Hot Mess (22 page)

"The words the reporter used were, they 'want to do a story on my activism.' But the questions she asked were anything but. It's going to be a disaster. The whole reason I live here was, it is a small town with a wholesome community to raise my daughter in and most everybody minds their own business, unless there's a juicy scandal. And I've been very careful to keep my daughter away from scandal. I never thought I would have to defend my past to the press."

Sam sat down next to her, and stroked her back, trying to be reassuring. "There's got to be privacy laws against stuff like that, aren't there?"

"Not really. As long as what they print is true, there's no law against it. It's unethical as hell, though." She sniffed weakly, and Sam couldn't hold back anymore. He hadn't held her since that night of the Fireman's Ball, and he'd missed her. Like a man in the desert missed water.

He gave in to his need and pulled Rachel into an embrace, enveloping her in his arms, kissing the top of her head, inhaling her smell. He felt her trembling relax and felt her breathing slow. When she had settled down a little, he asked her, "How are you feeling? Physically? Are you better?"

He felt her nod against his chest. "Yes, much. The soup you sent this morning was good, but I must admit, I'm ready for regular food. I think I might actually cook dinner tonight."

"Why don't you come over to my house for dinner? Brenda cooked something, and it looked like there was plenty."

Rachel looked up at Sam, and the eagerness in her eyes, tinged with trepidation sent his guilt level rising. He'd hurt her with his rejection. He knew it, and he also knew she was probably gun shy with him. But the look of hope in her innocent face made him want to kiss her senseless. But he didn't. This time he would do things right.

"I'm not sure. I don't think Brenda likes me much."

"Brenda is supposed to be going home. She won't be there. Come on." He threw her his most charming grin. "Please?"

"Okay. Let me change clothes, first."

"You look fine, Rachel. It's my house, not a restaurant. Sweats are in dress code." He watched her as her gaze traveled to his bicep, eyeballing the tattoo on it. Her fingers reached up and traced the outline.

"What?" He asked, ignoring the shiver that raced up his arm at her touch.

"I've been wondering about this." Her eyes never left the drawing of a flame on a dark background. A symbol of his commitment to saving others.

"What did you wonder?"

"What it was, mostly. I've never seen it clearly." She looked like she wanted to say more, but blushed instead. He found the sudden color on her cheeks most attractive.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

He looked at her. Her eyes still showed evidence of tears, but they were dry. The honest question shone brightly in her eyes, and he wondered how he ever could have let this woman go.

"Because I made a mistake, and I'm trying to make it better. I don't know how I could have ever done what I did to you, and I'm sorry. I am trying to start over here." He gave her a lop-sided smile, hoping to loosen her up a little bit.

"You want to have…a…relationship with me?" She looked like she didn't believe that it was possible.

"Didn't I tell you that the other day? In your bedroom?"

"Yeah, but I don't know how much of that was pity."

He grasped her face in both of his hands and pulled it directly in front of him. Her startled exhalation of breath was sweet on his face. "Rachel. I like you. A lot. I don't make up stuff like this for women." Her eyes widened, and his earnest image reflected back at him in the irises. "I want to have a relationship with you. And Sophie. I was thinking today how much fun Christmas will be this year with all of us." He kissed her then, a virtuous kiss. "But I want to do it right this time. All the talking up front. Before we do anything. I want you to be totally comfortable with me."

Rachel nodded her head, still between his hands, but he wasn't finished.

"I haven't been happy these past few months without you. Have you?" She shook her head, weakly. "Then can we start over?" She nodded again, and to his dismay, tears pooled up in her eyes.

"What? Don't cry. This is good, isn't it?"

Rachel nodded again, tears spilling out, and Sam pulled her back into his chest. "Why are you crying?"

"Chicks cry. Just let me have a minute." She buried her face in his chest, and he could feel her inhale deeply.

He held her, helplessly, until she had composed herself. She was right. Chicks did cry and for all kinds of reasons. He could only hope that Rachel was crying because she was happy, and not because there was another bombshell for him to get over. A panicky thought struck him.

"Um…Rachel?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

"You don't have anything else to tell me, do you? Like, you’re a body-snatcher or something like that?"

She laughed against his chest and shook her head. "No, Sam. I'm not a body-snatcher. Or anything else like that."

"Good, then let's go have dinner. I'm hungry."

From the
Serendipity Herald
:

Rachel Fairchild, an online advocate for AIDS, lives in Serendipity, Texas, and is HIV positive. Her website, remainingrachel.com, tells a personal story of teen pregnancy, familial rejection, and secrecy, while attempting to offer answers and support to others with the disease. She posts blogs daily, as well as answers questions posed by readers.

Her blog posts deal mostly with her daily life with AIDS, while she answers all kinds of questions ranging from "I've been diagnosed, what now?" to "Should I use a condom?" However, she refuses to answer the big one: How she contracted the disease.

Fairchild also does work for our local Health and Human Services office on a contractual basis, including seminars on STDs and their prevention, passing out condoms and doling out advice on sexual health. In addition to her work, she is also active in the Parent Teacher Association at Serendipity Elementary, where her daughter attends school.

Rachel sat in the cheaply upholstered seat in the principal's office, face burning in mortification.

"Ms. Fairchild, we want to thank you for coming to visit us this afternoon. We had a few questions for you, in light of things that have been brought to our attention recently."

"The newspaper article, you mean." It had run yesterday, without most of the information that Rachel had given the reporter and with a lot of conjecture and falsely drawn conclusions. The article said she had AIDS, not HIV, and had never made the distinction between the two. Rachel had written a scathing letter to the editor, calling the article libelous, but it hadn't run yet.

