by Anne Conley
The next thing to do, is find a medical professional, preferably an HIV specialist to test your levels of virus and discuss your treatment options. You may be able to take a member of your new support group with you for, well, support.
Those are the first things to do, Helpless. Continue to educate yourself and find an outlet for emotions that will arise. Be forewarned, though. Not everybody you tell will react the way you think they should. Some people will stop talking to you, and I'm sorry about that. People can be ignorant, sometimes. Just chalk it up to lessons learned.
Wishing you well,
Rachel
Rachel was at her laptop when her brother called, mad as hell.
"Why haven't you called? Mom's been worried about you." His voice reminded Rachel of her father's voice just before a mammoth lecture. Of course, she hadn't actually heard either of her parents' voices in so long that she couldn’t be sure.
"Does she realize that phones work both ways?"
"Don't be a jerk. She thought you'd died."
Of course she had, Rachel thought. Her mother probably couldn't wait for the day to come, so she could stop pretending to care about Rachel's well-being. She had a hard time hiding the sarcasm from her voice. "Here I am, miraculously alive and well."
"Look, I'm just checking on you. Don't be so prickly." Rachel's brother, Brandon, was her surrogate father, since her parents had practically disowned her after her diagnosis.
"I'm not trying to be, but jeez, can't she ever call?"
"You know how uncomfortable she gets, Rach." Brandon's voice softened considerably.
"No, not really. She doesn't ever tell me. She never calls me."
"I'm sorry, she just has a hard time with all of it."
"I hate to break it to everybody, but I am the same person I was when I was born. I'm still Rachel Fairchild. I have had a disease for eleven years. The disease doesn't define me. I'm not Rachel Fairchild, HIV positive woman. Most of the people in Serendipity don't even know."
"But that's all she sees when she's with you. Her baby is dying."
She couldn't hide her frustration. "I'm not dying. I'm living with every ounce of will possible. That's what I don't understand. Why doesn't she care to try to see that? She has a granddaughter, you know."
"Rach. Don't be ridiculous. Of course we know."
"Why doesn't she try to see Sophie?"
"I don't know. Painful reminders?"
"Whatever. If I'm so painful, why are you calling?"
"Mom read something in Prevention magazine about boosting your immune system. Do you take zinc?"
"Yes. Is that all? She's hoping to cure me with vitamins?"
"She just wants what's best for you, Rachel."
"I need my family, Brandon. I need support. I need people to stand by me and not to tell me I'm an abnormal freak. That's what most people's families do." Her voice was rising in anger. "If you can't do it, then stop calling me to offer advice and then get all worried about the freak in the family when I tell you that I've tried it, and yes I am still HIV positive. Just call to see how I'm doing, not my disease. Call to see how my day was. Call to check on Sophie. Call to see how my car is running. Don't make every conversation about how close to death you think I am." She hung up on her brother feeling unbelievably frustrated and unable to unwind.
Putting on her running shoes, she tried jogging around the neighborhood, but the endorphins that usually hit her when she ran didn't do their thing today.
As usual, her brother's phone call had upset her immensely. The sad part about it was, he was the only family she had left that would talk to her. He got Sophia in her will, and she couldn't even remember the last time he'd visited her.
She was still depressed when she got home. So she called Cindy.
"Still want to go out for a drink?" She asked.
"Absolutely. Do I need to bring Shelly over to babysit?"
"Yeah, and can you drive? Alcohol does weird things to my meds."
"Duh. I'll be there in an hour."
Rachel looked through her closet and found a nicer pair of jeans and a caramel colored turtle neck that went well with her camel colored cowboy boots. Pulling her ponytail out and running a brush through her hair, she declared herself done.
"Sophie? It's okay if Mommy goes out for a little while, right? Shelly's going to come over and babysit you."
At the mention of Shelly, Sophia's eyes lit up, and she started dancing around her room, getting ready for her friend. Shelly was seventeen, and Sophia worshipped her. For days after Shelly left the house after a visit, Sophia talked of nothing else. Shelly wears her hair like this, and can I have some nail polish like Shelly's?
Rachel smiled at her daughter, looking forward to whatever Shelly would bring over to captivate her this time.
When Cindy came by, Shelly came in with a back pack full of movies for the girls to watch and her make up kit to play dress up. She knew just what Sophie liked. Rachel pointed out dinner in the oven and followed Cindy out to the car.
When they got to the Gin, the lights were low, and there were new posters of Budweiser babes on the walls, some with light up nipples, which made Rachel giggle into the back of her hand.
"First round's on me. What's your poison?" Cindy asked.
"Just a glass of white wine, please. That should be enough, really."
Cindy rolled her eyes and walked over to the bar, while Rachel found a table by the dance floor to sit at. Almost as soon as she sat, a man in an oversized Stetson came up to ask her to dance. Shaking her head, demurely, she declined, saying she was there with a friend, pointing to the bar with her chin. The man shrugged and walked away.
