expressions on the faces of the people coming into the room.

  Dr. Pilchner strides into the room. Barely sparing me a glance, he barks, “Get her out of here!” to the third nurse who follows after him.

  It’s Cara. “But I want to be here when she wakes up,” I protest. Cara takes my arm. I rip it away. “No! I need to be here, don’t you understand? She’s going to wake up, and I need to be here.”

  Pilchner stops barking orders long enough to come to me. “Evangeline, we have to take your mother back into surgery. Her blood pressure drop indicates there’s internal bleeding I need to see to. Now. I don’t have time for this.” He turns and proceeds to bark more orders.

  I’m numb as Cara leads me down the hall toward the room where my family’s waiting. Finally, I get my wits about me. “Stop. Please stop.”

  “Evangeline…” she starts.

  “I can’t go back in there like this. I…” Spotting the bathroom across the hall, I barely make it into a stall before I begin to vomit. My retching is echoing off the halls, much like Bristol’s does since her morning sickness started.

  “No! No, damnit!” I punch the side of the stall. I hear the door open and close softly. I appreciate Cara giving me my privacy to get this out because I know I have to be strong when I walk back into that room.

  The door opens and closes again. A hand reaches under the stall with a damp towel. “Thanks,” I mutter.

  “I left some mouthwash on the counter for you,” Cara says quietly. “Take your time.”

  Appreciating her calm practicality in a world so completely out of control, I take a few more minutes to make sure I’m not going to be sick again. Pushing myself to my feet, I flush before exiting the stall. On the vanity is a small hospital Dopp kit that contains a toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, moisturizer, and a comb, among other things. Touched by the simple generosity, I avail myself of the oral products to get the bitterness out of my mouth; nothing will get it out of my soul. Meeting my gaze in the mirror, I find it saturated with fear.

  I don’t know if I can walk in there and do this. I’m not acting a role; this is my life.

  I have to. There’s no other choice.

  Gathering up the kit and the stained cloth, I move to the door and open it. Cara’s waiting outside with a bag. “Here, give me that.” She nods at the towel.

  I gratefully drop it in. We begin walking down the hallway toward the room where my family is waiting. Laying my hand on her arm, I whisper, “In case I forget to thank you later, I appreciate all you’ve done. I can’t imagine this is the most rewarding part of your job.”

  Turning, I start to open the door when I hear her say, “No, but moments like this help me get through the others.” Her soft-soled shoes squeak as she moves away.

  The moment I open the door, Bristol jumps up with an eager look on her face. “How’s Mom?”

  Tears flood my eyes. “Not good.” Bristol’s face collapses.

  “Shit,” Simon bites out.

  Veronica’s lip trembles.

  Taking a deep breath, I tell them what happened. In the end, we’re all holding each other up, but we’re missing an important piece.

  Mom.

  * * *

  Hours later, Dr. Pilchner comes into the room with a defeat
ed look on his face. My heart cracks wide open and is bleeding as surely as Mom’s was.

  “I’m so sorry,” he croaks out. Veronica grips my hand as Bristol falls sobbing into Simon’s arms. “We couldn’t get her stable again. There was too much damage.”

  It’s Simon who asks, “Can you leave us for now, Doctor? We may have questions later, but right now, we need to be alone.”

  “Of course. Just have me paged when you would like to speak with me. Again, I’m so terribly sorry.”

  I can’t care about how he’s feeling. The tidal wave of pain is crushing as I realize this hurt will never go away.

  Mom will never be able to walk my sister down the aisle. Bristol’s baby will never get to be loved by its nana. I’ll never again hear stories of her and Veronica on the road in their early days as dancers. She’ll never get to buy another ridiculous purse or goad Bristol and me into trying some ridiculous restaurant she saw on Food Network.

  Broadway will never be the same ever. The lights will come down not only on the theater but in my heart.

  Brielle Brogan is dead. Legend, friend, but most importantly, mother.

  It’s with this thought I break down, my hysterical tears matching those of my sister’s.

  Eight

  Montague

  Inova Schar Cancer Institute, in Fairfax, Virginia, is a state-of-the-art cancer center. With a team of nationally renowned doctors and genetic counselors, the treatment plan they’ve had Ev on for his chronic myeloid leukemia has held him in this static state for more than two years. Two years I’ve been grateful for every moment not only so I could try to get my shit straight, but it’s afforded me time to make critical decisions—the biggest one being move back to the farm. This way Mom doesn’t have to watch Ev suffer through this fucking disease alone.

  We’re waiting while Ev’s getting his blood drawn, and she gasps.

  “What? What is it?”

  Mom’s scrolling through a news site on her iPad. “Remember that show we saw on Broadway last week?”

  “Of course. You haven’t stopped making my ears bleed by trying to sing like the lead since,” I gently tease.

  She whacks me in the arm. “Cute, Monty. The woman who played the part of the mother died.”

  That gets my attention. “Seriously?”

  “Yes. It says she had sudden cardiac troubles and passed away a few days later. I feel terrible for her family.” I sling my arm around Mom’s shoulders. She has such a huge heart, I think fondly. Dropping a kiss on her head, I murmur, “That’s horrible.”

  “It is,” she agrees. She opens her mouth to add more when a pale Everett steps through the door. I shoot to my feet to grab hold of his arm.

  “What did the vamps do this time? Take a gallon of blood instead of a pint?” I try to make a joke as I guide him to the chair I was sitting in.

  “Feels like it, son. That it does.” Mom looks at him fearfully. “I just got dizzy standing, Char. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Okay, my love. I won’t worry until we talk with the doctor.” She lays her head on his chest.

