Prayers for the Dying (Pam of Babylon Book Four) (6 page)

The list of names lingered for weeks after Marie gave them to Pam, unearthed from a long forgotten file of Jack’s. At first, Pam thought she would have the strength to call each person and warn her to be tested for AIDS. But it didn’t take long for that idea to be revealed for what it was: an altruistic notion, an abomination.
Not only is it not my responsibility to inform Jack’s partners, but it might open me up to some kind of danger if one of the contacts gets angry enough.
Now she was left with the list, not sure if she should destroy it or hand it over to the health department. She had already been in contact with the health department regarding Jack’s sexual contacts; the public health officials had agreed to keep her informed without revealing identities, and they had. Having the knowledge, hearing the number of women he had been with, was brutal. It was enough to make her bitter for her remaining lifetime if she allowed it. She reached over and pulled the pile of paper in front of her. In a moment of clarity, she decided to call Betty James from the health department and tell her about the list.
Let them do something about it.

The ringing phone startled Pam out of her revelry. She went into the hallway to get it, checking the caller ID. It was Marie. She had avoided talking to her sister all week and was resigned that if she didn’t answer soon, Marie might find it in herself to leave the comfort of her boyfriend Steve’s apartment and travel to the beach to investigate. “Jesus, Pam, it’s about time!” she said. “Why haven’t you called me back? I left four messages this week.”

“I need some time alone right now,” Pam replied. She didn’t feel as though she owed Marie an explanation for her silence, but decided to offer it to get her sister off her back. “I’m not happy about the way things turned out between us.” It was just enough information to either force Marie to probe further at her own risk, or back off and get out while she was ahead. After five seconds of silence, Marie chose the risky route.

“What are you talking about Pam? We haven’t even seen each other in a month.”

Either sly or stupid, Marie was walking a tight line here. Pam, exasperated, decided to let her have it with both barrels. “You know what I am talking about, Marie! It’s nothing new! Why’d you sleep with Jack? Why’d you let it happen? As soon as you came of age it became your responsibility to end it if you cared about me. We were supposedly so close, yet you betrayed me all of our life!” Her voice shrill and shaking, Pam was headed to new territory. She had always walked away from conflict in the past.

“Why now?” Marie countered. “Why right before Thanksgiving? You’ve had six months to bring this up. Why now?” Repeating herself, Marie felt sick. Having a confrontation about Jack was the last thing she ever wanted to do with Pam. Marie knew she was wrong; with Jack dead, she alone was to blame. Getting defensive was a losing battle. She had to give up. “There is no way we will ever resolve it. I was wrong. I’m sorry. What more do you want from me?” Marie lay back on her bed and closed her eyes.
Why’d I make this call?

Strength was building in Pam, giving her what she needed to be confrontational. Something had shifted in her thinking. Having Marie in her life, thinking about Marie interacting with the children during the holiday, suddenly had become unbearable. “I don’t want you to come here anymore. You are not welcome,” Pam replied. “I’m glad you called because we can have it out. You are correct, Marie. There’s no point in dragging it out now. If I had been smarter, or less tolerant, I would have shut you out of my life the day you told Sandra and me that you’d been Jack’s lover. You sat right here in my house, on my veranda, and blurted that out in front of a stranger. You didn’t have any respect for me when you were screwing my husband in the bedroom next to where our children slept. And you didn’t have any respect for me the weekend after he died. I’m not willing to take the risk that you won’t expose more of your garbage to my children. I don’t want them to know you have AIDS. That you got it from Jack.”

Marie cut in here. She knew that if she wasn’t able to talk her sister out of it, the bond they’d had all of their lives was about to be terminated. Or the bond Marie had felt, as it seemed Pam hadn’t benefited much from their relationship after all. “Pam, please!” she said in a trembling voice. “I promise I won’t say a word to the kids about it! I swear to you, I’ll do anything you ask of me! You’re right, I was awful, selfish. I didn’t think of the consequences!” Against her will, she began to cry. She got out of bed and went to the door to shut and lock it; she didn’t want her boyfriend to come in and he was respectful enough not to come in if the door was closed. She started to pace, tears streaming down her face, her nose running. “The shock of everything must be coming to you all of a sudden. Let’s try to work something out.”

