Steady as the Snow Falls (14 page)

Beth smiled at her mom’s proclamation. Knowing she had her support made her feel better.

They finished their lunch with little talk, and once the dishes were washed and put away, Beth turned to her mom. “Dad still keeps all his sports magazines, right?”

“Yes.” Her mom sighed and hung the dishtowel on the oven handlebar. “You know what a packrat he is. They’re all downstairs in the den. Why?”

“I was just curious about how far back they go. Is it okay if I look around?”

She eyed Beth, her expression saying she was suspicious of her daughter’s words. Everyone who knew Beth knew she didn’t care about, or know anything about, sports. “Sure. Good luck making your way around the room. He has boxes and boxes of them. Shelves even. Everything is categorized by year and sport, if that helps.”

Beth gave her mom a brief hug, smelling cleaning solution and hairspray on her. “Let me know when you’re leaving if I’m still down there and I’ll make sure I lock up when I go.”

Her mom murmured acknowledgment, watching Beth with narrowed eyes as she walked the length of the carpeted hallway. Beth opened the door that went down to the den in the basement and her dad’s sanctuary in a house that was otherwise designated as her mom’s. Turning on the light, she started down the steps.

It was cooler in the basement, the main room dreary with its cement floor and half-finished walls. The downstairs smelled of dust and staleness, the chill in the air weaving its way through her. Finishing the basement was one of her father’s never-ending projects. He complained that he’d finally get it the way he wanted, and then he’d die. Which could explain his procrastination.

Die.

Death.

Harrison.

The words echoed through her mind, growing in volume and urgency. As far as she knew, his death was not coming anytime soon, and yet it felt like there was a shadow of it hovering just the same. Beth went still, forcing thoughts away from Harrison. Again. And then they went right back to him anyway. Her brain seemed to be hardwired to him.

Everything reminded her of him or made her think of something that pertained to him. There he was, alone in his house in the country, surviving. Enduring. He acted like he wanted it that way. Beth didn’t accept that. What did he do for fun? What did he do to keep the insanity of his illness at bay? Did he allow himself to hope, to wonder, to dream? What brought him joy?

No one should live without some kind of happiness.

How many times had he smiled?

Not enough.

How many times had he laughed?

Not enough.

The walls shrank on all sides of her as she moved around boxes, totes, and rarely used exercise equipment, squeezing in on her like a blackened organ with her standing in the center of it. It was a warning to distance herself from Harrison, but she didn’t know if she was able to heed it. Beth sighed, deciding it was time to be honest with herself.

She didn’t want to distance herself.

There. It was out. Unable to be ignored.

Admitting it to herself was opening a virtual gate to invite in other truths. Like how she admired the vibrant shade of his hair, that it reminded her of fire. How she liked to look into his dark eyes that saw too much, seemed too old, and were trying to hide from her. How her breaths couldn’t function right and her palms turned damp as she thought about his lips and wondered how they would feel.

“Shit.” Beth closed her eyes, not sure she was ready to admit quite that many things.

Something shot through her, pushed back her shoulders, added grimness to her lips and determination to her frame. Harrison thought he had to deal with HIV alone. That was his first mistake. He didn’t. Beth could help him, be a friend. He needed a friend.

The den was through a doorway with no door, a large space that smelled faintly of cigars and her dad’s cologne. It was a dark room, decorated in black and brown. A man cave, as her dad liked to proudly call it. Benny’s and Jake’s various athletic trophies were set up in a bookcase. A spattering of Beth’s awards were among them, but hers were for Forensics, Solo Ensemble, dance competitions, and poetry contests.

She trailed her fingers over the frame of a picture taken of them all when she was thirteen, and smiled at the memory of that day. It was Jake’s sixteenth birthday, and he took the family car without asking, thinking he was entitled to it since he had his driver’s license. The picture was taken after he got back from the store, and his misery showed in the scowl on his face. He wasn’t allowed to drive anywhere for a month after that. He acted like his world was over. It was nice having older siblings as role models on how to not behave.

Her hand fell away, and Beth turned, not sure where to start. Her mom was right—there were magazines and other sports paraphernalia covering just about every inch of the room. The task could easily overwhelm her if she let it. Taking a breath, she searched her dad’s handwritten stickered labels and found the football section on one of the shelving units. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but Beth couldn’t shake the sense of urgency that she must find something on Harrison. She wanted to hold his history within her hands.

The magazines blurred into one another, and when she finally came to one that featured Harrison on the cover, Beth flinched and dropped it. Carefully lifting it like one wrong move would cause it to burst into flames, she took the magazine and sat down on the old and lumpy loveseat, her back twinging when she moved wrong. The journal was cold against her fingertips.