When Cindy returned, she was laughing at Rachel. "We've been here thirty seconds and you're already turning them away." Clucking her tongue, she set the drinks down on the table before flopping herself in the seat across from her, bouncing her foot in time with the music.
Rachel took a sip of her wine, perusing the dance floor with her eyes. She loved this place. She wasn't sure what there was about it, but she liked it here. To the casual observer, it was just a bar with concrete floors, corrugated tin walls, tacky posters and light up beer signs. To Rachel, it was a symbol of freedom, of letting go, of forgetting her troubles for a little while. People who came to the Gin threw caution to the wind with abandon. Which was why she didn't come too often. She couldn't afford to forget. All it had taken was forgetting herself one time to get her where she was now.
As her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the light, her breath caught when she saw across the dance floor, the steely gaze of a set of arctic blue eyes, dancing with mischief.
Sam had seen her come in with her friend, and his stomach turned over. He knew she would look good in a pair of jeans, but that sweater…shit. It hugged every curve the woman had, and it looked damn good.
He had tried to forget about the woman who thought his daughter was a thief. He had tried to forget those bottomless brown eyes. He had tried to forget the way she smelled, like vanilla and…woman.
But seeing her almost every day in the pick-up line at Amanda's school made it difficult.
He couldn't take his eyes off the tiny brunette across the bar, and something inside him told him to get a closer look. Against his will, he was pulled toward her, like the tides to the moon. His gaze never left hers, as his feet propelled him closer. She was watching him, her eyes wide with apparent disbelief, as he neared her table. Her friend stopped chatting when he approached and silently extended his hand in an invitation. He wanted to hold her.
Not saying a word, Rachel accepted it, slipping her delicate fingers into his large grip. Her hand was warm and soft, and he squeezed it as he led her to the dance floor. A slow two-step had come on, and Sam pulled her into his arms, feeling her soft curves under his hands. They moved together as a unit, Sam unable to stop staring at the beautiful woman in his arms. Her big brown eyes stared back up at him, and she opened her mouth to say something, then closed
it, as if thinking better than to break the spell between them.
Sam pulled her closer to him, feeling the press of her breasts against his chest, wondering if she was feeling the same connection he did. His eyes were drawn to her mouth, small and pink, begging to be kissed. Sam had bent his head toward her, to inhale the fragrance of Rachel, and his face was inches from her mouth. He knew that he could kiss her right now and be lost.
He led through the dance, and she followed, as if they'd been dancing together forever, never breaking the eye contact that threatened to suck them into something eternal. Something he wasn't looking for. Something he didn't realize he'd wanted, until now.
His heart was pounding, and he felt lightheaded dancing with Rachel. He could smell her vanilla sweetness, and it reminded him of security, of family, of everything that used to be right in his world.
Gazing down at her mouth, he was tempted again, to just dip his head down and take a taste…
As the song ended, Sam slowly spun Rachel around, one hand holding hers, the other brushing against her back, and then he pulled her close into a hug. He dipped his head down to get one last whiff of the top of her head, inhaling deeply, before murmuring, "Thank you for the dance, Rachel." She turned her face up to his, and her eyes were giant watery pools of melted chocolate, filled with sadness.
He felt sucker punched. Why was she sad? He started to ask her, but she shook her head, extricating herself from his arms and turned to go back to her table.
The spell broken, Sam returned to his corner of the bar, where he'd been standing before, to watch Rachel say something to her friend and walk out the door.
Chapter 7
From Remainingrachel.com
My daughter was raised with the knowledge that I am HIV positive. I can't remember a time when I consciously kept it from her. I can honestly say it hasn't really changed the way I would have raised her, if I weren't. For me, it's a non-issue, just as if I were a Diabetic, or had Lupus. It's something she's aware of, and as a family, we take measures against it, but it doesn't affect the way we live. I've always believed it was important to be up front and honest with kids, they are little people, after all. And I treat her as such.
At first, I was worried about the pressure a small child would undergo to keep a secret like that. But, as she grew up, and I didn't make a huge deal out of it, she didn't either. As long as I don't get sick, or have any other issues, it's not a problem at all.
Rachel was mopping her floors the next morning, trying to forget last night while Sophia was stripping the beds to wash sheets when a knock at the door sent Sophie running to see who it was. A squeal of delight, met with a matching squeal took Rachel to see what the hubbub was all about. Her hands immediately moved to straighten her hair, when she saw Sam's massive frame leaning nonchalantly in her living room doorway, his enormous frame crowding the small space.
"Hey there," she squeaked, suddenly breathless in his presence. Memories of last night flashed, unbidden to her consciousness. The way his arms felt around her, leading Rachel around the dance floor with the grace and ease of an old married couple. She had filed the memory away, to revisit on rainy days when she was feeling sorry for herself, but seeing Sam in her doorway made it jump to the forefront of her mind like a toddler craving attention, saying, "Look at me!"
He didn't move, his arctic blue eyes on her, intense, just like they were last night. Electricity sizzled in the cozy room, causing sweat to break out in Rachel's armpits.