Marie, the peacemaker? Marie, the sensible one?
Something had definitely shifted. But the more she spoke, the harder Pam felt. She could see things clearly for the first time. What had been done to her was done opportunistically. Jack and Marie had walked all over her because Pam was a trusting, loving soul who only saw the good in people. Not anymore.

“No, I think we’re finished. I don’t care what you say to Mother. Tell her you have AIDS and that Jack gave it to you. But if you do so, she won’t be welcome here either. Neither of you are invited to Thanksgiving; I want to be here with my children, alone. I’m hanging up now.” And she ended the call without saying good-bye.

The phone began to ring again. Pam checked the caller ID and saw that it was Marie. She let it ring, shutting off the answering machine before it could pick up. She was finished with her sister. The effect was unexpected. She was suddenly light-hearted. The burden of having Marie, the emotionally damaged, anorexic, depressed Marie, out of her life for one evening was freeing. Pam didn’t owe her sister anything. She had been thrust into the position of Marie’s caretaker when they were young children at home, and it had continued all of their lives. That Marie was abused by Jack was horrible and Pam had punished herself over it, taking responsibility for sticking her head in the clouds because there must have been a sign—some evidence—that she’d ignored. But she was finished with doing penance. Her two children, Brent and Lisa, would be home from college for the first time since Labor Day and she wanted the experience to be beneficial for them. It would be difficult enough that the subject of Pam’s AIDS diagnosis would be discussed and possibly its source uncovered. Imagining the conversation with her kids made her physically ill.

She poured herself another cup of coffee and took it into the den, determined to unwind and move beyond the family drama. With a click of the remote, Pam started the gas fireplace. She curled up in her chair and looked out over the sea, the snow fall diminishing, the waves churning as they crashed on the beach. No amount of turmoil would ruin the beauty of this view; that is until the phone rang again. Wanting to let it go on ringing, she was worried that it might be one of her kids, so she went to answer it. But it was a welcome call from Dave, her new friend. Dave was the owner of her favorite grocery store, Organic Bonanza.

“Another crazy Saturday here! Do you need anything? No point in going out in this if you don’t have to. There have been three fender-benders in the parking lot already this morning,” Dave said.

“Are you serious?” she replied, happy not to have to go out. “I have a list.” She read off a few things that were essential, not wanting to take advantage of his generosity. When they first started to see each other socially, Pam thought he was the store manager. But she wondered about his financial status since he lived in her neighborhood, a place inhabited exclusively by the wealthy and privileged. It turned out that he and his brother owned the store, which was hardly a big money machine, but it made enough so they could live comfortable lives at the beach. Dave came home for lunch every day to see his dogs, a trip that took him by Pam’s house. Their relationship was slowly evolving into one that she had hoped for; they shared some interests. He was single, divorced early with no children, gainfully employed, and had no vices that she could discover, yet. After they had been seeing each other for about a month, she told him about her AIDS diagnosis, sticking to the facts only, in case he bolted like Andy, the cop, had.

Pam and Dave were walking on a deserted beach in early October, talking about how their lives had crossed just when it was possible for them to be together. He came to her rescue when employees at his store were rude to her. His graciousness had bowled her over, so she let her guard down. There was an instant connection. That day on the beach was chilly and overcast, fog rolling inland from far out to sea. The smell of brine was thick in the air; Pam loved the weather and the smell. She absentmindedly reached for his hand as they walked. For just a second, she forgot where she was.

“I was so happy for the presence of badly behaved employees that day,” he said, looking down at her. “It was the first time we’d ever had a real conversation in the store.” He was smiling at her. When he felt her hand in his, it startled him for a moment. She was always proper, if not slightly distant; avoiding any contact with him and scurrying off if she suspected that he might be about to embrace her, or worse, kiss her.

“I have AIDS,” she blurted out, stopping in her tracks, the sudden cessation of movement surprising him, their hands tugging. He was facing her, his back to the ocean. He could feel the salt spray on the back of his neck. For just a second, her words made no sense. She was looking at him with sadness, but it didn’t register.

