by Lia Kane
“Oh I see,” she said. “You’re just pissed because I suggested that you let someone else know that you’re VAM-Positive. Talk about someone needing to grow up, Jerrika – take a good look in the mirror. You want to hide for the rest of your life and pretend that no one will ever find out your dirty little secret, huh? Well good luck with that.”
“Screw you,” I shot back. “It’s not a ‘dirty little secret,’ it’s a disease. It’s not my fault that people are afraid and ignorant. And by the way, this would have never happened to me had you not bullied me into going to that frat party.”
“I didn’t put a gun to your head.”
“No, you didn’t. I kind of wish you had now. Or you could have at least let me lay there and bleed to death. It would have been easier for me to have died that night rather than live the rest of my days with VAM.”
“Oh, that’s great,” she spat, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “So now I’m the bad guy because I busted into Ethan’s room and called an ambulance when I found you lying there half-dead?”
“You busted into Ethan’s room so you could throw yourself at him before he had the chance to lay a finger on me. You just couldn’t handle the idea that he might have wanted me instead of you.”
“Is that what you think?” She laughed. “You’re crazy if you ever thought for a second that I felt threatened by you. I was worried about you. I was trying to protect you. But you know what? Maybe you’re right about everything. Maybe I should have let you lay there and die. You really think you would have been better off dead?”
“Sometimes I do,” I said. “Do you know what I’ve had to give up, Whitney? Do you know how hard it is to live this way? You’re so selfish and spoiled you wouldn’t last one day in my shoes.”
“Selfish?” she cried, leaping off the bed. “I’m selfish? Oh go to hell, Jerrika! I’ve been feeding you my own blood, day after day for the past seven years. I haven’t been able to go anywhere or do anything without being right by your side. Do you think it’s been fun for me, being a walking happy meal for you all this time? Do you know how much I’ve had to give up myself? European vacations with my family, romantic weekends away with guys I’ve dated, not to mention that I’ve stopped drinking alcohol and I’ve stopped smoking because you don’t like the way it makes my blood taste, and you know what else? Drawing my blood every single day gets old. REALLY old! My arms are sore and I’ve got permanent scars from the needles. And I’m tired, all the time, and I’m probably anemic myself because I’m constantly losing my own blood so you can drink it. So go ahead, Jerrika. Call me selfish again.”
I was crying. So was Whitney. This blowup had been a long time in the making. All of the resentments that we had kept to ourselves over the past seven years were out on the table now.
I didn’t know what else to say, so I left.
• • •
It was quiet when I made it back to Hope House around two o’clock in the afternoon. The toddlers and infants were napping in the nursery, and the older kids were being homeschooled by Sarah. My stomach was rumbling for blood.
In the kitchen, I found Lucy unpacking blood bags from a cooler into the fridge. She startled when I entered.
“Sorry to sneak up on you,” I said.
“Not your fault. Sorry, I’m just kind of jumpy.”
“Everything okay?” I asked.
She nodded and continued packing the fridge.
“Listen, I’m really hungry right now. Is there a chance I can grab one of those bags? For an early dinner?”
She tossed me a blood bag. “It’s raw,” she said.
“Raw?”
“I haven’t had a chance to add in the supplements and growth hormones.”
“That’s okay,” I assured her. “Save them for the kids. Speaking of… I guess I should have asked before I started helping myself to the blood bank here, but I’m assuming I’m not taking away from the children, am I?”
“You know how it is with kids,” Lucy looked up to smile at me. “They never finish a meal, so there are always leftovers. I can keep squeezing out a serving for you here and there until we get your standing prescription on file with the blood bank. Once that happens, I can pick up an extra pint every day for you. Your staff living expense stipend will pay for about half of the monthly cost, I think. Or so I’ve heard Sarah say.”
“I’ve always had a familiar donor so I’ve never asked for a standing prescription from my doctor. I guess I’ll have to make an appointment and get one,” I said. “So Lucy, I take it you don’t have VAM?”
