Hot Mess

by Anne Conley

  Chapter 21

  The type of fire, the characteristics of the burn, and the manner in which fuel is being supplied are the determining factors in deciding the best attack. --From Firefighter's Handbook, Essentials of Firefighting and Emergency Response

  Sam had seen her visitor. He'd watched them through his front window. He'd seen them on the porch, talking. Then he'd seen Rachel walk the man to his car, and she'd hugged him. On the surface, it was just a hug. But there was something intimate in the way they'd held each other, and Sam just knew that there was more between them.

  He'd never seen the man before, so he knew that he wasn't somebody from Rachel's present, which left her past. He was obviously sick. At first, Sam had thought that he'd been older, but the lack of gray hair, and something about the way he moved and dressed indicated youth.

  Suddenly, realization dawned on Sam. He knew now, without a doubt this man was the one who'd gotten Rachel sick. The bastard.

  Sam was still tamping down serious anger when he brought Amanda home from school, so he went out to the garage to try and let off some steam. Rachel hadn't called him, and he suspected she didn't want to talk to him. But that wouldn't stop Sam. He had to talk to her about this, or he would lose his mind.

  After pushing his limits on his weight machine, he went inside and showered away the sweat, but not the emotions roiling inside of him.

  Rachel was a good woman. She was a great mother, and she did so much for the people online with her work. Why couldn't other people see that and leave her alone?

  If this man who'd visited upset her, he'd hunt him down and kill him. Sam didn't care if he was dying already. That's all there was to it.

  After his shower, he walked over to her house and knocked on the door. She didn't answer.

  "Rachel!" He yelled at the closed door. "Open up! It's Sam!"

  "I know," he heard her say, from just beyond the other side of the door.

  "Come on, let me in. I want to talk to you."

  "Not tonight, Sam. I need to be alone, please."

  "Did he hurt you? Did he say something to you?"

  "No, Sam. He didn't. Please, just leave me alone. We'll talk later. Okay?"

  "You're okay?" She didn't sound okay, and he wanted to help.

  "No. I'm not, but there's not anything you can do about it."

  "I'd like to try." He stared at the heavy wooden door, willing it to open to him, but he knew it wouldn't. She needed time. He'd pushed her before, and he told himself he couldn't do it again.

  "Come back later, please? I'll call you." The pleading note in her voice was not lost on Sam. Defeated, he turned and walked home.

  He liked Rachel, and could see them together. He wanted to be with her, but circumstances kept pushing her away. First it was him and his stupid ignorance. Then it was the newspaper article, which he still hadn't been able to talk to her about. Now, it was this guy, whoever he was.

  He had watched her climb out of the abyss of depression that she'd sunk into, and now it looked like she had new demons to fight. There was no way that this visitor brought her good news. Not the way she had hugged him when he left, as if she were saying goodbye forever. It made him mad, because she didn't deserve it.

  She deserved to be happy, and Sam wanted to be the one who made her laugh. He just needed her to let him into her life and let him try.

  Chapter 22

  From Remainingrachel.com:

  With the exceptions of politics and religion, perceptions can change with information. If you perceive one thing to be true, then receive information to the contrary, usually your perceptions will change. For example, if you spend ten years believing that your HIV status came from a particular instance in your life, then you meet somebody from another instance in your life who tells you that they gave it to you, then your perceptions of how you became HIV positive have changed. Consider your world rocked.

  I have never met an AIDS patient that I knew in their "past" life, before being diagnosed with HIV or AIDS. I cannot explain to you the emotions running through my mind, as I try to reconcile the shriveled, shell of a man with AIDS with the high school line-backer that I remember. My brain says they are the same person, but my heart just can't draw the lines that connect the dots.

  So running in the same perception vein, I've got some perceptions to change here in my own community. I've been outted, and word has spread about my advocacy. Unfortunately, I live in a small town that has a hard time letting go of its perceptions. So I'm feeling the need to change them. I am thinking about setting up some sort of Community Services Project that will educate the community that I live in, in an attempt to help them gain some understanding of HIV/AIDS.

  This will alter the way I live my daily life, I'm sure, but it will hopefully allow me some personal peace, in that I won't be constantly hiding behind my façade all day, every day. I can be me. And that is a good thing.

  The next day, Rachel tried to busy herself. She had told Kyle she had a good life, and she needed to do something good to illustrate that. Rachel decided that she needed an endorphin rush, and since she hadn't run in a few weeks, she decided to go for one after dropping Sophia off at school.

  It was rough. She plodded along, willing the endorphins to kick in and take over, like they used to. But they never did. Thoughts of Kyle and Sam and her life kept her from succumbing to the adrenaline of the run. After a mile, Rachel gave up and went home to try to accomplish something.

  She updated her blog posts, made an oatmeal cake for Sophia, and answered some questions online, trying to impart wisdom she didn't feel. She did some preliminary research into possible community outreach projects she could set up in Serendipity. After picking Sophia up from school, she took her to the park.

