Methodically, Katherine placed the playing pieces in the box and closed the lid. When she knew Chris was out of earshot, she looked directly at Darla. "Now, what the hell was that all about?"
Darla stared at her blankly, a resigned expression on her face that only managed to anger Katherine more.
"I know you don't feel well but that's no excuse for your behavior. Why don't you go to a doctor so you can get better, and then we won't have to put up with your childish fits anymore?"
"I did go," Darla said bluntly.
"Then what the hell's the matter with you?" Katherine blurted out, frustrated.
"I'm HIV positive."
The words hung in the room like a thick fog for a full minute before descending upon its listeners with full force. Denise dropped her rag and stared up from her place on the floor. Katherine's jaw sagged.
"What?" Katherine asked quietly.
Darla's face was impassive, her eyes unemotional. "I'm HIV positive. I have AIDS."
Denise gasped. She completely forgot about the puddle of soda and came to drop beside Katherine on the sofa. "Darla, are you sure?" Her voice was a reverent whisper.
"The doctor checked twice. I'm sure." Darla's passive eyes began to narrow as she stared at the two in front of her. Darla cut through the heavy silence, her voice bitter. "Well, say it. I know you're both thinking it. The whore got what she deserved." Her cold stare rested on Katherine.
Their eyes locked and the sting of her words struck Katherine harder than a slap in the face. Darla never minced words, and neither would she. Slowly, Katherine shook her head. "No, Darla. I've never approved of your lifestyle, but you don't deserve to die because of it."
Darla's eyes dropped, the anger gone as fast as it had appeared.
"How long have you known?" Katherine asked.
"About a month."
"Why didn't you tell us?" Denise's voice cracked and tears formed in the corners of her eyes. Katherine placed a comforting hand over hers.
"Because I didn't want to go through any of this crybaby stuff," Darla said harshly. "So stop the flood now."
"How bad is it?" Katherine interjected.
Darla kept her eyes locked on Katherine, as if drawing her strength and composure through her. "According to my T-cell count, it's full-blown."
A choking gasp escaped Denise, and she reached for a tissue to catch the flow of tears. Katherine clasped Denise’s hand tighter for strength.
"Have you told anyone else?"
Darla shook her head.
The room fell silent except for the sniffles coming from Denise. She shook her head as she blew her nose. "Poor Chelsea," Denise said softly, then her eyes widened in fright. "What about Chelsea? Does she have it, too?"
Darla remained incredibly calm. "I was negative when I was pregnant, so I know I wasn't infected then. But I had her blood tested, just in case. I told her it was just to make sure she hadn't caught what I had. She just figured I meant this cold, so I let her think that. She's negative."
A huge sigh escaped Denise. "Thank God."
Katherine's mind was a whirl of questions. "What now? Have they started you on any medication?"
Darla sighed, the first sign of any emotion since she'd told them. "The doctor is working on that now. He was throwing all sorts of names of drugs around like AZT, ddl, 3TC and whatnot. He said that the right combination of them might bring my T-cell count up. You know what they call it? A Cocktail. That's an appropriate word for me, don't you think?" She chuckled dryly as the other two sat silent. "Anyway, until he comes up with something, he has me on an antibiotic to clear up my bronchitis. He says it's important to stay well." Darla scrunched back into the corner of the sofa and lit a cigarette, blowing smoke out into the silent room. The fire was almost out, and the room suddenly felt cold. From outside, a west wind brushed against the bay window.
Katherine wanted to ask the big question, but thought it would upset Denise too much. To her astonishment, Denise asked in a hushed voice, "How long will you live?"
Darla leveled her eyes on her sister. "The doctor says I can live months or years. It all depends on how healthy I stay. It's not AIDS that kills, it's the flu, pneumonia, cancers, and other diseases that kill you from your weakened immune system."
Katherine nodded. "I don't know a lot about AIDS," she admitted, "but I do know you can't pass it to any of us by sharing a Coke."