“No,” said Lucy. “Neither does Claudia. Kelly didn’t have VAM either, so when she was here, she cooked a full breakfast, lunch and dinner every day. I miss having a good meal every now and then.”
“Do you and Claudia still cook?”
“Not so much. Now that it’s just the two of us, it wouldn’t make sense. I’m not a big eater to begin with, and Claudia’s perfectly happy with microwave dinners and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Kelly was the one with a big appetite. Something about coming to work here must have done it to her. She wasn’t exactly skinny when she started, but man, she gained a ton of weight over the years.” Lucy shook her head woefully.
“Well, I’d give anything if I could put on just a few extra pounds,” I sighed. “No woman’s ever happy with her body, right?”
“You got that right,” said Claudia as she entered the kitchen with a baby in her arms. “I’d like to have about 20 pounds lipo’d off of each of my butt cheeks.”
Lucy and I laughed.
“Sorry to butt into the conversation, gals,” said Claudia, “but I think Shannon has a fever. Could you check her temp, Lucy?”
I watched as Lucy went into nurse mode, pressing her hand to the baby’s forehead, then her bare chest. She frowned with worry, then reached into a cabinet over the sink and found a digital thermometer. Lucy pressed a button to turn it on and wedged the tip of it into Shannon’s armpit. A few seconds later it beeped.
“She’s got a temp of 103,” said Lucy. “She needs to be seen.”
“I’ll go call Dr. Miles to ask if he can work her in this afternoon.” Claudia reached into her pocket for her mobile phone, then stepped through the kitchen and out the back door.
“Oh, heads up,” began Lucy, “the only landline for the orphanage is in your office. We used to have a phone in the kitchen but took it down because Jonathan and Haley were sneaking in here at night and making prank calls.”
I pressed my lips together to stifle a laugh.
“Anyway,” Lucy continued, “We don’t really miss it because we use our cell phones most of the time. We text when we’re spread out inside the house and need to communicate with each other. As far as making voice calls, you need a much stronger cellular signal, which is kind of hit or miss out here. We’re out in the boonies and surrounded by mountains, so some spots are better than others. The best place that we’ve found to make or receive calls is about twenty feet from the back porch, right where Claudia is headed to talk right now.”
“Thanks for the tip. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Claudia promptly returned to the kitchen. “Good news. Dr. Miles said to bring Shannon in around four o’clock and he’d work her in before they close for the day.”
“Dr. Miles is the VAM specialist,” Lucy explained. “He’s great with the kids.”
“Well, how about this,” I proposed, “I could take Shannon. I need to see a doctor anyway so I can get a prescription on file for whole blood. If he could see us both, then we could kill two birds with one stone.”
“Perfect!” said Claudia. “I’ll get her ready.”
She disappeared down the hallway and quickly returned with the baby dressed and strapped into an infant carrier. Claudia walked me out to my car and showed me the proper technique for belting the carrier into the back seat. She handed me a bag that she had packed with baby essentials – a bottle filled with chilled blood, a burping pad, two diapers and a
handwritten note for the doctor. She quickly described the location of the doctor’s office, in a strip mall of medical practices, anchored to a Walgreen’s across from the hospital. I thanked her and backed out of the driveway.
As I pulled out onto the road, I peeked at Shannon in my rearview mirror and smiled. She looked so precious and peaceful in her sleep. For the first time since I had heard the words – you’re hired – I reflected on what a great job I had landed. Not only did I have a paycheck and a place to call my home, but I would be spending my days with lively, spirited children and sweet, beautiful little babies –
Then I hit a bump on the road, waking Shannon from her sleep.
She screamed the entire way to the doctor’s office.
Chapter Nine
“SHANNON DOE?”
