by Anne Conley
An underlying uneasiness almost overrode the pleasure of his friend sticking up for Rachel. He remained silent, contemplating the notion of Rachel's carefully cultivated secret being exposed to the community.
"What's the story between you two anyway?" Juan interjected into his thoughts. "I thought for sure I saw love in your eyes, then you dumped her, and since then, you've been acting like your mama died or something."
Sam sighed. "I should have listened to her. I pushed her too hard to have a relationship, when she didn't want one. She just wanted her privacy. But I couldn't let it go. Then when she told me she was sick, I freaked."
"But you just said she doesn't have AIDS."
"She's HIV positive. There's a difference."
"Well, it's obvious to the world that you like her, man. What's stopping you from looking beyond it?"
Sam looked across the lake at his daughter and her sketchpad. "'Manda. She can't lose another mother. I won't do that to her."
"Who says she's going to lose her?"
Sam just glared at Juan. He couldn't think of anything to say to him. His father's words echoed in his head.
Juan didn't let it drop. "You should know that medicine has come a long way with stuff like that. Who's to say she's going to die anytime soon? Have you even talked to her about that?"
Sam was shocked. "How do you talk to somebody about something like that?"
"Easy, you open your mouth, and say, 'What's your prognosis?' Dude, you're a paramedic for Christ's sakes. Don't be stupid about this."
Cade spoke up. "Look man. You may not be able to see past it, but somebody else will. Rachel is sweet, and she's beautiful. Someday, another guy is going to snatch her up and look beyond her illness. How will that make you feel, seeing her with another man who can make her happy?"
The thought made Sam's grip tighten so hard on his fishing pole the fiberglass creaked. "There's not another man that can make her feel the way I can," he snarled at Cade.
Cade just grinned at him mischievously. "Then go get her, Tiger."
On the way home, Sam was navigating through the dark streets when Amanda spoke up.
"Daddy?"
"Yeah, Punkin?"
"Why don't you spend time with Sophie's mama anymore?"
Sam had been waiting for the question, and was surprised it hadn't come sooner. Since he'd seen Rachel at the park last week, she'd dominated his thoughts. He'd talked to his friends about her, and his dad. It was no surprise that his daughter would bring her up, too.
"It's complicated, baby. When you get older, maybe I'll explain it all to you."
"I wish you two would get married. She's a better cook than Brenda, and then Sophie would be my sister. I like Sophie."
He chuckled softly, more for effect than anything else. The thought of marrying Rachel made his stomach do funny things. "Well, I'm not so sure about the marrying part, but we'll see about the spending time part, okay?"
"Do you want me to talk to her for you?"
"No! Don't say anything. I've got to come up with a plan first. Let's let this be our secret, okay Punkin?"
She seemed a little deflated when she said, "Okay, Daddy."
His heart lurched. Now he had to come up with something. This had gone on long enough.
Chapter 16
It is very easy to develop tunnel vision when a rescuer is involved in an unusually complex and/or lengthy rescue. Tunnel vision can and in many cases has kept the rescuer from seeing an obvious solution or more often an impending danger.--From Firefighter's Handbook, Essentials, of Firefighting and Emergency Response
Sam had stocked the kitchen with as much junk food as he could manage, not having any idea what Amanda and Sophia would get into. He was hosting their first ever sleepover and wasn't sure what he was getting himself into. He was prepared to listen to shrieking and giggles all night long, and something told him it wouldn't be all bad.
When the girls had first approached him, he'd agreed, never in his wildest imagination thinking that Rachel would agree to it. But she had, and now, here he was. He really needed to talk to her, but hadn't had a chance. The fishing trip was last night, and the girls had cooked up this sleepover thing this morning, and he'd been getting ready to entertain little girls all day.
Sophia looked wide eyed at the freezer, full of frozen pizzas, pizza rolls, ice cream, fish sticks, and cookie dough.