"I don't want to take any chances," Darla said stubbornly. "One more thing. The doctor wants everyone in the house to be tested, just in case. Contact with any bodily fluids or blood from someone with AIDS can be fatal." She looked directly at Katherine. "You helped me when I was sick. Remember?"
Katherine thought back to the day she had cleaned up Darla's vomit and changed her sweat-soaked sheets. Had there been any cuts on her hands at the time? She couldn't remember. Stubbornly, she stuck out her chin. "I'm not worried about that. But the doctor's right. We should all be tested."
"And not a word to anyone about this yet," Darla said seriously. "If anyone finds out, I could lose my job." She shook her finger at Denise. "Not Mom or Dad either," she warned. "I want to find out what can be done before I tell them."
Denise nodded silently, her lip trembling.
Katherine caught Darla's eye. "I'm sorry, Darla. I'm really sorry this happened," she said softly.
Darla turned her eyes toward the dying fire. "Me, too."
Chapter Seven
Katherine loved research. In college, she was the only student who didn't groan when they had to write a thesis paper. She loved learning new things and enjoyed digging up facts. So, it was only natural for her to research AIDS. She learned about T-cell counts, viral-load measurements, and Protease Inhibitors. In a medical journal, she learned how the HIV virus attacks white blood cells and multiplies, going on to attack more healthy cells. On the Internet, she found information on government and state subsidies for people with AIDS. She also located support groups for patients and families alike, and even found one in their own community. But when she presented this information to Darla, she scoffed at the idea of a support group.
"I don't want to sit in a room with a bunch of losers talking about death," Darla barked. Katherine tucked the information away in her file drawer, just in case.
Katherine's HIV test came back negative, as did the others in the household. She hated lying to Chris about the reason for the blood test, but she respected Darla's need for privacy at the moment. Katherine knew it wouldn't be long before the whole household knew the truth.
***
While Katherine coped by learning more about the disease, Denise handled it with tears. She constantly fell to pieces at home and at work. Her co-workers were at a loss over her emotional behavior, and Katherine tried her best to comfort her at home. She urged her to talk to Gary about it. "He's a doctor, he'll understand," Katherine coaxed.
But telling Gary was the last thing Denise wanted to do. They'd only been dating a month, and she was ashamed to admit to him that her sister had AIDS. She felt guilty about feeling that way, which only added to her anxiety. But a week after Darla told them, Denise burst into tears right in front of Gary as he approached her desk. She ran from the office and into an empty patient room with Gary at her heels.
"Denise. What's the matter? Are you okay?" Gary's face creased with concern as he approached her, letting the door close behind him. Denise hid her face in her hands, wanting so badly to hold him, yet denying her impulse to find comfort in his arms. Gary didn't hesitate though. He pulled her close, letting her tears spill onto his white overcoat.
"I'm...so...sorry...Gary," she said between sobs. "It...seems like...all...I do is...cry around you."
Gary rubbed her back, trying to soothe her. "Shhh. It's okay. What's the matter? Are you sick?"
Denise shook her head and reached for a tissue on the stand beside the crisply made bed. Stripes of sunlight filtered through the open blinds across their bodies. She blew her nose, willing composure to take
over, but the tears still ran down her cheeks.
"It's not me," she said slowly. "It's my sister." Hesitantly, she searched his face through damp lashes, wondering if she could tell him and how he would react.
Gary's concerned frown held. "Did she do something to upset you?"
Denise shook her head again, sitting down on the bed, disrupting the blanket's smooth fit. She took the plunge. "She has AIDS."
Gary stood silent, letting the news settle upon him before speaking. "Denise, I'm so sorry." He sat down on the bed beside her, folding her into his arms as a new wave of tears struck her. Tentatively, her arms found their way around his neck, her cheek against his shoulder. They held each other like this for a while. Denise felt comforted by his touch.
After a time, he pulled back, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "How far has the disease progressed?" he asked.
"She says it's full-blown."
"Do you know what her T-cell count is?"
She sniffled. "No."
Gary sat, considering. "Has her doctor started her on any medication?"