Wrapping an old blue, musty smelling blanket around her shoulders, Beth stared at his face with its cut cheekbones and firm mouth. Harrison’s red and gold hair was styled with the top in orderly disarray, and short sideburns lined the edges of his face. His jaw was hard with determination, his dark eyes alive and confident. The image exuded power and strength. A choked sound left her, and she traced a trembling finger down the side of his face. Beth hugged the magazine to her chest and focused on the television across the room, trying to calm an unstoppable need.

I’m too interested in him. I care too much. This isn’t good.

It was of no consequence.

“Feelings cannot be decided by time,” she whispered to herself.

She opened the publication to the right page, and she read about Harrison Caldwell. He studied forest management in college and hoped to work in an outdoor capacity once he retired from playing professional football. His hobbies included hiking, canoeing, and camping. A dream of his was to hike the Appalachian Trail. Long-term goals included having land in the country with his family and spending as much time outside as he was able.

“Beth? What’s got you so upset?”

Her head shot up, and Beth looked at her mom, unaware that she was crying until one warm tear slid down her cheek. “Nothing. I’m fine.” She closed the magazine and set it on the couch beside her.

“Are you sure?” Her mom had exchanged her shabby clothes for jeans and a light blue sweater. She walked to the couch and sat down, picking up the magazine as she did so.

“I just…I was thinking of Ozzy.” The lie felt thick on her tongue, and Beth’s stomach roiled in response.

“Don’t waste any more of your tears on that boy,” she quietly chastised, putting an arm around Beth.

“I’m working on it.” That much was true.

Her mom flipped the magazine to the front and frowned. “Such a tragedy. Your father and I saw him play once, when he was just starting out.”

Beth looked over her arm, pretending to not recognize the man on the cover. The pounding of her heart said she did. “Harrison Caldwell.”

“You know I’m a fan of sports as much as your dad and brothers. I never saw someone before him play with such spirit. He was an amazing football player. He moved across the field like smooth water. Hardly anyone ever caught him, or took him down.” Her mom stood and put the magazine back in its spot among the others. “Why are you interested in Harrison Caldwell?”

“I’m not,” Beth quickly told her, getting to her feet.

The look she gave her daughter said she was smarter than Beth thought she was.

“I saw something about him online, and…it made me curious.” She shrugged, looking down at the thick gray carpet.

“I see.” She waited, but when Beth said no more, she walked toward the doorway. “Well, I’m off to the shop. We’ll see you next week? Come by Wednesday night if you can, just to say hi to your brothers and their families.”

“Yeah. I will.” Beth paused, looking at the place where a small part of Harrison was forever entombed. Would she come back here one day, and only have a magazine photograph and article to remind her of the man? A fresh set of sorrow flowed to the surface of her eyes.

“Are you coming, Beth?” her mom called from the other room.

“I’ll be right up,” she whispered, wiping at her eyes.

SEVEN

THE NEXT TWO days began with a text from Harrison, AKA Butt-monkey, as his contact was designated in her phone, telling her to take the day off. Thursday she was irritated and didn’t respond, but by Friday she was worried. He had to be fairly okay, since he was able to text her, but what if he was sick from being out in the cold so much earlier in the week? Why didn’t he want her to come over? Why was she letting it get to her?

Beth paced around her bedroom with her cell phone in hand, torn between ignoring him again and driving over to his place. She settled for plopping down on the bed and sending back a text message.

What’s going on? Why do you keep telling me to not come over?

I do not owe you an explanation.

“Pompous assed butt-monkey,” she muttered, texting back another message.

You sort of do; I’m being paid to write your book.

You’ll get paid.

Beth angrily pressed on the keys, sighing heavily as she waited.

That’s not the point.

She hit the send button and typed out another text.

Are you okay? At least tell me that. Please.

It was a long, nerve-wracking minute until he responded.

Yes.

Beth blew out a shallow breath of air and let herself fall back onto the unmade bed. The cell phone dropped from her hand and thumped to the carpet. She closed her eyes and rubbed her face, exasperation and concern making her skin flushed and her stomach sick. Her world was presently lopsided. She shouldn’t be at her house—she should be at his. Beth liked spending time with Harrison. She liked leaving her world to be a portion of his. Part of her wanted to push him, part of her wanted to nurture him. All parts of her wanted to see him happy.

“So you’ll take the day to try to write. Again. And maybe you’ll have better results than the past two days,” she told herself.

Beth was on the work schedule at The Lucky Coin tomorrow and Sunday, therefore, if she wanted enough time to construct the words necessary to make a story, today was the day. It was a good thing Harrison wasn’t paying her by word count.

But before she could write, she had to get rid of some of her pent up energy.