  "You want to do your homework in some fresh air today? We can go to the park, and you can play afterwards. Then we'll go get some take-out somewhere. How does that sound?"

  Sophia couldn't contain her joy. Not only was she getting a coveted trip to the park, but take-out was almost unheard of.

  As she watched her daughter do her homework on a park bench, Rachel's thoughts raced back and forth between Kyle and Sam, as they had done all day.

  Kyle had been her first boyfriend. Her high school sweetheart. Her only relationship, ever.

  They had met her freshman year and started dating almost immediately. He quickly became her best friend. He was a sophomore and already driving. It wasn't long before they'd become intimate in the back of his pick-up.

  The town she'd grown up in had been a lot like Serendipity. It was small, but not too small. High school football was big, and Kyle had been a local hero. He could do no wrong. Almost as soon as he'd moved there and been discovered by the coach, he'd been revered by the townspeople.

  Something had happened to him on that trip to visit his brother, though. Rachel remembered that he'd been darker after that. Although, in retrospect, maybe the darkness had always been there. Kyle's dad had been hard on him, as the baby of the family. It didn't seem that Kyle lived up to Dad's expectations in some way.

  Her memories drifted back to nights on the football field after the game, sweaty high school legs entwining together on the grass. To the backroads, in the back of the pick-up, drunken voices and laughter in the background, while they tried to muffle their moans and gasps.

  Then, his senior year he had quit football and let the darkness take over. The fights with his parents escalated, as he rejected the idea of college. His trips to Dallas increased, but he never really said what they were about, just some party. He drifted away from Rachel, and she'd let him. After graduation, he'd left, without a goodbye.

  "Mama?" She started at Sophia's voice breaking into her thoughts.

  "Yes, Sweetie?"

  "I'm finished, can I go play, now?"

  Smiling sweetly at her daughter, the only good thing in her life right now, "Sure, Honey."

  Was she the only good thing? There was Sam. Sam wanted her, even knowing what
he knew about her. Sam, who was the picture of health, with his daily runs, his work outs, his life-saving. He was so freaking perfect. He was a single father, doing his best to raise his daughter in a caring environment. He was absolutely gorgeous. He was nice, and tried to take care of her.

  She remembered all the soup he'd brought her when she was sick. He took her to the hospital. Hell, he'd broken into her house to help her.

  And all she'd done was push him away.

  Because she was dangerous. In her mind, there was still danger in sex with Rachel, and she couldn't think of a scenario with Sam that didn't involve sex. Even after everything, she still wanted him too badly.

  Rachel watched her daughter on the merry-go-round, holding on for dear life, pigtails swinging wildly, as an older boy spun the apparatus around and around.

  That's how Rachel felt, like she was holding on for dear life, while somebody else pushed her around and around, at a dizzying pace. She felt the urgent need to get off the ride and regain control of her life, of her emotions.

  She hadn't told Dr. Baine about her depression on her last visit. She didn't want him messing with her anti-depressants. They were bad enough about evening out her emotions. On the medicine, she felt less depressed, sure, but she also felt less of everything else. Rachel felt less joy, less desire, less love. She had been the picture of apathy. She had been tempted to wean herself off of them last year, but was glad she hadn't.

  The depression had attacked her like a mountain lion attacking prey. She'd been vulnerable, handicapped by the cast on her leg, alone in her house with her laptop and her followers needing her, always needing her, never thinking for themselves, always wanting her to solve their problems, when she had so many of her own.

  She had succumbed to the mountain lion and let it devour her. Of course, it had taken its time, playing with its prey first. The depression had crept up, flanking her, making her feel the desperation of being trapped. Then it had pounced, pinning her to the ground, unable to move, panic rising within. She had felt the claws ripping into her skin, tearing chunks of her flesh, making her unrecognizable to herself.

  Yet, Rachel had kept going through the motions of her life, taking her medicine, caring for her daughter, answering everybody's questions, posting her inane blogs.

  And then, Sam had come back and fought the mountain lion off her, giving her hope for a future with him.

  Was it possible?

  Taking a deep breath, she reached for her cell phone and sent a text message to Sam.

  I'm sorry about last night.

  Where are you?

  At the park, with Sophie.

  So, you're okay?

  Yeah. I'm okay.

  Who was that guy at your house yesterday?

  She'd known he would ask. They'd been sitting there on her porch when he'd come home, and she'd seen him notice the strange car. He had probably gone inside and watched them through his window. A warm feeling surged through her at the thought of his curiosity, his protectiveness. She texted him back.

  Come over for dinner, and I'll tell you.

  Chapter 23

  Across the upper area of the room, heat begins to radiate downward, heating the contents of the room. When the overall temperature reaches the ignition point of another substance in the room, a new chain reaction combustion site occurs and additional heat is added beyond the initial source of fire. As each item in the room follows suit, more and more heat is created and more and more items ignite. In a very short time, the entire room and all of its contents are on fire….It is important to know the mechanics of a flashover in order to recognize its development. --From Firefighter's Handbook, Essentials of Firefighting and Emergency Response

  Sam was off that day, trying not to come up with improbable situations for the strange man at Rachel's house yesterday. But he couldn't stop his brain from coming up with scenarios that logically, Sam knew probably weren't true.

