Sydney remembered back when she'd been recuperating in the hospital, trying to keep her spirits up by visiting the other patients. But the one patient she'd missed seeing was the boy whose life she'd saved. So Sydney had arranged a trip--by ambulance--to Harborview Hospital's Burn Center. She'd made arrangements on the phone with Aidan's mother, whom she hadn't met yet either. How was she to know that Rikki Cosgrove had decided to transform the private visit into a media event?
After they'd arrived at Harborview, instead of escorting Sydney to Aidan's room in the ICU, the orderlies took her by wheelchair into the lobby, where two slick-looking hospital PR people met her. They rolled her to the stage entrance of the hospital's small auditorium. Dozens of reporters, photographers, and TV cameramen clogged the aisles and crammed into the first few rows. At least another two hundred people filled the seats. Sydney thanked God she'd had her hair washed recently, and before leaving for Harborview, she'd applied a little makeup and donned a not-too-humiliating, dark-blue sweatsuit. Still, she was wearing a plastic neck brace and one of those halo contraptions with the screws in her forehead. She also had a cast on her right leg, and her arm was in a sling.
Some hospital bigwig with glasses and a blue suit greeted her as she was wheeled onstage. Flashbulbs blinded her, and the audience broke into applause. They even gave her a standing ovation. Sydney worked up a smile, all the while thinking how pathetic she must look in that neck brace. She used her workable arm to wave. Still, it hurt.
The bigwig stepped up to the podium. He talked about Sydney's figure-skating career and what an inspiration she was to so many youngsters. And now she was even more of an inspiration, a genuine hero. The orderly hadn't turned her wheelchair around to face the speaker, and Sydney couldn't move her head to look back at him. So the whole time, she was staring at the audience, trying to smile, and feeling like a total idiot while the man sang her praises. Worse, she desperately had to go to the bathroom. Bladder problems were just one of the many side effects of a spinal injury. She'd thought this would be a ten-minute private visit; and assumed she could hit the bathroom at any time. Instead, she was trapped on this stage with this well-meaning windbag.
The lights dimmed, and two big-screen TVs were rolled out on either side of the stage. The orderly turned her wheelchair toward one of the television sets. They started to play the home video of her rescuing Aidan. Until now, Sydney had managed to avoid seeing the clip.
Sydney watched herself in the slightly shaky, slightly grainy home video. She weaved through the crowd and called up to Aidan Cosgrove. The camera kept tilting up and down--from the boy to her. It pained Sydney to see that poor, sweet handsome boy on that ledge again. A collective murmur and a few gasps came from the audience as Aidan's shirt caught on fire. They gasped even louder as he jumped from the ledge and plummeted down toward Sydney. Her arms were outstretched in an effort to break his fall. She winced at the sight of him crashing down on her. Small wonder they both weren't dead. Sydney could almost feel her bones and organs being crushed all over again.
There was an awkward silence as the video clip ended and the lights came back on. It was like watching the Zapruder film; obviously, no one wanted to applaud. But they didn't even whisper or cough.
"Sydney," the big shot said at last. "There are two people here who would like to thank you for your courage and your selflessness."
The orderly was a bit slow picking up his cues, and she still had her back to the speaker while the bigwig was addressing her. He finally turned Sydney's chair around in time for her to see Rikki Cosgrove emerge from behind the left curtain. Aidan's mother rolled onto the stage in her mechanized wheelchair. It had a small sidecar attachment that held a respiratory device. She took a brief hit of oxygen from a mask, and then set the mask in her lap. Rikki was about forty with a pale, careworn face and coppery-auburn hair that was cut in an unflattering bob with bangs. She wore a shiny lavender and powder blue jogging suit and slippers. She had an anguished look on her face--as if every breath she took hurt. And it probably did, Sydney figured.
Rikki Cosgrove rolled up beside Sydney and rested a hand on her arm--the one in a cast. Aidan's mother had tears in her eyes. Another orderly brought a microphone and set it close to Rikki. Then he lowered the mike so she could make her statement from the wheelchair.
