Hot Mess (16 page)

"With what?"

Good question. He gestured widely with his hands. "With everything."

"No, I'm not, Sam. I almost died last Friday. I have managed to live all of my adult life with a disease that the general population attaches a stigma to, and the first time I open up to somebody that I like, I screw it up. I either didn't tell you soon enough, or I should have just stayed away from you. Either way, I've taken your choice out of your hands." She stood, awkwardly, with the crutches in her hand. "If you'll excuse me, I've got work to get back to. Call with questions. Or you can email me." She handed him a business card from a pocket of her sweater.

Ask Rachel questions about living with HIV

[email protected]

http://www.remainingrachel.com

Sam looked back up at her. "This is what you do?"

"Yes, ironically, I have a rather large online presence in the HIV community."

Sam was at a loss for words. He was still pissed. He knew it was unreasonable for him to feel that way, she
had
tried to tell him earlier, but she didn't. And because she didn't, he'd almost infected himself. And almost put Amanda at risk. He was still lost in his own thoughts, when she continued.

"The truth is, I probably could have gotten away without ever telling you, as long as my treatments kept working. And we didn't…have sex. But I'm not like that. I wanted you to like me for who I am. All of me. The good and the bad. And the ugly." She turned and hobbled towards the door, a wistful smile on her face.

Guilt wrenched his gut, and he felt pity for her, knowing she would hate it. So he kept those thoughts to himself.

"I'm sorry."

She turned to him, standing on her crutches. "For what?"

"For pushing you. You tried to tell me. I didn't want stop my libido and listen. I'm sorry for that. I put you in an uncomfortable position."

"It is what it is, Sam."

He hated that expression. It implied that nothing could change, and he knew from experience that everything changed. It was inevitable.

He looked at her brown eyes and saw nothing but pain there. Softly, he said, "So, I guess this is it."

She nodded, and Sam left her house without looking back. Before he stepped of the porch, she had shut the door softly behind him. He paused, then kept walking.

Sam felt like there was so much left unsaid, but he couldn't think of what to say. It seemed like the relationship started with Rachel wanting to talk, and now it was ending, and he wanted to talk. He wanted to explain himself somehow, make her understand his feelings. But he wasn't sure of them himself. He did know though, that he couldn't have a relationship with Rachel. And it was killing him.

Back at home, he tried to busy himself to keep his mind from wandering, but it didn't matter what he did to occupy his hands, his mind managed to occupy itself.

Comparisons between Rachel and Marisol were inevitable. He couldn't do it again, not to himself, and certainly not to Amanda. He really liked Rachel and could see himself getting serious with her. She was an amazing woman and would make a great mother to Amanda, but he knew in his heart what it would do to his daughter if she lost another mother. He would do whatever he could to keep her from going through that again.

Amanda and Sophie had become close, though, and the guilt came back when he thought about Amanda's likely reaction to hearing that she couldn't go back to Sophia's house. It was an over-reaction, he knew that. But he had to protect her every way he could. That was a Dad's responsibility.

Sam decided to go online and do some research for himself. He was educated in the risks of blood born diseases. He knew the risks of catching it that way, and he knew that Rachel was extremely careful. The memory of her cutting her finger and bandaging it excessively, then covering it with a latex glove came flooding back to him. Now he understood her refusal to let him help with that.

Sam had always assumed that HIV/AIDS wasn't something that women typically contracted, but the number of female advocates online shocked him. He found a link to Rachel's site almost immediately, but he didn't look at it. Somehow, knowing her as he did made him hesitant to read what she wrote about. What if she wrote about him? He just didn't want to know.

However, HIV wasn't the death sentence that he'd thought it was. People everywhere lived long and healthy lives after diagnosis. He was surprised by the words of encouragement that he read on the forums and the difficulties that people went through just dealing with social stigmas. He read post after post written by people that were judged solely based on their diagnosis.

Ouch.

The fact remained the same. Rachel had a disease that would eventually kill her, and he wasn't about to set his daughter up for that kind of let-down, again. Or put her in danger of contracting it. His head told him he was being stupid, but he couldn't stop the protective impulses that wracked his body.

Shutting down his computer, he told himself he'd take up a new hobby. He'd always wanted to learn how to knap flint. Make arrowheads. Maybe now was the time to go rent a video about it or something.

Anything to fill his time, and keep his mind off the choice he was making.

Mercifully, a knock came at the door, and he opened it to see Juan's wide smile. He rubbed his face, and expelled a deep sigh.

"Hey man! Fishing?" Juan's tone was hopeful, but at the same time, Sam knew he needed to get out of the house, away from things.

"Yeah, let me go get some shoes."

The ten minute drive to the lake Juan fished at was done mostly in silence. It wasn't awkward though. Juan left Sam to his thoughts, and Sam's thoughts left him tormented. He figured Juan brought him out here to talk about Derrick, and Sam wanted to be enlightened, if Juan knew what his deal was. But Rachel consumed him.

The lake Juan fished at was a little ways outside the town's limits. Juan swore it was filled to the brim with crappie, but when Sam questioned him about the time of day, and volume of the music he was playing, it became evident that they weren't there to fish.

"Look man, I just wanted to talk to you about Derrick. I figured this was a good place. You know, away from everything."

"Okay."

Sam was pretty sure the last time he'd been fishing, it had been on the Gulf. He didn't care enough about fishing today to change out his lures. He cast and reeled, just to have something to do with his hands, while Juan fastidiously set up his rod for some serious business. Sam shook his head at the man's effort, as it was clearly the wrong time of day to catch anything.