  He was an ex-boyfriend. He was Sophie's father. He was an ex-husband. He was a rapist. He was her brother. He was a cousin. He was a drug dealer. He was a conman. The possibilities were endless, and Sam knew any one of them, or none of them could be true.

  He'd been sorely disappointed the night before, that she wouldn't talk to him, and he'd suppressed the urge to bust down her door and force her to talk. But cooler heads had prevailed, and he'd managed to walk away.

  The sense of relief he'd felt when she'd texted him this afternoon was overwhelming. He'd been afraid she would shut him out, and with the way his mind had been working against him, he would never know the truth.

  Not that the truth mattered. With all of the scenarios pushing themselves into his consciousness, he only felt the desire to be closer to her. And that surprised him.

  He'd been so protective of Amanda, not getting close to Rachel when he'd initially found out about her, because he didn't want Amanda to get hurt. Now, that he'd come to terms with his feelings for Rachel, he'd realized that nothing mattered about her past. It didn't matter how she became HIV positive, it just mattered that she become a part of his life.

  Standing, he walked down the hall, to Amanda's room. Knocking softly before entering, he saw her on her bed, writing something.

  "I'm fixing to hook all the junk back up in the living room. We've been invited to Rachel's for dinner, and I need you and Sophie to come back here and play for awhile. I need to talk to her mom. Okay?"

  She squealed in delight and rushed to Sam to hug his waist. "Thanks, Daddy."

  The endearment tore at his heartstrings, and he suspected that she was aware of the effect on him. "Just this one night, got it? You're back to being grounded tomorrow."

  "Okay."

  "Good. Now I'm going to shower and change, you get ready to go. We're leaving in an hour."

  "Thank you, Daddy."

  "Here I was, looking forward to a home-cooked meal." Sam said, eyeing the take-out containers with mock wariness. "I thought you didn't do take-out."

  Rachel blushed. "Sorry. I wanted to treat Sophie. She doesn't get it very often. But there is a home made cake for dessert," she ended hopefully.

  "I was teasing you." He repressed the urge to hug her, standing there in the kitchen. The girls were underfoot though, rummaging through containers to see what was in store. "I love Chinese food."

  "Good."

  They had a pleasant meal, Sam declaring utensils useless while eating Chinese, and insisting that everybody use chopsticks. To his chagrin, he was the last one finished eating, Rachel having surprised him with her deftness with the implements. Even Sophie and Amanda had eaten faster than he had.

  He didn't mind, though. As much as he wanted to talk to Rachel, to tell her that her past didn't matter to him, that he loved her, and wanted to be with her, he put off the discussion. He could see she was reserved, also. She was quiet through dinner, only speaking when somebody asked her a question, politely declining seconds.

  The girls chattered incessantly about school and the upcoming weekend. Amanda was regaling Sophia with tales of the boredom in being grounded. Sam chuckled to himself at the light in Sophia's eyes, as she tried to come up with something to do that would get her grounded, too, but not so much as to really be painful. Little girls could be transparent as glass and didn't like to feel left out.

  Once dinner was finished, the containers thrown in the garbage, and everything put away, Sam dismissed the girls with a stern warning not to trash his house. They ran off, delighted at being re-joined at the hip, if only a temporary reprieve.

  "Sophie doesn't quite realize it, but when you grounded Amanda, you sort of grounded her, too." Rachel said wistfully, watching the girls leave with a small smile on her face.

  "Yeah, I figured as much, but it couldn't be helped. I had to do something."

  "I know. I would have done the same thing."

  "Rachel." He wanted her to look at him, but her eyes went to the floor, so he walked to her and reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. Finally, her eye
s rose, and the pain there took his breath away. "You don't have to tell me anything. Your past doesn't matter to me."

  "Yes, I do. I've never told anybody all of it, and I think I need to tell you so that we can get this mountain lion off me."

  Sam looked around the kitchen in confusion. "Mountain lion?"

  "Never mind. Come on in the living room."

  He followed her to the couch and sat next to her there, still clasping her hand in his reassuringly.

  Rachel took a deep breath and began. "First of all, I have no idea who Sophie's father is." She expelled the breath in a loud whooshing noise and continued. "I was a freshman in college, at the University of Houston. My new room mates were pledging at a sorority, and we were all invited to a frat party. I had come from a pretty repressed background and was trying to find my own place in the big city. I didn't know anybody, and was anxious to make friends, be accepted, so I went." She leaned her head back on the sofa cushions and closed her eyes, intent on telling her tale. "There was an insane amount of alcohol and some drugs, and I drank a lot, and did some stuff, and things got crazy." She inhaled deeply again.

  "You don't have to tell me, Rachel."

  "Yes, I do. You need to know…everything. I need to know that you care for me, even after hearing all of this, okay?"