I rose from my seat in the lobby, my arm hooked through the handle of the baby carrier, and stepped toward the desk. The receptionist – Trish, according to her nametag – led me into one of the patient rooms, where I settled into a seat in the corner. Shannon had exhausted herself from crying and had fallen asleep once more. I prayed, although I imagined it was in vain, that the doctor would be able to make a diagnosis without even waking her up.
Dr. Miles knocked on the door, then walked in, right out of a soap opera. I guessed him to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He was six feet tall, had a blonde crew cut and sparkling blue eyes. I’m not a doctor, but I do play one on TV, I imagined him saying.
“Hi there,” he said. “Dr. Paul Miles.” He crossed the room to shake my hand. I felt my heart sink when I saw a gold band on his left ring finger. There went that fantasy.
“Hi,” I said, rising from my seat. “Jerrika Rand. I’m the new executive director at Hope House.”
“Excellent,” he said. “I know they’re glad to have you. So tell me, what’s going on with Shannon today?”
“She has a fever of a 103. Lucy was concerned.”
“Alright,” Dr. Miles gently lifted the baby out of the carrier. His movements were so gentle he didn’t even wake her. He placed her on the exam table, unbuttoned her tiny shirt and listened to her chest with a stethoscope. “If you could help me get her diaper off, I’ll need to check her temp again,” he said, reaching into a drawer underneath the exam table.
I removed Shannon’s clothes and diaper, waking her in the process, and of course the crying started up once more. Dr. Miles checked her temperature rectally. It looked so uncomfortable that I was certain I would have been crying too, had my rear end been violated with a cold thermometer.
“It’s still 103,” he said. “Is she feeding normally?”
“I’m not sure… oh, wait. Claudia sent a note for you.” I reached into the bag and handed it to him.
Dr. Miles read the note aloud, which included specifics about Shannon’s symptoms. “Didn’t want to feed this morning, fussy throughout the night, spit up twice…”
“Do you think it’s serious?” I asked with concern. “What do you think it is?”
He folded the note and handed it back to me. “I think it’s a baby with a fever,” he said with a smile. “Acetaminophen will bring it down. Since Shannon can’t take it orally, I can give her an injection.”
I let out a small sigh of relief. “Good.”
“I’ll go get that shot,” he said, making his way to the door.
“Hey, one more thing?”
“Sure.”
I paused. “While I’m here, I was just wondering if I could get a standing prescription for whole blood?”
“Shannon’s already got one on file,” he assured me.
“Not for Shannon,” I said meekly. “For me.”
“Actually, I won’t be able to do it this afternoon since you’re not an established patient of mine, but I tell you what… can you come back in, first thing tomorrow morning? I’ll need to do an initial consult with you, plus draw blood to send to the lab so we can get a positive VAM test on file. It won’t take long, maybe thirty minutes. Will that work?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Great. Now – let me go get that shot and I’ll be right back.”
After he left the room, I exhaled loudly. It felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Dr. Miles hadn’t even flinched when he learned that I had VAM. I had almost expected to see his face contort with shock when he realized that he had shaken my hand without gloves on. Or that he had been standing close to me, breathing the same air as we hovered over Shannon. Not that any of that would have created the slightest risk of him acquiring VAM, but as I knew all too well, this disease made people – even doctors – overly fearful, overly cautious.
When he came back in, he gave Shannon the shot so gently that she didn’t even flinch. He handed me my new patient paperwork before walking us back to the reception desk to check out.
“I’ll see you bright and early in the morning,” he reminded me. “Eight o’clock?”
“Eight o’clock it is.” I smiled at him on the way out the door. I wanted to thank him for being so kind; for making me feel like I was a human being and not a monster. I just didn’t have the right words at the time, but promised myself to find them before we met again the following day.
I was walking across the parking lot toward my car when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I reached in to grab it, hoping to find a text message from Whitney. Maybe she’d be the one to say that she was sorry first. Of course, I would say it next, and we’d make up, laugh the whole thing off and vow not to let anything shake our friendship ever again.