"Derrick's had a thing for Brenda for ever, man."

"Is that what this is about? I don't have anything going on with her. She works for me." Sam was incredulous. All of Derrick's antagonism was about Brenda?

"Yeah, but he seems to think there's more to it than that. Last year, at the annual picnic, he brought Brenda."

"Well, good for him."

"Yeah, and she went home with JT. They still don't speak."

"Wow. That's pretty messed up."

"Yeah, you would think he'd just get over her. She doesn't want him." Juan's rod was finally ready, and he cast it out. "Except he still wants her, and it's obvious to everybody but her."

Sam was quiet, digesting the information. He recalled the times that Brenda had been a little too friendly with him, the short skirts and shorts she wore, the cleavage she seemed to like to show off.

"She's not my type, man."

"I know that, and I think that deep down, Derrick knows that. But it's killing him to know that she's in your house all day, sleeping there at night. Some emotional shit."

Sam nodded. He thought he might see where Derrick was coming from. If Rachel was spending so much time at another man's house, he'd probably have issues too. Realizing he was thinking about Rachel as his again, he rubbed his face with his hand, hard.

"So what's your problem, man? I know that shit with Derrick isn't what's got you so twisted."

"No. It's not."

"Rachel?"

He sighed. "Yeah. We're not a thing anymore."

"She broke up with you?"

"No, I did it. And I don't want to talk about it."

Apparently, Juan didn't care. "Wow. She cheat?"

Sam bristled in spite of himself. "No, she didn't cheat. She's not the type."

"Well, then what is it?"

"I said I didn't want to talk about it, Juan." Sam cast out again, a little too hard, and the line got tangled. He cursed under his breath.

Juan whistled. "Must be something serious. I thought for sure I was seeing a ball and chain in your future."

Sam uttered a warning growl and cut his line free. Tying the end up, he told Juan, "I'm done. I'm just going to sit back here while you do your thing, but I am not talking anymore."

Juan shrugged, "Whatever man." He cast out again, reeling his line in slowly. "That reporter keeps calling the station, wanting an interview with you. It's pissing off the chief. Maybe you can start something up with her."

"Are you kidding me? Are all the women in this town that desperate?" Sam was losing patience, quickly. This fishing outing was not calming him down at all.

Juan laughed, "Maybe. She seems pretty interested in you though, and not in a professional way. It may be what you need to get Rachel out of your head."

Sam grunted in response, and Juan continued chuckling.

"I'm just saying, man. It may be just what you need."

"Whatever, Juan. Just fish, okay?"

Chapter 13

Pressure will take the path of least resistance within a confined area as it tries to become equalized. If that path leads to more combustible material, the heated air will spread its heat to that substance and permit it to ignite, thereby spreading the fire -- From
Firefighter's Handbook, Essentials of Firefighting and Emergency Response

Warm Spring weather drove people outdoors, as the bluebonnets, azaleas, and dogwood trees awakened. Sam opened his garage door to let the breeze float through while he worked out. His morning runs got longer. He opened his curtains to let the sun shine in, and kept the windows open when he was home to chase out the winter air.

Of course, all this left him opportunities to see his neighbor, whether he wanted to or not.

One particularly sunny morning, when he was rounding the corner closest to his house, coming in from his run, Rachel was outside washing her car, managing on her cast much better than the last time he'd seen her. He was reminded instantly of Cool Hand Luke, not in the way Rachel was dressed, but in his own reaction to her.

She was wearing shorts and a tank top, which showed off the curves he'd once admired. He stumbled briefly in his running, but managed to catch himself before he actually fell. His breath was suddenly harder than it had previously been, and the feelings of guilt returned. Okay, apparently he still admired her curves.

He'd been miserable for weeks after he stopped talking to her in early March. Now, here it was mid April, and every time he saw her he got a lurch in his stomach, and all he could remember about their brief fling was kissing her, and the way he'd left things.

He tossed her a casual wave, then went inside to sit by the window and watch her.

He was glad she was outside. That made it seem like she was doing okay, and he was glad that she was alright. The car was new, for which Sam felt gratitude. At least now she wouldn't be in danger of it breaking down on more railroad tracks.

She was managing to do a pretty good job of staying dry, but when she leaned over to scrub something across the hood, the way she crushed her breasts against the soapy metal made his shorts uncomfortably tight. Then, when she straightened, the wet spot on her tank top was visible from where he sat, and he could imagine her nipples straining into stiff peaks under the layers of clothing.

Groaning, he stood and went into the back of the house to shower, away from the vision.

The next week, he watched her screen in her front porch. It already had pillars up with boards across them horizontally. He watched and chuckled to himself, as she used a hot glue gun and duct tape to attach the screen to the boards. She worked efficiently and managed to get it all done in an afternoon. He wondered if she did it every year, then took the screen down at the end of the summer. The end result was a cozy spot on her porch, where she could sit and not get eaten by bugs. It looked nice.

Yeah, he realized he had become that creepy guy that spies on the neighbor lady, when he caught himself sipping coffee in the chair by the window, watching her weed her flower beds after her morning run.

He didn't care if he was the creepy guy in the neighborhood. He needed to see that she was okay, that she was moving on. Although, it didn't look like she was moving on at all. Sure, she seemed to be functioning. She picked her daughter up at school, she had a new car, her routine seemed to be uninterrupted. But she had lost weight, and she didn't smile much. And thinking that he might be the reason for that made his gut clench.