Chelsea stood at the window, her back to Katherine, her crying contained except for the brief escape of a small sniffle. Again, she didn't answer.
Katherine entered the room, her footsteps quiet on the shiny wood floor, and stood behind Chelsea, placing her hands lightly on the young girl's shoulders. She felt a slight tremble of the girl's body beneath her fingers.
"I don't care if she dies," Chelsea insisted, standing straight and rigid. "I won't miss her at all."
The words hung in the air, waiting to take effect on its two occupants.
"You know you don't mean that," Katherine said gently.
Chelsea spun around sharply, her red, swollen eyes shooting up to Katherine. "I do mean it! I hate her! I don't care what happens to her." Her resolve to be as emotionless as her mother shattered as she looked at Katherine. Tears burst from her with deep, choking sobs. Katherine folded the young girl into her arms, knowing that the tears would begin the healing within her, yet the intensity of them tore at Katherine's heart.
"I...really...do...hate...her," Chelsea said between sobs. "She...doesn't love...me. She never...loved me."
Katherine pulled away, her hands locked on Chelsea's arms. "Chelsea, you know that's not true. Don't say that."
"It is true," she demanded, her eyes spitting blue fire. "She's never thought of me, only herself. She goes out partying every night with her friends, sleeps with every guy she meets, never once thinking about me or what could happen. If she loved me," Chelsea's voice broke and the sobs began again. "If she...loved me, she would...have cared...enough...about herself...not...to get...AIDS."
Her tears continued as Katherine held her tight, stroking her hair and rubbing her back. Katherine couldn't deny Chelsea's words, for she was right. Darla only thought of herself, her own fun, her own happiness, never concerning herself with her future or that of her daughter's. And now she was paying the ultimate price for her negligence. It tore at Katherine's heart that Chelsea had seen it so clearly, and was now suffering from it, too.
"We're here for you, honey. Just know that. Your Aunt Denise and I will always be here for you." Katherine whispered the words into her auburn hair, holding back her own tears that threatened to spill.
Chapter Eight
It had not been a good week at the Victorian house above Puget Sound. Chelsea wasn't speaking to her mother. She spent most of her time alone in her room to avoid eye contact with the invalid on the sofa. At mealtimes Chelsea ate quickly, refusing to acknowledge her mother's presence. Katherine and Denise were at a loss as to how to rectify the situation, but Darla merely shrugged off her daughter's attitude. Darla had too many other problems to deal with. She'd begun combination therapy of Crixivan, AZT and 3TC as prescribed by the doctor Gary had recommended, taking the three drugs at intervals during the day, twenty-two pills a day, to inhibit the growth of the AIDS virus in her system. But the so called 'miracle' pills came with side-effects. Darla felt nauseous most of the time and her muscles ached. The muscle pain made it difficult for her to move around, sometimes needing Katherine or Denise to help her out of bed and to her favorite spot by the fire which she insisted was the only warm place in the house. Katherine suspected Darla's need to be downstairs stemmed more from loneliness, but never said so out loud.
Telling Chris about Darla's illness was a bittersweet moment for Katherine. She was concerned the news would upset him, because he'd already experienced the pain of his father's death less than two years before. But his reaction was one of compassion for Chelsea.
"Poor Chelsea," he said sadly as they sat on his bed the afternoon she told him. Katherine's brows rose as their eyes met. She'd expected his concern to be more for Darla than for Chelsea.
"How do you mean?" she questioned.
Chris glanced down shyly. He was a boy of few words, and he embarrassed easily. "I just mean, I know how hard it is to lose a parent. And Darla's all she's got. That's tough."
Katherine's heart warmed at his words. Instinctively, she placed her hand on his arm. "You're right. It will be tough on her. But we'll all be here for her."
Chris nodded his blonde head, then his eyes full of questions caught hers. "Will Aunt Darla always be sick like she is now?"