But the message wasn’t from Whitney.
Good afternoon, Jerrika. Hope you had a pleasant day. Please call me this evening when you have a spare moment.
Victor
He must have called the orphanage to get my mobile number from Sarah, Claudia or Lucy. It was fitting for Mayor Drake. He wasn’t one to wait on me to volunteer any information, not when he was resourceful enough to get it himself.
The hot older mayor, Whitney had jokingly called him. It was true; he was hot. I really didn’t care at the moment about the older part. It was flattering, after having been on a relationship hiatus for my entire young adulthood, to get this kind of attention. I kept re-reading his message, smiling to myself –
HOOOOOOONK!
A car horn sounded so loudly in front of me that I jumped, nearly dropping the baby.
I cursed at myself. I’d had my head so far in the clouds that I had failed to watch where I was going. I had nearly walked into a moving car.
That, or maybe the driver of the car hadn’t been paying attention either, and had almost hit me. Either way, a catastrophe had just been avoided. I glared at the driver, not knowing if I should free up a hand to salute the person with my middle finger or else wave apologetically and mouth the word ‘sorry.’ When our eyes met, I could do neither.
Behind the wheel of the car was my mother.
I hadn’t seen her in so long she was almost unrecognizable. The last time I saw her was almost seven years ago at my father’s funeral. In spite of the tremendous loss she was grieving that day, she was still beautiful. Her complexion was rosy, her blonde hair spilled in ringlets to the middle of her back, and her black dress hugged every inch of her curvy body. I knew that any single men attending my father’s service had their eye on her and were asking themselves just how long they should wait to ask her out.
Now, hunched behind the wheel of her car, my mother was skeleton-thin. Her blonde hair had turned gray and was cropped close to her head. The skin of her face and neck sagged with wrinkles, and the light had gone out in her beautiful blue eyes. What I found most distressing, however, was the way she was staring back at me. There was longing and sadness written across her face. I knew that she missed me as much as I missed her; I could feel it. But I could also feel the invisible wall she had erected between us, and it wasn’t coming down any time soon. She couldn’t forgive me for a crime that I never even committed.
We locked eyes and for a mo
ment, all that we could do was stare at each other. Finally, she broke into tears, backed the car out of the parking lot and drove away.
• • •
That evening, after our dinner serving of blood, Haley took me by the hand and led me into the living room. “It’s story time, Miss Jerrika! Sit next to me, sit next to me!”
I sat on the middle of the three sofas and Haley scooted next to me, reaching for my hand and lacing our fingers together.
Jermaine and Jervonne fought each other for a spot next to me, with Jermaine emerging as the victor. Lucy squatted onto one side of a bean bag in the corner, with Jonathan curling up onto the other half. She wrapped her arm around him and he rested his head on her shoulder.
Sarah took a seat on the sofa and bounced two-year old Molly, a big-eyed, curly-headed ten month-old on her lap. Claudia stepped out of the nursery with 3-year old Charlie in her arms. “Shannon’s fever is down. She and Winnie are fast asleep,” she was happy to report while settling into a rocking chair.
“So Miss Jerrika,” Sarah began, “Welcome to your first story night. Anyone and everyone can share a story, and it can be as long or as short as they want it to be. The stories can be true, they can be made-up, or they can be a combination of both. We only have three rules. Does anyone want to tell Miss Jerrika what the three rules are?”
“Me me me!” The four school-age children cried out in unison.
I chose Jervonne since he hadn’t won the coveted seat next to me.
“The first rule is if we use each other in our stories, we show we respect. We don’t pick on each other or make fun of each other,” he explained.
“Okay,” I said. “And the next rule?”
“Me! Me! Me!” The kids shouted again.
“Okay… Jonathan?”
“The second rule is don’t interrupt someone who’s telling a story. If you have a question or you want to share an idea, you have to raise your hand.” Lucy ruffled his hair and whispered praises in his ear.