"Sydney," she said, in a strained, almost whiny voice. She seemed to struggle for a breath. "I--I wouldn't be here right now if it weren't for you--and--and your humanity." She took a moment to catch her breath again and then started to cry. "I want to thank you for my life and the life of my son."
Sydney put her hand over Rikki's and squeezed it. The audience cheered and flashbulbs popped. Rikki kissed Sydney's hand and held it to her cheek. Sydney was so overwhelmed, she couldn't speak.
The orderlies wheeled Aidan--in a portable bed--onto the stage. Staring at that poor, damaged little boy, all Sydney could think was: It's too soon for him to be put on display. The white bedsheets covered him up to the waist and he wore no shirt. There were no bandages hiding the horrible burns and blisters on his arms, stomach, and chest. A clear salve coated the blood-red and pink scarred skin, making the wounds look moist and greasy.
Several people in the audience gasped at the sight of this beautiful boy who was so disfigured. He seemed in terrible pain, but managed to give the crowd a brave smile. One of the orderlies grabbed the mike, and held it in front of Aidan. He didn't say anything for a moment. He seemed nervous and scared. Finally, he looked over at Sydney. "Thank you, Sydney Jordan," he murmured. "You're my hero."
The crowd applauded and cheered. One orderly moved the microphone back to Rikki while the other man wheeled Sydney to Aidan's bedside. More flashbulbs popped as she reached over and stroked his brown hair. Some of the hair along his right temple had been burned off and hadn't grown back yet. She could see he was trembling. "I kind of hoped we could get together in private," she admitted, under her breath. "I know you're in a lot of pain, honey. I'm--so sorry. I hope you feel better soon."
"You, too," he whispered. The brave smile ran away from his face. "I really, really tried not to land on you. I didn't expect you to catch me."
"That doesn't matter," Sydney said. "All that matters is that you're alive, and you'll get better soon."
No one else heard what was said between them, because Rikki was addressing the audience. Sydney just heard snippets, something about people touching people's lives. She mentioned how difficult it was raising a child on her own and taking temp jobs. She thanked the hospital for everything they'd done for her and Aidan. But the cost of their medical care would be enormous, and she welcomed donations through the hospital from people who wanted to touch their lives the way Sydney Jordan had. "You can be a hero--like Sydney Jordan," she concluded in her strained voice. "We're not asking for a handout--just a helping hand."
There was a polite smattering of applause from the audience while the orderly whisked the mike away from Rikki and set it in front of Aidan again. He nearly banged the thing against Sydney's halo-encircled head in the process.
Once again, Aidan seemed intimidated by the microphone. "Please, be a hero, and give what you can," he said meekly.
The audience applauded again.
Sydney suddenly didn't like any of this. The poor kid had been fed those lines ahead of time. He was obviously in horrible pain, and yet they'd wheeled him under these hot stage lights to perform--all so his mother could raise money to pay their hospital bills. Sydney realized desperate times called for desperate measures, but her heart broke for Aidan and she felt like a pawn in this whole venture.
The hospital bigwig started speaking again. Sydney waited until they moved the mike away from Aidan. "I don't know about you, but I'm awfully tired," she whispered to him. "How are you doing, Aidan?"
"Everything hurts," he murmured. "I just want to go back to my room."
Sydney still felt the need to rescue him. She touched his cheek, and it felt hot.
"...I'm
sure you'd all like to hear from Sydney Jordan," the hospital's representative was saying. The orderly set the mike down beside her, and readjusted the height level.
She waited for the applause to die down. "Hi," she said into the mike. "I want to thank Aidan and Rikki Cosgrove for coming," she said. "It's wonderful to see Aidan again. He's an incredibly brave young man. I understand his doctors want him back in his room right now. So we're saying good-bye to Aidan and his mom..."
Blinking, Rikki Cosgrove appeared confused--and a bit perturbed--for a moment. But Aidan gave Sydney a furtive, grateful smile. No one on the stage moved.
"So--good-bye for now," Sydney repeated. "I hope we can get together again very soon."
Finally, the orderlies got the hint and started to move Aidan's bed toward the right curtain. With a pinched smile, Rikki waved to the crowd, then turned her wheelchair around and trailed after the orderlies.