"She said he was going to. Something called a "Cocktail"." Denise looked up at Gary's face and saw a man deep in thought. It was his 'doctor's face' as she liked to call it. Concerned, considering, thoughtful. He was not judging her or her sister, not disgusted by her revelation. He was concerned. He cared. In that one instant, her heart grew closer to his.
He finally came out of his reverie. "I know of some very good doctors in the area who work specifically with AIDS patients. I'd be happy to refer her to one of them."
Denise nodded. "That might help."
Brown eyes locked with blue. "I'm here for you, remember that," he told her softly, once again pulling her into his arms. She believed him.
***
The final days of February brought an unusual cold spell that was too much for Darla's system. She ended up in the hospital with Pneumocystis Pneumonia, also known as PCP, that is common to AIDS patients, and deadly if left untreated.
Her doctor immediately ordered her on a respirator to assist her overburdened lungs that were filled with fluid. Tubes flowed into her veins, depositing antibiotics to attack the disease that was attacking her. She lay there, drugged with morphine, as the respirator hissed and chugged, breathing for her.
Katherine, Denise, and the Richards took turns sitting at her bedside, watching over her. Katherine sat, hour after hour, watching the helpless form before her with tubes up her nose, tubes strung from her arms and chest, hanging onto life from the noisy machine. At intervals, the respirator tube would clog with saliva and mucus and Katherine would have to call a nurse in to suction it. Katherine inwardly cringed as she watched Darla gag and shudder with pain while the nurse suctioned the tube, while outwardly she stayed strong and held Darla's hand for support.
For four days, they all waited, watched, and prayed until the doctor announced that her lungs were clear enough to remove the breathing tube. The Richards and Denise went home for some much needed sleep after the tubes were removed. Katherine was the first one Darla saw as she slowly awoke from her drug-induced sleep.
"Hey, who invited you to this party?" Darla mumbled, her voice raspy.
"I crashed it," Katherine replied quietly. "Don't talk. The doctor said it will irritate your vocal cords."
Darla made a face and grunted, waving her tube infested hand as if to brush the doctor's orders aside. She looked small and thin under the sheets, not at all like the sturdy adversary Katherine was used to. But her eyes still held their stubborn fire.
"What would he know?" Darla said.
"Enough to keep you alive," Katherine responded. "You know, you've been a royal pain-in-the-ass the past few days."
A small grin of satisfaction appeared on Darla's pale lips. "I'm always a pain-in-the-ass, aren't I?"
Katherine chuckled. "This time more than usual. How do you feel?"
"Like I've been hit by a Mack truck. How do ya think?"
"There's nothing wrong with your attitude. You're as rude as ever."
"It'll take more than a cold to rehabilitate me."
"You didn't have just a cold. You could have died," Katherine told her seriously.
"Could have, but didn't." A wave of coughing overtook her and Katherine came quickly to her side, handing her a small bucket to spit up in. After the spasm receded, Katherine remained serious.
"Your parents are very worried. They don't understand what's causing all this. I think it's time you told them."
Darla slowly nodded. "Soon," she agreed.
***
Two days later, Marcia sat on the hard, plastic chair beside her daughter's bed with tears streaming down her face. Denise stood behind her, giving solace with her hands on her shoulders while Dan stood on the opposite side of the bed, a deep crease between his usually teasing eyes. Katherine kept a silent vigil in the back corner of the room.
"Now, Mom, don't start crying," Darla commanded, her voice stronger but still rough. "I'm not dead yet."
"How long can a person live with AIDS?" Dan asked steadily.
"I don't know, Dad. Weeks, months, or years. The doctor can't guarantee anything. He's going to start me on a mixture of pills that are supposed to help my T-cell count stay up. I just have to be careful not to pick up any bugs that will make me sick again."
"The doctor said you could have died from that pneumonia," Marcia said between sniffles.
"But I didn't, did I? You know me, I'm tough. I'm just like Grandpa Richards used to say about himself—too ornery to die."