"We can eat any of this?" Her voice held a sense of awe.
Sam chuckled at her. "Of course you can. Doesn't your mother keep any of this stuff?"
"No. Sometimes, she'll buy ice cream, but she usually makes it. I like Blue Bell better. We've never had any of this other stuff."
Sam couldn't help himself. He had this little font of information, and information is what he craved.
"Your mother eats pretty healthy, doesn't she?"
"Yeah, she thinks that processed food is evil." Sophia rolled her eyes while she said this, sending Amanda into a fit of giggles. The sound made Sam's heart swell.
"But your mom is a really good cook. Her cookies are awesome." Amanda added.
"How's your mom been?"
"Sad, but she tries to hide it from me. I can tell, though, when she's sad."
"How can you tell?"
"Well, she sits and stares at her laptop without working on it. And sometimes she wears her pajamas all day. And sometimes, she cries in the bathroom. She doesn't think I can hear her, but I can. She sniffs loud." The little girl's seriousness tugged at his heartstrings, and he felt for Rachel. He understood depression, had battled it himself during his divorce and again while dealing with Marisol. He realized that he was constantly wondering what he could do differently, first with Marisol, and now with Rachel. The difference was, Rachel was still living, and he had a chance to fix things between them.
"Does she ever get out of the house? Do anything with friends?" Sam thought he already knew the answer to this, since he stared at her house every free moment he had. He'd never seen her go anywhere.
Sophia shook her head, confirming his thoughts. "No. Miss Cindy is her only friend, and they don't go out, unless they take me and Shelly to the park, and that's not very often."
"How about the doctor? Has she been, lately?"
Sophia's eyes dimmed and were guarded at the question. "Just regular visits."
Sensing he was overstepping his boundaries, he said simply, "Well, tell her I said 'hi' okay?" Turning to preheat the oven, he dropped the topic of her mother, but his thoughts stayed on her. He really wanted to know how she was doing now.
After filling the girls full of processed carbohydrates, and sending them to Amanda's room to watch movies and play dress up, he fixed himself a glass of instant iced tea and went into the living room to watch TV, but he dwelled on what Sophia had said about her mother.
Rachel was depressed, and it was probably his fault. He knew he'd ended things poorly with her, and he regretted it. He'd been watching her for months now. Sam had been watching out his window, when she'd come home without her cast the first time, and he'd felt a sense of joy for her. She still had a slight limp, but was getting around much better without the cast.
He wondered what she cried about, specifically, and what he could do to make her better? Was her health okay? He felt a strong desire to fix her, even though he also knew without a doubt that she would die before she would let him know she was broken.
Even after all this time, Sam still got warm when he thought about Rachel. The blood ran hot under his skin as he remembered kissing her, and he wondered if that would ever stop. She affected him, even in her absence. Maybe especially in her absence?
His fingers clenched, as they remembered the feel of her skin. The way kissing her made his heart pound. Her scent taking his breath away.
His cell phone ring tone broke into his daydreams, and he had to take a deep breath before answering.
"Hello."
"Hi Sam." It was Rachel, and the sound of her voice actually made his stom
ach flutter, like a girl.
Trying to sound nonchalant, "Hey, Rachel. What's up?"
"I was just calling to check on Sophia. Is she doing okay? Did she eat dinner? Has she given you any trouble?"
"No, no trouble. I think she ate her weight in pizza rolls. They're in 'Manda's room, doing something scary with makeup."
"Oh. Okay. Pizza rolls?" Her voice sounded incredulous, and he chuckled.
"Yeah, pizza rolls. She liked them."
"I'm sure she did." He could hear the smile in her voice, and it made Sam happy.
"I've missed your voice." His declaration was met with silence. He couldn't blame her, although it was true, and he wasn't sure why he'd said it. He hadn't intended to tell her that. "I've missed you." Or that.
"Sam…" She sounded like she was planning to admonish him, but her inflection changed. "I've missed you, too."