"Hey," he said, as nonchalantly as he looked. As if the attraction that nearly brought Rachel to her knees didn't affect him at all. He pushed himself off the door frame, and took the two steps across the room that his long legs needed to reach Rachel. "Why did you run away last night?"
"I-I was just fixing to leave anyways. You know, b-babysitters and all..." She was trying to match his nonchalance, but it came out a stammering mess.
His eyes narrowed on her, making a flush steal across her cheeks. "You had just gotten there. I saw you walk in the door."
"Oh…" Damn. He kept staring at her. "Um…I don't know, Sam." She sighed, unable to come up with a suitable excuse.
"Were you running?"
"Maybe."
"Why?" His gaze was still on her, intense, boring for the truth that she wasn't willing to give him.
"You were so mad the last time we spoke. I can't read you."
Sam's mouth opened to say something, then shut with a snap. His eyes traveled her face, from her eyes to her lips, and back again. Seeming to reach a conclusion, he said, "Read this, Rachel." Before she could react, Sam crossed the small room in two large strides and his hands were on her face, keeping her from escaping his mouth, tongue against her lips searching for access.
Her hands reflexively went to his chest to push him away, but then his scent invaded her senses, and she was lost to his masculinity, his very presence overwhelming her. She opened up to him, grudgingly granting his tongue entry with a weak whimper.
He growled in triumph, and his kiss deepened in intensity, causing emotions to well up that Rachel had never felt before. His tongue swept into her mouth, and she tasted him, his hunger and his desire, and she suddenly wanted more.
As her tongue tentatively met his, she realized that this was good. This was something that she had denied herself for so long, and now that she allowed herself to feel this, she didn't ever want to stop. She had never been kissed this way before. It was a kiss that made her ache at the thought it would have to end.
Her fingers spread against his chest, moving upward, to feel the hard planes of his pecs, his shoulder muscles, as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, kissing him deeper. His arms went around her waist, squeezing her against him gently, his massive hands spanning her back.
Abruptly, he ended the kiss that was rapidly changing Rachel's life and took a step back, still holding her waist.
Rachel couldn't catch her breath. Her knees were weak, and her pulse was racing. Reality crashed down on her, and she remembered that there were two ten-year-olds in her house, and she was standing here in her living room, breaking every promise she'd ever made to herself.
Sam squeezed her waist again, gently, before releasing her and walking over to settle in a chair in the corner of the room. Rachel inhaled deeply, then exhaled a deep shuddering breath and looked at the face of the man who was causing her so much turmoil.
He was smirking.
Rachel couldn't find her voice. It had obviously fled to the place where all of her resolutions had gone.
"Can you read me now?"
She nodded, still unable to speak. She lowered herself, knees still knocking, onto her sofa, a huge denim overstuffed number that was way too big for the size of the room, but too comfortable to ignore right now. The effects of the kiss hadn't worn off, and neither had the implications.
"I like you, Rachel." His eyes roamed her body, clad once again in sweats. "You're very attractive." He continued to peruse her, as a man who'd always had any woman he wanted, and never heard the word "no."
She found her voice, along with a little conviction. "I don't date, Sam. I'm sorry."
He leaned back in the chair and crossed one ankle over his knee, getting comfortable. "Why not?"
"That's personal. I just don't, so get that notion out of your head."
He chuckled softly to himself, putting a finger to his lips as if in thought. Rachel watched his finger rub across the supple lips she'd just had the mind-blowing privilege of tasting. She shivered in response to the memory. But that's all it could ever be.
"Look Sam. I like you, too. And I think you're attractive as well. II just don't date. I won't tell you why right now. I don't know you well enough to let you into my past. Let's just leave it at that, okay?" She was pleading with him, suddenly. She hoped he would just leave it alone.
"Then let's get to know each other. I don't have any problems with that. And I can't think of anything else I would rather do today." He f
olded his hands in his lap, waiting patiently, the picture of indifference. "Ask me anything."
Rachel reminded herself that this was a situation she counseled people on all the time. She was constantly telling people to be honest when they were ready, as long as it was before sex. She could do this. She could do this. Taking a deep breath, she told herself again, she could do this.
"Okay. Tell me about your job. You're a firefighter?" She had seen his picture in the newspaper saving the dog, and if she could admit it to herself, the picture had done something to her. The picture showed Sam leaving a home, flames as a backdrop, wearing his gear. He cradled a small dog in one arm, while the other arm was removing his face mask. His eyes were downcast, looking at the animal with an expression filled with compassion.
"Yes. I've been there about three weeks, and it's been…interesting."
"Is it stressful?"
"It can be. Luckily, it's mostly responding to fender benders, elderly people who've fallen and have attack Chihuahuas guarding them, stuff like that." He made it sound like it was no big deal.
"How long have you done it? Firefighting?"
"Eleven years. I worked in Jacksonville before we moved here."
She liked asking him questions. There was a hypnotic quality to his voice that she could listen to all day. "What do you guys do, when you're not out on a call?"
He leaned back, getting more comfortable. "Read, play pool, cards, eat, work out, watch TV."