Katherine shook her head. "I don't know. She's on medication to slow the spread of the virus in her system but it won't make it go away completely. And the drugs make her sick, too. The doctor says she could get better, go back to work, and live a semi-normal life for a while. But we have to just wait and see what happens as each day comes."
"She's going to die from it though, right?" he asked quietly.
It was Katherine's turn to nod. "Things might get pretty rough around here over the next few months."
"We can handle it though, right Mom?"
Katherine looked into Chris' hazel eyes that so suddenly seemed to have matured. They'd already been through so much together, it only seemed natural that they could handle this, too.
"We'll try," she told him, reaching her arms around his square shoulders. "We'll try."
***
The days grew longer as March breezed through their lives. The tulips alongside the house sprouted through the earth and stood at attention, ready to bloom at the first touch of sun. But as spring happily burst to life outside, life became tense inside. Darla was extremely irritable toward everyone. Her dosage of medication had been altered and switched three times to alleviate the side-effects, but to no avail. She'd received several calls from the station wanting to know when she'd be back to work, the last call explaining how they had to hire another hair and makeup specialist to take her place for the time being. Her so-called friends of the bar circuit had completely deserted her, showing their true colors. Not one phone call came asking how she was or telling her she was missed.
Darla's anxiety grew with each passing day. She worried about losing her job, about constantly being sick, and whether she'd ever feel well again. But instead of confiding her worries, she held them inside, turning herself into a walking volcano. And as her tension grew, so did the tempers of everyone inside the house. While the family members tip-toed around Darla, afraid to talk back to her or upset her, they would then turn on someone else in the house to relieve the stress. The anxiety level in the house was almost unbearable, and grew with each day just as the viral load grew within Darla.
Because Katherine worked at home, she became the main caregiver for Darla by default. At first, she didn't mind this additional responsibility being placed upon her on top of running the children around and working. She and Darla had never been close, so she felt it was better that she saw to the day-to-day details of Darla's health rather than Denise or Marcia having the responsibility. The emotional strain of constantly caring for her daughter would have been too much for Marcia, and although Denise and Darla were not especially close, it would still have been a strain on Denise. Katherine had no emotional ties to her, so she was better able to care for Darla's needs and put up with her constant bickering than any relative might be able to.
But as the days and weeks passed, Katherine found that caring for someone constantly gnawed away at her nerves. It wasn't enough that she had the kids relying on her for their needs, but now Darla expected her to be there every second, too. And Katherine became increasingly annoyed with Denise's constant absence from the house, yet, she could hardly blame her. If she could escape the tension of the house, she'd be gone, too. At each passing day, Katherine's nerves grew tighter at the constant demands placed upon her from Darla, work, and the kids.
Katherine finally reached her breaking point after one extremely hectic morning. The kids had been incredibly slow eating breakfast and packing their backpacks, almost missing the bus. Katherine had an early morning board meeting to attend, and was still in her pajamas. On top of that, Darla threw up her breakfast and needed attention. Katherine was just coming downstairs from Darla's room when she saw Denise standing beside the empty coffee pot, looking lost.
"No coffee this
morning?"
Katherine's jaw tightened. "I forgot to set the timer last night. Make instant." She brushed past Denise to remove her rubber cleaning gloves and wash her hands.
"But I hate instant," Denise whined.
Katherine whirled around and faced her with an angry glare. "Then you should have set the timer yourself. Why expect me to do it? Can't you see I have my hands full around here?"
Denise looked indignant, which only accelerated Katherine's rage. She turned to the sink, throwing the gloves down with a splat. "But then, how would you know, since you're never home. You go off with Gary and hide so you don't have to face what's going on here."
From behind, Katherine heard soft footsteps leave the room, the swinging door swishing back and forth in her retreat. Katherine's stiff shoulders slumped. Tears filled her eyes. Tears of frustration, anger, exhaustion, and guilt. Slowly, feeling aged and worn, she threw away the gloves, washed her hands, then turned to go upstairs.