Feeling warmer, and braver, Sam's voice dropped. "I saw you got your cast off. Enjoying your freedom?"
"Yes."
"I've enjoyed seeing your legs again." Now, why did he say that? It was as much as admitting he'd been spying on her.
"Um…thanks?"
Time to change the subject, get back on a safe topic. "I wanted apologize for me letting our…history interfere with the girls' friendship. And I wanted to thank you for letting Amanda come back. Sophie means a lot to her. And 'Manda needs Sophie right now."
"It's no problem. We missed her. Amanda is a joy to have here at the house." Her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "Everybody needs friends."
Sam felt the guilt wrench his gut, like somebody had just stabbed him with a red-hot spoon. "Yeah, they do." He remembered his conversation with Cade. "Um, I need to tell you something, Rachel." Just then, the girls came running into the room.
"Daddy!" Amanda was breathless with excitement, and Sophia's eyes were wide, reminding him of her mother.
"Hang on just a minute." Pulling the phone from his ear, he turned to the girls. "What?"
"Can we put make-up on you?"
"Um…" Sam groaned inwardly. What else did he expect? They were ten. "Give me just a minute, okay?" The girls squealed as they ran out of the room. He put the phone back to his ear. "Sorry about that."
There was laughter in her voice. "Will you send me a picture when they're finished?"
"Um…no."
"Pity, that would give me sweet dreams, I'm sure."
The image of Rachel in her bed looking at pictures of him on her phone erased all else, and he felt an irresistible pull towards her once again. "I could send other pictures to help you go to sleep." His voice was husky, and he couldn't deny the affect this woman had on him.
"I'd better let you get back to your duties. You're in for a long night, I’m thinking."
"Yeah, me too. Um, I still wanted to tell you something, Rachel."
She sighed into the phone. "Not now, Sam. We can talk later, okay?"
Feeling a sudden sense of urgency, he continued, "But it's about you."
"Then I definitely don't want to talk about it right now. I'm going to watch some grown-up TV, maybe read a book, enjoy my evening. Whatever it is doesn't sound good, by the tone of your voice, and I'm not in the mood for bad news."
He certainly didn't want to do anything to make her mood poor, but he felt like she should know. "There's a reporter sniffing around. She wants to do a story about you," he blurted, regretting the way it came out.
"I have to go, Sam." He could hear tears in her voice, and he felt them too. Guilt tore at his gut. Again.
"I'm really sorry, Rachel."
She didn't say anything, she just hung up the phone.
Chapter 17
From Remainingrachel.com
Living with and managing HIV/AIDS, just like any disease, can take a toll on one's mental health. In addition, the stigma associated with HIV can be extremely hard on a person's well being. If you are suffering from depression, it is important to find a therapist who is not only familiar with everything you're going through, but the disease itself. The most important aspect, however, is your comfort level with the therapist. Some people prefer a female therapist, a gay therapist, or a therapist of the same ethnicity. Some prefer older or younger therapists. It doesn't matter what your reasoning is behind your comfort level; if you can't talk to your therapist, you NEED A NEW ONE.
Therapy is an integral part of the treatment process. You can take all the prescribed drugs you want, but if you are sinking into a pit of despair, they won't be as effective. I am a strong advocate of support groups, and they can be effective, both personal support groups as well as public support groups. But everybody needs someone to talk to sometimes, and a therapist is actually trained to do that. I personally think everyone affected by this disease needs a personal counselor, in addition to a support group to talk to. Online groups are okay, like this one, but you need someplace to go to talk about your problems, face-to-face with another person who can help.
With all that said, I need to take my own advice. It's hard to talk to somebody about what you feel are your inadequacies. I have a therapist, but I haven't talked to her in almost a year, and it shows in my daily life. This mountain lion of depression has sunk her claws into my back, and I've been trying to wrestle her off by myself. I'm getting tired, and I need help.