Putting on a pair of black yoga pants she’d had for years and a yellow racerback tank top, Beth twisted up her hair in a messy bun and turned on loud, angry music in the living room. From watching her parents playfully sing and dance on a daily basis as far back as she could recall, music and dancing were ingrained in her at an early age, and Beth needed it. Watching them made her happy as a child, and she wanted to embrace that joy. Bestow it upon others. Songs broke her, healed her. Gave her meaning.

Music was power. Music was life.

She stood still and let the song wrap around her, tightening her muscles until she either had to move or combust. The bass and drums throbbed in her ears, woke up the dormant side of her that was spontaneous and carefree—the side she’d repressed for so long she’d forgotten it was there. The side of her Ozzy never understood, and so she hid it. Beth felt it stirring while in Harrison’s presence, and she unleashed it in the solitude of her home. She spun around, arms overhead, head flung back. She turned in a circle until she was dizzy, and her throat was parched.

Beth felt invincible.

Certain areas of the one-bedroom home were drafty, but as she bounced around and bobbed her head up and down, Beth quickly worked up a sweat. She was ablaze. Her pulse moved with the tempo, her heart jumpstarted to fuel the gasoline of her motions. She was reborn in the music, laughing at the thought of someone seeing her head banging and doing air kicks. Beth closed her eyes and sang with System of a Down, grabbing her face and sinking to her knees.

She
was
the music.

The song ended, and out of breath and feeling less troubled than she had in months, Beth stretched out on the floor and waited for her body to calm. Her heartbeat was in her ears, her pulse streaming through her veins. She missed dancing. She missed herself.
You have her back. Now do something with her
, she told herself, and Beth laughed again.

Beth showered and dressed in purple leggings and a white long-sleeved top. With an apple and a cup of coffee sitting beside her on the end table, she opened up her laptop from where she sat on the couch and let inspiration take her away. It was a new, undiscovered world. Barren. Cold and empty. But as she wrote, it turned into something. Still dark, still mostly unknown, but alight with shards of loveliness. They glistened like mammoth-sized icicles in a frozen cave, twinkles of color in a white surrounding. It was Harrison’s world, and it was strikingly wonderful, simple as it was.

Images and thoughts of Harrison swirled around her as she typed. The hours blurred, time was irrelevant, indistinct in the face of the pages as they grew. Darkness came, and still she composed. At one point, she made toast with honey. Another time, she put on a sweatshirt to block out the chill running through her.

She wrote of his dark eyes, and of the weight they seemed to carry. How his voice was deadly, even while not cruel, because it spoke plainly, honestly. It was unforgiving. It did not apologize; it meant everything it said. His inner strength that told his body to suck it up, that he was not going to be told what he could or could not do. Beth noted his rapture with music, how the melody pulled and swayed him. He thrummed with song, even when there was none. It was in his walk, in his voice, in his eyes.

Harrison was ill, but when she looked at him, she saw a man who acted as if he was immortal. 

It was past midnight when she stopped writing, and as Beth shut down the laptop, her eyes and limbs were heavy. Her breaths left her, shallow and shaky, and she raised her hands to her face, watching how they trembled. Beth squeezed them into fists, the appendages stiff and cold. She was already too close to Harrison, and she wanted to be closer. She wanted to be flush with him, her heartbeat in sync with his.

She went to bed with his black fire eyes licking at her brain and heart. Harrison was in her head. He governed there. She fell asleep to his scent wrapped around her in a suffocating embrace, smoky and thick. Beth dreamed of Harrison, pale and harsh and intense. His mouth was pure heat as it scorched her skin. Dark with a sickness he couldn’t outrun. It wanted to control him, and he effortlessly controlled her. Beth was swimming in black, and she inhaled it, knowing it would burn. Wanting to feel it anyway.

WHEN SHE AWOKE the next morning to singing birds, Beth opened her eyes and focused on the ceiling. The birds sounded like they were in her room, or in her mind. Fluttering through her thoughts with their small but strong wings. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d dreamed the night before, but she felt drained. Full. Harrison had invaded her existence while she slumbered and fixed himself deep in her soul.

Something monumental altered in her thoughts during the hours from night to morning. Beth had unknowingly made a decision, and she felt it in her bones as she sat up and took in the sunlit room. Beth was changed. It was a dangerous path, one she should avoid, if for no other reason than self-preservation. It couldn’t end well. It wouldn’t end in her favor. If she was thinking right, it wouldn’t even start to
have
an ending.

But maybe she wasn’t thinking right. Then again, maybe she was.

Beth spent the hours until it was time to work at The Lucky Coin researching what she could on HIV and if an HIV-positive person could safely have a sexual relationship with someone who did not have it. Most sites had the same information, but some went more in depth than others. She didn’t think about the reasoning behind her quest to find out all she could, only the logistics. Was it possible? What did it involve?