Katherine found Denise sobbing quietly on her freshly made bed. From the doorway, all Katherine could manage was a small, "I'm sorry."
Denise shook her head, hiding behind a tissue. Katherine stepped into the room. "I shouldn't have snapped at you. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm just frustrated. It's been...hard."
"No," Denise managed between tears. "You're right. Everything you said is true. I have been hiding." She raised red, damp eyes to Katherine. "It's all my fault," she said in a pitiful voice.
Katherine's brow creased with confusion. "What's all your fault?"
"Everything that's happened to Darla. It's my fault she's sick, that she's…" she choked out the word, "dying."
"How could that be your fault?" Katherine asked, her tone frustrated and insistent. "You had nothing to do with her getting AIDS."
"No, but I wished her dead."
"What?"
"Remember the night of the Christmas party when she embarrassed me in front of Gary and everyone? I told you I wished she was dead. Now, it's coming true." Denise raised sad blue eyes with glistening lashes. "It's all my fault," she repeated.
Katherine's confused expression turned to one of understanding. She let out a relieved sigh as she dropped on the bed beside Denise.
"So, that's why you've been staying away? Because you feel guilty?"
Denise nodded. "And I left you to take care of everything. I'm so sorry, Kathy."
Katherine locked eyes with her best friend. "That's a bunch of crap and you know it."
"What?" Denise's eyes widened. She forgot all about crying.
"You're no more to blame for Darla's illness than I am for acid rain. You can't wish someone dead. If Darla dies, it will be because of AIDS, not because of something you said."
"But I...I..." Denise was too astonished by Katherine's blunt words to think clearly.
"The only reason you feel guilty is because for the first time in your life, you're happy. You have a boyfriend, you're going out, and you're enjoying life. Unfortunately, it happened the same time your sister stopped enjoying life. So you feel responsible. And instead of letting yourself enjoy your happiness, you blame yourself for Darla's problems."
Denise only stared at Katherine.
"Everything that happens to your sister does not have to reflect back on you," Katherine finished, her tone softer.
Denise considered this a while, letting it seep in.
"It just doesn't seem fair," Denise finally said. "My having fun, being happy, while her life is falling apart. It's like some twisted revenge." She looked longingly at Katherine for validation. "I would never have wished this on her."
"I know. But you have to remember, this happened to Darla because of her own actions. Not because of something you said or did."
Denise looked down at the tissue in her hands that she'd nervously torn into tiny pieces. "I'll try to help out more around here," she said, looking back up at Katherine. "I owe you so much for everything you've done."
"We're friends," Katherine said gently. "You don't owe me anything. But I would appreciate some help. I want you to keep having fun with Gary, though. Don't give that up, you owe that to yourself."
With a smile and a nod, they came to an agreement.
***
That evening, instead of going out, Denise invited Gary over for some take-out Chinese food and everyone, except Darla, dug right in. Darla hadn't left her room all day, not even to lie on her coveted spot by the fire. Katherine had been up to see her several times during the day to give her one of her many doses of medication and to bring her food. But Darla wasn't keeping the food down, and was weak and tired from the strain of vomiting all day. Throughout the evening, Denise and Katherine had taken turns checking on her, so they were surprised when Chelsea came down looking anxious about her mother.
"Mom's really sick," she told her aunts as they sat playing cards with Gary at the kitchen table. "I went up to borrow one of her sweaters, and she was shaking. She says her whole body feels like it's on fire, and she can't move her legs."
The fear in Chelsea's eyes was all the adults needed to fly past her and up to Darla's room. They found her shaking uncontrollably in her bed, breathing in short, labored gasps. Gary was the first to reach her, and placed his hand on her damp forehead.
"She's feverish," he announced. "And her breathing sounds tight."
Katherine came to stand beside him, but Denise held back, standing at the foot of the bed as Chelsea hovered by the door. Darla stared straight ahead with glassy eyes, oblivious to the people in the room.