We all do, sometimes.
Rachel had been fighting her depression for months. So she didn't recognize the fatigue at first for what it was. Not until the muscle aches and fever set in. When she started feeling chilled, Rachel sent Sophia across the street to Sam's and decided to take a hot bath.
Teeth chattering ferociously, Rachel drew the hottest bath she could stand, and locked the bathroom door, not wanting the girls to come in. As she sank her weak body into the tub, a sense of soothing calm came over her. Slowly, the chills were overtaken by an all encompassing warmth that flowed through her veins, sinking her into a languorous stupor. She sank her body into the steaming water, up to her chin, and closed her eyes, not wanting to ever leave the embryonic state she'd found herself in. As she drifted into unconsciousness, she heard a pounding on her front door, but was too weak to move. She wasn't aware of her own retching
Brenda had practically moved in with Sam for almost a week, as Amanda was at home sick with the flu. Sam had gotten her flu shot, but she came down with a different strain, which was typical. He'd been sitting at work when the nurse initially called to get her from school. Sam couldn't get in touch with Brenda at the time, but Chief had been understanding, and let him go pick her up.
The first day, when Sam came home from work, he'd been really worried about her. Brenda said she'd slept all day, and hadn't eaten anything she'd cooked. After sending Brenda home, Sam managed to get her to eat a little ice cream, before she went back to bed. He hated to leave her to go back to work the next day, but he couldn't take off from the fire station. He was still on probation, and the crew needed him to be there if a call came in. Each team member was integral to the fight.
On his days off that week, he nursed his daughter, unable to stop himself from thinking of his mother. He bathed Amanda's face with cool washcloths, helped her to the restroom when she was too weak to do it herself, and made sure she ate something. The diner around the corner made good soup, and Sam quickly came to be on a first name basis with them. Throughout it all, he wished his mother was there. Not to help with Amanda, he was enjoying that, because he knew she would get better. He wished his mother had known Amanda, had been alive to meet her grand daughter, teach her things, create memories that every child should have of their grandma.
It took almost a week, but eventually, Amanda got better. By the end of the week, she was back up and begging to go across the street. Sam wouldn't let her, afraid of getting Sophia or Rachel sick. He remembered that she said her viral loads were low, and his online research told him that she wasn't at too big of a risk for infection, but he didn't know about her white blood cells, which actually fought infection. Without telli
ng his daughter why, he refused to let her go over there, until her fever had been gone for forty-eight hours.
Meanwhile, he just watched Rachel's house.
When Sophia told Sam that her mother was sick, all he could think about was the flu that Amanda had had, and how weak she'd been. He worried about Rachel for all of ten minutes before he decided to go check on her.
Since she didn't answer the door, he tried to open it, but it was locked. Instead of going back to ask Sophia for a key, he let the panic rule his actions, and broke into a window in her living room. After breaking and removing a small pane of glass near the lock, he unlocked the window, and let himself in, yelling as he did.
"Rachel? It's Sam, I'm coming in to check on you. Rachel?"
When she didn't answer, dread deadened his limbs, but he fought it, knowing he had to find her. She wasn't in her bedroom or the kitchen. When he found a door in the hallway that was locked, he pounded on it.
"Rachel! Are you in there?" No answer.
It was a heavy door, indicative of the style of house, built to last, but nothing would get in the way of Sam's enormous frame. He slammed his shoulder into the door, splintering the door frame, and made a mental note to add that to the list of things to fix in her house, that he was busting to get to her.
When he saw her in the bath tub, a mixture of relief and fear poured into his stomach, sending it into a roiling mess.
She was floating in the tub, face partially submerged, vomit on the top of the water. Sam lunged into the room, and pulled the stopper of the drain. Scooping her into his arms, he carried her into her bedroom, gently laying her on the bed. She was unconscious, so he called an ambulance, before grabbing a towel to dry her off and covering her with a robe he found hanging on her door.