Although only seconds passed, his silence was frightening her.
Not another one.
Perhaps he wanted to make sure he understood what she meant by it, but wasn’t it clear? She had AIDS.

“You have AIDS?” He repeated her words, suddenly concerned. What did it mean for her? Death?
Oh, no.
It didn’t make any difference to him that she had it. It didn’t affect the way he felt about her or thought he might in the future. What to say? He took a step toward her and grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her to him. He buried his face in the top of her head. He wrapped his arms around her body and held her firmly. And then he felt her shaking.
Was she crying
? “It doesn’t make any difference to me as long as you are well,” he told her. “I’m worried about you. Are you okay?” He whispered these words into her ear. “I really like you, Pam. If anything were to happen to you now, I couldn’t bear it.” He didn’t wonder how she came to have AIDS, yet. The thought that her own husband could have given it to her was so horrible that when a tip of the idea penetrated his brain, he pushed it out. But it wasn’t important at that moment. With his arm around her shoulders and her arm around him, they turned to walk toward the house again in silence.

They walked up the wooden path to the house, through the veranda to the sliding doors. Pam pushed them open. They took off their coats and shoes, and without missing a beat, Dave took her back into his arms. He wanted to make love to her right then, it seemed urgent to do it so he could show her that nothing mattered to him but being with her. But Dave wasn’t a ladies’ man and would stumble getting his point across if he wasn’t careful. He decided the best way was to simply tell her that he wanted her.

He bent down to kiss her, but she backed up. “Did you hear what I said?” she asked. “You could be in danger.”

He shook his head no. “I have read a little about AIDS. I won’t make you kiss me, but I know that isn’t how it’s spread. I want you, Pam. This news doesn’t change that fact.”

Pam turned her back and walked into the kitchen to put the coffee pot on, hoping that Dave wouldn’t be offended, but she was frightened to have this discussion and did not know how else to deal with it. She had ignored the signs that he wanted to take their relationship to another level; or had she? Maybe the admission of her illness was an overt attempt to dissuade him from any further advances. Whatever it was, it didn’t work and now she had to face that fact of her own sexuality. Was she going to stifle it until it died again, as it had when she met Sandra last May?

When she saw Sandra Benson in the hospital corridor, leaving Jack’s deathbed before Pam entered the room, she knew in her heart that the young woman had been Jack’s mistress. It was the beginning of a downward slide in which even the remotest possibility of ever again loving another man slipped away from her. For the past six months, the idea of being intimate again occasionally would pop up but she squelched it immediately, refusing to examine the possibility. She felt she was too damaged emotionally to love a man, and having sexual intercourse was out of the question now that she knew she had AIDS. But for a brief moment when she was with Detective Andrews—Andy, the cop—she had imagined being in love again, having the kind of relationship with a man that would be honest and real. When he learned of her diagnosis, he ran, never to surface again. It was embarrassing and hurtful. Now here was Dave, not caring that she was infected, saying he wanted her.
What am I supposed to do with this information?

Pam could feel Dave following her into the kitchen. Both relieved and frightened, it meant that he wasn’t put off by her actions. He was going to force her to confront her own fears. While she puttered with the coffee pot, Dave slid onto a bar stool at the counter so he could watch her.

“I know you must be scared,” he said. “It must be terrifying. But I truly don’t care. That you could be sick and in danger; that scares me to death. I don’t care that you are infectious. I mean, for lack of a better word.”

Pam turned around with the pot in her hand. “I
know
what you mean, okay? And I am grateful. But that doesn’t change the fact that I never imagined I would have sex again. It seems too dangerous to pursue. What’s the point?” She turned her back again, but Dave started laughing, a deep, hearty laugh.

“Boy, you really know how to hurt a guy!”

Pam could feel the heat spread through her neck and face. “I’m sorry! I also have foot-in-mouth disease. I should have warned you,” Pam explained. “Thank you for being so wonderful about everything. I am more than a little surprised that you didn’t run from me.”