42
I stare at Chelsea's phone, hoping she'll call to see if someone has found it. But it remains aggravatingly silent. I've charged it and kept it near me at all times, other than when I'm on stage. Despite my efforts, I still can't get past her security code to find out who she last called, so it lays there useless in my hand.
Did she fly back to Iowa? If she did, why hasn't she called Anna? If Chelsea's goal was to disappear, she's done a damn good job of it. But what if something terrible has happened? New York can be dangerous.
Concentrating on the show is killing me. I can't turn off thinking about her, put her disappearance in a drawer, and pretend it's not tearing me apart. But I have a responsibility to the audience and the other cast members. Both Paige and Wes ask what's wrong. I need to pull myself together.
The next morning, after another miserable night alone, my soulmate missing, I call a few budget hotels to see if she might be registered, but no luck. I stop by our favorite coffee shop, but there's no sign of her.
Forcing myself through another night at work, a call comes through to my dressing room that I have a visitor at the stage door, an unusual occurrence right before curtain. I pray for Chelsea to be standing there. But she's not.
I'm taken aback when I see Dominic. I nearly double over with relief. "You know where she is."
He nods, and all my pent up stress and fear lift. "Thank God. I've been out of my mind."
"I'm sorry, man."
"It never occurred to me that Chelsea could be with you."
"She insisted I not tell you, but she's really sick. She's burning up with fever and mumbling a lot. I fly back to L.A. in the morning and I don't think she should be left alone."
An image of Chelsea alone and suffering flashes in my brain. I need to see her and make sure she's really there. "Give me two minutes. I'll come with you now."
Dominic glances at the people hustling about and looks confused. "But you have a show.”
I try to come up with an excuse to skip out, but can't. I kick the wall.
"I gave her something to help with the fever. I don't think there's anything more you could do right now. I just couldn't put off telling you any longer."
I shove a hand through my hair dislodging my mic. The five minutes to curtain call sounds over the intercom. "Shit!"
How am I supposed to concentrate for the next two and half hours? But I don't have a choice. "The second the curtain closes I'll be there."
Dominic lets me in the apartment, and I follow him to a small bedroom smelling of sweat and sickness. A bedside lamp casts a soft glow. Chelsea is sprawled on her back wearing her skimpy black tank top and panties. My instinct is to block her from Dominic's view. I know he treats her like a sister. Still, it bothers me. Her hair is dirty and the covers are tangled in her legs. The way she lays limp scares the hell out of me.
"She keeps kicking off the covers," Dominic says, reading my thoughts.
Sitting on the side of her bed, I pull the sheet up. She's like a furnace; her breathing is rapid. Dark circles mar the delicate skin below her lashes. I take her hand and she doesn't stir.
"Do you have a thermometer?" I ask, not taking my eyes off her beautiful face.
"I'll look." He disappears.
I touch Chelsea's cheek, her face is rosy with fever and her dry lips are cracked. "Oh, Chelsea, love. I'm sorry." Then I notice the unicorn necklace I gave her. It lays against her heated skin and mocks me. Chelsea is as skittish as the fabled creature.
Dominic returns with a thermometer. I lift her arm long enough to slide the thermometer in place. "You're going to be okay. I'm here," I whisper.
"Mom?" she mumbles.
Dominic and I share a glance. "Shh," I say to soothe her.
She moans, "I want to go home."
My heart breaks.
"I'll give you some privacy." Dominic backs out of the room.
I rest my forehead to the back of her hand, her slender fingers delicate in my grip. The thermometer beeps. I hold it under the light, 103.2. That's really high. The pill bottle is on the nightstand, but the water glass is almost empty.
While in the kitchen for a refill, Dominic is filling a bowl with cold water. "How long has she been like this?" I ask.
"All day. She's been steadily worse since she showed up Tuesday night."
So, she's been here the whole time. I open the freezer and drop ice into the glass. Part of me wants to smack him, but he did finally break his word to Chelsea and come to the theatre.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. She was adamant that she didn't want to see you." He puts a clean dishcloth in the bowl.
"Yeah, I fucked up." I fill the glass with tap water.
Dominic hesitates for a minute. "She told me you left with an old girlfriend. Chelsea didn't think you wanted to see her again."
I hang my head. "Barbie showed up out of nowhere. She dropped a bomb that I didn't expect and then threw herself at me thinking I'd fall for her old tricks. Barbie was a mistake. She was always a mistake. I'll fix things with Chelsea."
Dominic nods and hands me the bowl. "Try to cool her down with a damp washcloth. Maybe it'll help."
"Thanks. I'd like to stay here with her if you don't mind."
"Sure. There are more blankets in the closet if you need them. I fly out early tomorrow, but I talked to my buddy Paul, and you guys are welcome to stay as long as you need.
I nod. "That's great, but if I have anything to do with it, I'll have her home soon."
He nods. "I'll leave keys on the kitchen counter. Good to see you."
"Thanks again." I smile sadly and return to Chelsea.
I brush a strand of hair off her cheek. "Chelsea, honey. I need you to take some Tylenol."
She tosses her head, deep in a faraway place.
I slide my hands beneath her back, it's like slipping them into a hot oven. "Let's get you upright." She's pliant in my arms as I raise her up. "Come on. It'll help you feel better."
Her eyes crack open a sliver. I place the cool glass to her lips. Her hands automatically come up to lift it, and she gulps greedily, cringing after each swallow. She pushes the glass away.
"Good girl. Now give me your hand." I place two pills in her palm, she slowly manages them into her mouth, and I raise the glass again. She drinks deeply, heaving a breath between each gulp.
"That's good." I set the glass down when she's had her fill, pull her close, and kiss her hot forehead. "I'm so sorry."
My voice must have finally registered. Her eyes open but don't focus. "Chelsea, it's all going to be okay," I whisper, but I feel like an ass for making her so miserable she thought the only option was to run.
I lower her back to her pillow and lay the damp cloth on her forehead. "There you go." I dab it over her cheeks and mouth and chin. Her body relaxes. I wring it out again in the cool water then lightly wipe it down her neck and arms.
She doesn't fight me, and honestly, I'm not even sure she's aware I'm here, but her breathing slows, which must be a good sign. I place a fresh cloth on her forehead hoping this will help lower her temperature.
When I heard a bad flu was going around, I had no idea. The last time I fell sick with the flu I was a teenager. I lean forward and brush her hair away from her neck and shoulders. I whisper in her ear. "I love you, Chelsea, from the first day I set eyes on you." She doesn't argue, so I'll call it a victory.