"Pneumonia again?" Katherine asked Gary.
He studied Darla, his brow furrowed with concern, and checked her pulse. "I'm not sure. It may be another reaction to her medication. We have to get her to emergency right away." He looked at Katherine. "Will you call her doctor and have him meet us there?"
Katherine nodded. "I'll do it right away." She hurried down to the kitchen to phone the doctor.
Gary pulled back the bedcovers and gently lifted Darla. She was so thin and light that it was like he was lifting one of his child patients. Denise grabbed a blanket to place over her, and as she did, their eyes met. Denise saw the support she needed in Gary's eyes and it helped her feel stronger. Together, with Chelsea following, they left the room.
***
Doctor Daryl Hanson bent over Darla under the bright fluorescent lights. "How long has she been shaking like this?"
"I'm not sure," Katherine said, assigning herself as spokesperson for the group. "She wasn't shaking when I went up to her room at six o'clock to bring her dinner and pills. It was about seven-thirty when Chelsea came down and told us how sick she was."
Dr. Hanson stood up straight and squinted at Katherine through his round eyeglasses. He was in his early fifties, but the deep creases around his eyes and across his brow made him look twenty years older. Creases from worry, stress, concern, or perhaps all three. "Has she been taking her medication regularly?"
"Yes."
"The right dose at the right times?"
"She's been following your directions carefully. I've helped her keep the times and dosage straight and we have them separated in a pill container with compartments like you suggested."
He frowned, making the creases deepen. "What about food? Has she been getting her meals on a regular schedule with the medication?"
Katherine's jaw tightened. The doctor's intense stare and questions made her feel like she was on trial, as if it was her fault that Darla was so sick. Denise and Gary quietly watched the doctor's inquest as if they were the jury deciding who was at fault.
"She tries to eat, but nothing stays down," Katherine said sharply. "The medication is making her sicker, not better."
Dr. Hanson removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Like his hair, they were dull gray and appeared smaller without the magnification of the lenses.
"That's the trouble with this new medication," he said, his attention still on Katherine. "Most of it hasn't been out long and has mostly been tes
ted on males. White males, to be exact. That makes it difficult to find the right dosage for women." He sighed heavily and returned his glasses to their proper place. Katherine realized that he was just as frustrated as she was.
"Then you think it's the medication that's made her so sick?" Gary asked.
The doctor nodded. "The dosage is probably too strong for her. And she's dehydrated from not keeping fluids down, so that's probably causing the shaking." Dr. Hanson looked over at Darla, who seemed oblivious to the crowd in the room, her eyes staring expressionlessly ahead of her. He studied her a moment, the creases between his brows growing deeper. Then he turned back to the others.
"We'll keep her overnight and get her started on an IV for fluids. I'll change her dosage of medication and see how she responds. She might be with us a couple of days until we can get it right." He turned once more to Darla, leaning over her to look into her eyes. "Darla, we're going to start an IV for you and change your medication. We'll get you feeling better, okay?" There was no sign that she heard or understood.
***
Chris and Chelsea stood up simultaneously as Katherine, Denise, and Gary entered the waiting room.
"How is she? Is she all right?" Chelsea asked the trio, her puffy eyes searching their tired faces for answers.
Katherine placed a comforting arm around the young girl's shoulders. "She's going to be fine. She has to spend a couple of days here. The doctor needs to change her medication to make her feel better."
"She was so sick," Chelsea whispered. "It scared me."
Katherine glanced at Denise, who took her cue. She stepped up to Chelsea and hugged her as Katherine backed away. "I know, dear. But the doctor says everything will be fine," Denise reassured her niece as she walked her toward the exit.
Katherine caught Chris' glance and saw that he had been worried, too. "You look tired," she told the young teen who simply nodded agreement. She placed her arm around him. "Let's go home."
Widow, Virgin, Whore - A Novel Page 7