HIV was transmitted through direct bodily fluids, like blood. Blood contained the highest concentration of it, followed by semen, vaginal fluids, and breast milk. Though rare, a pregnant woman could transmit the disease to her baby, but it was also possible for an HIV-positive person and an HIV-negative person to have healthy, uninfected children.

Saliva, tears, sweat, feces, and urine did not transfer the disease.

Beth swallowed, shame once more prickling her scalp at her actions and reactions of Harrison since finding out about his diagnosis. Sharing needles was a high-risk activity. She blinked and looked away from the computer screen, needing a moment to collect herself. She hated the woman who had so carelessly put a grenade on her own life, not to mention Harrison’s. Who knew if Harrison was the only one she’d infected?

There were ways to control it now, where there hadn’t been when it was first discovered. Antiretroviral therapy, or ART, was encouraged for the HIV-positive person. Harrison had mentioned that he took medicine called that. It was a mixture of medicines that slowed the rate at which HIV multiplied itself. A combination of three or more medicines was most effective, and it allowed the immune system to stay healthy. The goal of the antiretroviral therapy was to reduce the amount of virus in the body to a level no longer detectable with blood tests
.

It wasn’t a cure, but it was a stabilizer. A handful of hope.

Condoms, of course, were necessary for sexual intercourse. It was less likely to contract the disease through oral sex than vaginal, and anal was the most hazardous way to contract HIV. The HIV-negative person should take pre-exposure prophylaxis, which consisted of two pills that were to be ingested daily. It was suggested that the HIV-negative person be tested yearly for HIV and other STDs.

Beth closed the laptop, angry for Harrison, and a small part of her angry at herself and Harrison. She was biased—something she never would have thought of herself as being, and he had subjected himself to an isolation that wasn’t required.
Except for you. You were allowed into his emptiness.
He chose you. Harrison offered you something of him when he wouldn’t anyone else.
It felt like a gift, how ever twisted that seemed.

More than anything, what struck her the most was the notion that she wasn’t afraid. There was no fear in her bones, no doubts. Already she could sense a transformation in her from learning the little she had about him, from witnessing him in motion. Harrison had an unconquerable attitude. He wasn’t scared of life, or death. What right did she have to be?

She stood, took a deep breath, and shoved everything she’d learned to a far corner of her brain. Beth couldn’t dwell on any of that now. She had to go to work, and the thought of not getting a moment to herself to be able to determine what she was thinking, and what it all meant, had appeal.

THE BAR WAS full of people, drinking and cavorting set on a course to a memorable night for many in attendance—or a forgotten one. Beth was glad she was behind the bar instead of trying to navigate through the human maze of old and young, men and women. It was the kind of place people came to hang out with their buddies, and if they were lucky, find someone to flirt with. She felt bad for the two waitresses taking and filling food orders at the few tables set up in the establishment. Food stopped being served at eight, and it was quarter to that. The waitresses didn’t have far to go.

With the dim lighting, flowing beer, and rowdy patrons, the scene was set for mayhem. Within the last hour, the place got swarmed. Sweat covered Beth’s body from bustling around the small space next to Jennifer Travis as they filled drink orders. It was a collage of mismatched bodies and scents inside the bar. On the weekends they had a DJ were always the busiest. The younger crowds liked to dance—so did the drunk people.

“Hey, Blondie! I need a refill.” Beth glanced up at Wally Loomas and nodded as he waved an empty beer bottle in the air. Wally was a sixty-something-year-old farmer with a mane of wild gray hair who thought bathing and dressing in clean clothes were optional. He looked especially grimy tonight.

“We both have blonde hair. Is he talking to you or me?” Jennifer asked, reaching across Beth to grab a can of beer. She handed it to a middle-aged man and took his money.

“Whoever serves him first, I guess. I’ll get it,” she told her friend.

“Beware of the animal feces clinging to his skin.” Jennifer’s plum-shaded mouth twisted.

“I won’t touch his hands,” Beth promised, reaching into the cooler for a beer to replace Wally’s empty one.

“It’s a circus in here,” the other bartender muttered, swiping long blonde bangs from her eyes. The rest of her hair was cut in jagged locks with the lengthiest ones ending below her jawline.

“Just wait until later,” Beth said, smiling.

Jennifer groaned and tugged at her tight red top that showcased her tanned and toned midriff. “I know. I’m not looking forward to it, especially when the DJ starts. I’m dragging ass today.” She waited on two women before turning to Beth. “Want to come over and eat a pizza with me afterward so I don’t eat it all myself? I had a cherry sucker for dinner, and I’m starving.”