  I hope this is a side effect from the meds and the doctor can prescribe something else so Mom can go back to her usual level of fussing and Ev can go back to being…Ev.

  Over the years, I’ve found it’s hit-or-miss on whether hopes and dreams are granted. It’s worse than luck. It’s why I’ve always tried to make sure I had something stronger at my back.

  A way to fight back.

  * * *

  There’s no way to fight the news Dr. Spellman’s throwing at us.

  “Right now, you’ve moved into an accelerated phase, Everett. We’re going to keep up your inhibitors, but we need to start searching the database for a donor.”

  Ev glances at my mother before saying, “You’re concerned though.”

  Spellman sighs. “I am. You have a rare blood type, and it’s one of the main factors we use in HLA—human leukocyte antigen—matching. It’s going to be more difficult to match you than some of my other patients.”

  Crap. Even as I think that, my mother’s iPad clatters to the floor. “What can we do?”

  “You said you weren’t in touch with your family?” Spellman asks Ev.

  He nods. “I haven’t spoken with them in more than thirty years. Hell, I don’t even know if any of them are still alive.”

  Spellman is brutal. “You have the resources, Ev. Find them. See if one of them is willing to be a donor.”

  Mom jumps in. “I thought the next level of treatment was a stem cell transplant—where we take Ev’s cells and…”

  “For CML, we prefer to take the cells from a donor. Otherwise, we could just be putting a Band-Aid on a bullet wound,” Spellman says bluntly. Mom’s face falls.

  I want to punch Ev’s doctor in the face half the time, but he gets results. “We can start looking for them tomorrow, Ev. I still have markers I can call in.” It seems like forever ago, my life as a federal agent. I look back at that time through a haze of pain now rather than the pride with which I accepted the badge. But in truth, I’d endure my final weeks as an agent over again in a heartbeat for a miracle match.

  I can’t imagine it would be hard to track down Ev’s family. Maybe it’s crossing a few ethical lines, but frankly, I’ll do whatever I have to. I don’t care if I have to wake up every night unraveling even more than I already am if I can help the man who’s loved me unconditionally since we met. I’d live with a million more regrets than the one that persistently haunts me. Maybe by helping Ev, it will negate the shot I didn’t take—the life I couldn’t save.

  How am I supposed to atone when I’m never given a chance for redemption?

  But Ev’s already shaking his head, “I can just hire someone, Monty.”

  Even as my heart shrivels up a little at hearing this, I lean forward. “Let me do this for you. It won’t take long.” If there’s anything to find, it should take a day—two at most—to find Ev’s family.

  “We’ll talk about it later.” He reaches over and squeezes my hand. His attention shifting back to his doctor, he asks, “What do I need to do in the meantime?”

  Spellman starts giving a list of directions. Mom leans down to get her iPad so she can take notes. I begin making mental lists of the people I can call to get the ball rolling.

  Because we’re not losing Ev. No matter what I have to do.

  * * *

  Once we’re back at the farm, I saddle up Hatchet and begin to ride.

  There’s one good thing about being home full time. I reach down and pat my horse’s neck gently. She whinnies in response. I know we could make this climb to the top of the mountain blindfolded; we’ve taken it so many times.

  Slowly, we climb taking our time navigating the well-worn path. I don’t want to be at the barn answering a million questions, and I want to give Mom and Ev the time they need at the house. It seems like the only gift I can give anyone right now is distance. And to be honest, I need it myself.

  My eyes are drawn to the leaves of the trees around me; the blend of color matches Ev’s eyes. I’ve seen him in so many different moods growing up: amusement, pride, anger, fear. He’s gone from being my stepfather to my best friend. The shaft of pain that slices through me is unlike anything else I’ve ever felt. I could be seventy-five and hearing this news and feel the same way. It’s a hole in my soul that’s not getting sealed, no matter how I try to fill it.

  Hatchet sidesteps. I quickly adjust the reins. “What did you see, girl? A mole or something?” Of course, she doesn’t answer me back. If she did, then I’d have a lot more to worry about than the persistent sleepless nights I endure due to my nightmares.

  Only, in my case, they’re just nocturnal regrets.

  A man can only believe he’s forgiven for his mistakes when those he’s wronged actually forgive him, I think dispassionately. No matter what my job said, they can’t absolve me from the guilt consuming me. I thought dealing with that was the worst thing to happen.

>   That was until I got the news about Ev. It was like a one-two hit to my soul.

  I’ve learned there’s only one thing worse than the first punch of hearing someone you love is dying. It’s the repeated slaps of hearing the words “I’m sorry” out of every person’s mouth when they hear the news.

  Pain and shame have no place here, not when I’m expected to be the strength everyone needs to get through. I reach the pinnacle of the mountain and look back at the home Ev built for Mom and me. I know they’re waiting for me in the inky darkness of night, but then—then it’s on me to handle them. Not anyone else. Pain and shame may show me no mercy.

  Just as long as they give it to my family.

  Nine

  Evangeline

  The lights are dim in the theater. I’m sitting in the third row, remembering the first time I ever saw my mother onstage performing. Picking up the bottle of club soda tucked into the chair next to me, I take a long pull before putting it back down and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

  I can still see the way her feet darted across the boards as she made her cue. Her voice soared. It would hover in the air delicately before it ripped the hearts out of each patron in the seats.

  Miss Me was shut down for a week before Simon’s and my understudies stepped up to bat. Almost two weeks have gone by, and it’s still impossible to imagine getting back up on that stage without her. If it were up to me, I’d never step foot up there again. Except, I can hear Mom in my ear telling me I have to. Too many people depend on me for me to just walk away like I want to.

  A hand lands on my shoulder. Shifting in my seat, I find Pasquale standing behind me. “What can I do?” he asks.