"Yes. First of all, I wanted to make sure you knew everybody here."

"Yes, ma'am. I know you all." In addition to Mrs. White, the principal, there was also Mrs. Lightfoot, Sophia's homeroom teacher, and Mrs. Swanson, the school nurse.

"We just need to make sure of some things, to insure the safety of our students. We've had some concerned parents call today."

Rachel was screaming as many curse words as she could come up with inside her head. She already had a call in to the American Civil Liberty Union to talk about whether her privacy had been breached by the article. As far as she could see, there was nothing newsworthy about it.

"I will answer any questions you have, Mrs. White."

"Good. Now, are you in fact HIV positive?"

"Yes, but Sophie is not. I am being treated by a wonderful physician, and the treatments keep my viral loads at undetectable levels. As long as Sophie doesn't bring a vial of my blood to school within an hour of drawing it, and injects it into another student, your kids should be safe." She laughed ruefully.

Mrs. White pursed her lips in disdain. "Do you take the proper precautions to insure the safety of your daughter?"

Rachel's spine stiffened with indignation. "Do you question each parent individually on whether or not they take proper precautions to insure the safety of their children? Or am I a special case?"

"Certainly not, Ms. Fairchild. But AIDS is an epidemic in our country, and we have to insure the welfare of the students in this school."

"I don't have AIDS, Mrs. White. I am HIV positive. There is a difference. Now as to the welfare of your students, they are fine. I'm not irresponsible. I am as healthy as possible, I keep a clean house, I am CPR and First Aid certified with barriers, I have done everything physically possible to not spread this to anyone, especially Sophie."

"I understand, Ms. Fairchild, and we aren't trying to point any fingers."

"That's not my perception of the situation." Rachel was proud of the calm that her tone radiated, while inside she was crumbling.

"I'm sorry you feel that way. We just need to make a few adjustments to things to alleviate any discomfort the other parents may be feeling." Mrs. White steepled her fingers on her desk.

"What do you mean?"

"We will be sending home a letter to the parents of our students, informing them that a parent they have been in contact with is HIV positive."

"That's a violation of my privacy! I'm not some sort of sex offender, Mrs. White. You can't do that!" Despite her best efforts, Rachel's voice rose. This was ridiculous.

"It's in the best interests of everyone involved, and necessary for students that have been exposed to a communicable disease. We would send the same letter home if you had hepatitis. I am terribly sorry about your condition, but we must protect our students." She didn't sound the least bit sorry.

"That's bullshit and you know it, Mrs. White." Rachel stood, hands on her hips. "If one word is printed for distribution to parents about my 'condition', as you so tactfully put it, then I will sick a lawyer on this school district. Got it?"

"Our district's lawyers have agreed that this is the only way you can be in the general student populace."

"That's a blatant act of discrimination, and I'm ashamed on your behalf, Mrs. White. Try it, and see what happens. I'll have lawyers from the ACLU her so fast it'll make your head spin." Rachel spun on her heels and stomped out of the office, slamming the door behind her.

In her car, she threw her purse against the dashboard in frustration, watching as everything inside of it futilely spilled to the floor. She banged her fists on the steering wheel, earning herself a bruised hand in the process.

This was only the latest in a string of events that she was sure wouldn't stop for a little while. Certainly not until another piece of fodder for the rumor mill showed up, or Rachel took Sophia and moved away.

Earlier today at the diner, she'd been given a plastic spork, instead of real utensils. A group of women had crossed the street to get away from her downtown, when she'd gone to visit the bookstore, staring at her and whispering to themselves the entire time.

One woman at the grocery store had been brave enough to corner her. "Are you gay? I didn't know that lesbians could get AIDS."

The woman spit out her poison and ran. She couldn't get away from Rachel fast enough.

Rachel hit the button on the automatic windows, and watched as they lowered. She turned the radio on to the classic rock station, hoping for something angry and loud. But no, what she got was America. Shuddering, she listened to the plaintive guitar riffs of a song about death. Tears blurred her vision as she drove out of the parking lot and went home.

There was a rental car in her driveway, a taupe Bonneville, and Rachel parked next to it, curious. She didn't see anybody at first, but as she neared to porch, she could see a shape sitting on a chair through the screen.

"Hello?" She asked tentatively.

The shape didn't move, but she heard a weak, "Hey, Rach."

Rachel froze, and sifted through her memory banks. "Kyle?"

"You got it, babe." That low, guttural voice was the same and brought back fond memories of high school, before the diagnosis. Back when her life was normal.

She ran up the porch steps, and threw open the screen door, only to be stopped short by the emaciated frame and grayish pallor.

"Oh."

He chuckled softly. "Yeah, oh."

Rachel didn't know what to say. Kyle used to be tall and big and healthy. He was a linebacker on the high school football team, for crying out loud.

"You know, Rachel, you look real good. I'm glad."

"I thought I got it at a party in college."

"Afraid not, honey." Sadness laced his voice.

"Oh, Kyle." She ran to him, and fell to her knees in front of him, hugging him ferociously. A series of emotions coursed through her, anger, sadness, and regret. "What happened to us?"

He was silent for a while, before speaking, as if gathering his thoughts, although Rachel knew that this was why he came here. Rachel had heard of some AIDS victims who made a final pilgrimage to confront loved ones from their past, but had never actually
known
someone to do it. It seemed to help some victims gain closure and to deal with their mortality.