"I'm unable to applaud," Sydney said, moving her one good arm. "But I hope you'll give Aidan and Rikki a hand for me--in more ways than one."
A few people in the audience chuckled at her lame pun, and everyone applauded as Aidan and his mother made their exit together.
Once the clamor died down, Sydney made a brief, off-the-cuff speech, thanking everyone for their cards, encouragement, and prayers. She still desperately had to go to the bathroom, so she announced that she was very tired, and quickly wrapped it up.
As the orderly rolled her out stage left, a thin, balding man she'd never seen before approached her. Wearing a cheap pale blue suit, and carrying a clipboard, he blocked their way. "That's not how the program was supposed to go!" he hissed. "Rikki still had another speech to give, and the kid had some more lines. You screwed up the whole thing!"
Sydney just glared at him. "Get the hell out of my way," she growled.
And he did.
She often thought about that guy, though she never saw him again. She wondered if Rikki had hired him to help raise money. That was the only misgiving Sydney had had about donating $25,000 of her book advance to the Cosgroves. Were the funds being well managed?
Though she never got to spend any time with Aidan alone, Sydney could see they were taking good care of him in the hospital. So she recorded a thirty-second radio spot for their charity, the Aidan Foundation. She also--rather stupidly--signed some document allowing them to use her image for the charity. Sydney cringed at what Rikki Cosgrove's reps came up with: a heavily retouched composite, showing her and Aidan. She hovered at his bedside, but they'd altered a photo taken at the Harborview visit-turned-press-conference. Smiling bravely, Aidan was shirtless and scarred. Beside him, Sydney was no longer in a wheelchair. They'd airbrushed out her halo contraption. They also put her face on someone else's body--a model in a figure skater's leotard with miniskirt. It appeared as if she'd briefly stopped skating to pose for a minute with this poor, mangled, crippled child. It was a ridiculous image, and so airbrushed, she almost looked like a cartoon. Sydney had to tell herself if the stupid ad-photo made money to pay for the Cosgroves' medical expenses, why should she care?
While still in the hospital, Sydney worked on her autobiography with a ghostwriter named Andrea Shorey. About fifty, with glasses and wild, curly gray hair, Andrea was very thorough in her research. She discovered that for a while Aidan Cosgrove was a child model, and a successful one, too. "You know the picture of that cute toddler in all the ads and on the sales tags of those kids' clothes, Toddels?" Andrea asked, during one of their editing sessions in the hospital's lounge. "Well, that's Aidan. He's the Toddels toddler. He was a moneymaker for Rikki until the modeling agency called child protective services on her. During a photo shoot, the photographer's assistant helped Aidan change shirts and noticed all these bruises on his back. Rikki's boyfriend at the time was beating him up. It says "father unknown" on Aidan's birth certificate. Rikki's had a history of bad relationships and lousy taste in men. She has also had problems with drugs and booze. Oh, and did I mention that she's still smoking--even with all her respiratory ailments from the fire? Anyway, Mother of the Year, she isn't. Though I understand from the friends and neighbors I interviewed she's been trying to turn her life around these last few months. Do you want any of this in the book?"
"My God," Sydney murmured, "that poor kid."
She felt so horrible for Aidan Cosgrove--and couldn't help being angry at his mother. She hated thinking this way, but if that stupid woman--that crummy mother--hadn't fallen asleep with a cigarette going, none of this would have happened. Sydney wouldn't have ended up in this wheelchair with this halo contraption screwed into her skull.
"Well, do you think we should use it in the book?" Andrea pressed.
"We're going to have to check with Rikki, first," Sydney answered with a sigh. "Painting that kind of picture of her could really sink the Aidan Foundation, which I know is legit. I don't want to be responsible for that."
Rikki allowed them to divulge her struggles with alcohol and drugs, and even provided some candid quotes about those dark days. But she drew the line when it came to any discussion of child abuse, which she insisted never happened.
While the TV movie Making Miracles: The Sydney Jordan Story was in production, Sydney heard from Rikki's lawyer. Rikki demanded a share of the movie-deal money. Sydney's dad was furious. "The nerve of that woman!" he protested. "I can't believe she's asking for another handout. She's got more balls than a Christmas tree, considering her antics are what put you in the hospital for so long."