"But he did finally die," Denise said quietly.
"Yeah, well, we all have to go someday." Darla's face held no emotion.
***
Telling Chelsea two days later was much harder, even for the tough-hearted Darla. She'd been released from the hospital the previous day, and called Chelsea up to her room. Katherine had been clued in on what was happening and sat discretely in the kitchen in case she was needed.
Chelsea approached her mom gingerly, wary as to why she'd been called up there. She'd sensed the morbid current that had recently overtaken the atmosphere of the once cheery house. It scared her to see her mother, usually so vibrant, looking pale and worn.
"What did you want, Mom? Did you need me to get you something?"
Darla shook her head, her mop of jet black hair swaying from side to side. The roots had grown out rust-colored and her face was stark white. Her thick, black brows gave her an evil appearance. She sat against the plumped-up pillows, her usually thrust out bosom sagging under the gray T-shirt she wore.
"Sit down a minute," she instructed, her dull hazel eyes watching her daughter hesitate at the foot of the bed. Chelsea stepped up and perched on the side of the bed, her eyes full of questions.
Darla had always been honest with Chelsea, and she saw no reason not to be now.
"Chelsea, I have AIDS."
Chelsea's young face creased. "What?"
"I have AIDS," Darla repeated matter-of-factly. "I was tested and found HIV positive. Do you know what that is?"
Chelsea nodded silently. She knew about AIDS. AIDS was a disease spread by unprotected sex and drug users sharing needles. As far as Chelsea knew, it was not something mothers of twelve-year-old girls got.
"How?" Chelsea finally managed in a whisper.
"If you know what AIDS is, then I'm sure you know how people get it," Darla replied bluntly.
Chelsea stared at her mother for a long, silent moment. Yes, she knew how people got AIDS. Slowly, her expression turned from scared to stone cold and her eyes narrowed accusingly.
"So, are you going to die?" she asked in the same blunt tone as her mother.
Darla didn't even blink. "Yep. But then, we all will someday, right? So it's no big deal."
Chelsea's eyes burned long and hard at the woman who had given her life. The woman who was never around when she needed comfort, who never shared in any of the special moments of her life. The woman who had moved t
hem from apartment to apartment, boyfriend to boyfriend, never once considering her feelings. Inside, her heart froze.
"Fine. Die then. You're never around when I need a mother anyway, so you won't be missed." Dull hazel eyes clashed with vibrant blue ones for a fleeting moment, then Chelsea jumped from the bed and ran from the room, slamming the door in her wake.
***
In the kitchen below, Katherine heard the door slam and footsteps on the stairs, and before she could stop her, Chelsea whipped past her and out the swinging door. Quickly, Katherine took the stairs up to Darla's room two at a time.
"What happened?" she asked, bursting into the room.
"She said I'd be better off dead," Darla replied, blandly.
Katherine wrinkled her brow. "No. She didn't say that."
"She sure did, loud and clear. Can't say that I blame her, either. Like she said, I'm not much of a mother anyway."
Darla's face and eyes showed no emotion, yet there was a catch in her voice that told Katherine she'd been wounded. Katherine searched for words to comfort her but failed, for she couldn't deny Chelsea's words because they both knew what she'd said was true.
"I'd better check on Chelsea," Katherine finally said into the silence.
Darla nodded and watched Katherine leave, knowing she should be the one to check on her daughter, fold her in her arms, and tell her how sorry she was. But it wasn't within her to do so. It never had been. She was tough, hard, competent, and capable, but she was not loving. Yet, the sting of Chelsea's words hurt her deep down inside.
***
Katherine stood quietly in front of Chelsea's closed door. From beyond the thick oak that separated them, she heard faint sobs, like the whimper of a puppy left out alone on a dark, cold night. Katherine knocked softly. The sounds from within ceased, but there was no answer. Slowly, she turned the glass knob, its touch cold in her hand, and poked her head in the open door.
"Chelsea, are you all right, honey?"
Widow, Virgin, Whore - A Novel Page 6