Sydney settled with Rikki's lawyer, even though Rikki was merely mentioned in the film. As far as Sydney was concerned, it wasn't worth the hassle. The network asked her to make some promotional appearances with Aidan, but the boy was still in and out of the hospital for surgery on his back and skin grafts to repair the scars. Sydney didn't want to put the poor kid on display. Besides, any association with Aidan meant dealing with Rikki, and Sydney was pretty tired of her. She was always seriously ill or in pain, and always needing money.
Sydney wrote to Aidan, but the responses always came from Rikki, usually hitting her up for a favor or more money. Sydney never got a chance to sit down and talk privately to the boy whose life she'd saved.
After marrying Joe and moving to Chicago, she was glad to have Rikki Cosgrove out of her life--even though it meant losing touch with Aidan. But in truth, she'd never really been able to get together with him anyway. Rikki had always been there, running interference.
"...and as you know, my lungs haven't been the same since the fire." Sydney listened to Rikki's weak, nasally drone. "Aidan's coming up from San Francisco to visit me tomorrow. He's been up the last several weekends. I truly think this will be our last visit. I just can't see me hanging on for another week. I'm so--tired..."
"I'm very sorry to hear that, Rikki," Sydney said. Ordinarily, she would have asked the person, "Is there anything I can do?" But this was Rikki Cosgrove, perpetually ill, perpetually manipulative.
Sydney was now sitting on the front stoop with the phone to her ear. A few neighbors had come through the gate and passed by. She'd worked up a smile and nodded at them. But there was still no sign of Eli.
"Sydney, I really need you to do something for me..."
Well, here it is, she thought. "Um, what is it I can do for you, Rikki?" she asked.
"Could you come by my apartment tomorrow? I'd really like you to sit down and talk to Aidan while he's here. I'm so worried about him. He--he says he's doing all right down in San Francisco, but I honestly don't know..."
"How's he feeling? How's his back?" Sydney asked. He'd had two corrective surgeries fourteen years before.
"Oh, his back's much better. He met this woman in San Francisco. She's older. She's become his sponsor or something." There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then some labored breaths. "Um, this woman, she paid for an operation on his back last year--and skin grafts, too. He doesn't have the scars anymore. He--he's his old handsome self--from before the fire, I mean." There was another
pause--with some sickly coughing this time. "Anyway, he wants to be an actor. He's already done a play and some TV commercials. I don't know how steady that line of work is. He could probably use some advice, some kind of direction. I was wondering, since you're on TV...."
"Of course, I'll talk to him, Rikki," she heard herself say. This was one favor she wouldn't mind doing for Rikki Cosgrove. It would be her first real opportunity to sit down and talk with Aidan. "I don't know how helpful I'll be, but I'd be happy to answer any questions Aidan might have."
"Oh, that's wonderful..." Sydney heard some wheezing. "Are you--are you free around one o'clock?"
"Um, I'm not sure yet." She ducked back inside the house and hurried into the kitchen. She glanced around for her address book. "Let me get your phone number, Rikki--and your address while I'm at it." Taking the cordless into her office, she saw her purse by the computer monitor. She fished her address book out of it, then sat at her desk and wrote down Rikki's contact information. As long as she had the book open to the C's, she asked for Aidan's address and phone number, too. Sydney figured it would be nice to connect with him some time--without his mother being involved.
There was a frail sigh on the other end of the line. "Oh, it's a new address, and I'm honestly too weak to get out of bed and look it up right now. You can get it from Aidan tomorrow, when you come by. I'll expect you around one."
"Um, like I said, Rikki, I'll call you back and confirm with you."
Sydney glanced at the clock in her office: 3:20. Still no Eli.
"Rikki, I need to scoot," she said into the phone. "It--it was nice to reconnect with you. I hope you feel better. I'll let you know about tomorrow. Okay?"
"All right, and I do hope to see you tomorrow, Sydney. It's very, very important."
"I'll let you know," she said. "Good-bye, Rikki."
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