INFECtIOUS (25 page)

It's not until
I'm across the street, standing in front of the U.R. building that I suddenly
remember my house-arrest.

Whoops
.

Well, I'm here
now. I'll be quick and hopefully no one will care. Please God don't let me run
into Andrew or Mr. Terrell.
Or Tim.

I walk quickly
down the stairs to the room with the clothing bank. The ladies in charge of
clothing keep it fairly well sorted so it's only a minute before I've found the
little girl clothes. I grab several warm things that look like they might fit
Rosa. None of the coats seem warm enough, more like jackets. Disappointing
because what she was wearing was little more than blanket. A sign is hanging up
on the wall that reads:

"Need more coats,
especially Men's.

Please donate
any you are not using.

Thanks, Jean
Hosche
Jan. 10th"

Some donations
must've come in since then because Aunty found that nice coat for Matt a couple
weeks ago. I have this strange thought that Aunty may have stolen that coat
from Mr. Terrell—and then reason kicks in, reminding me that Aunty would never
steal.
Surely not?
Just imagining her tiptoeing away
from the elder's coat closet that day makes me grin.

I find Rosa a
cute winter hat with Mickey Mouse on it. I'm just sure it will make her smile.
I also take a pair of boots and a pair of shoes, hoping that at least one of
them will fit for now. I remember to pick out some little panties and socks
too. My bag is bulging with what I hope will be a new wardrobe and a new life
for that baby girl.

Now that I'm
here, this close to the clinic, I don't know how to leave without talking to
Dr. Markowitz. Maybe Aunty is being stubborn not wanting to use something that
could help her, just to save it for someone else.
Like she
did with the Tylenol for Thomas.
I bet the Doctor can do something to
give her more strength and more time. Tim's dad is one of
Aunty's
closest friends. It's only right that he know what's going on.

"Please
don't let Tim be here?" I ask The Lord in desperation. "At least do
that for me?" I plead silently.

Back upstairs on
the main floor of the U.R., I take a deep breath and open the door to the small
clinic. Tim is sitting at the front desk. I promised God I wouldn't question
Him anymore but I hear myself yell, "Why Lord?" in my head before I
can control the impulse.
 

"Ivy! What
are you doing here? Is something wrong? You aren't supposed to be out!"

"Yes, I
know." And really it's none of his business. "But Aunty is—not well.
I need to ask your dad how I can help her." I fight the emotion that will
make me look vulnerable and hug-needy.

Tim stares back
into my damp eyes and turns to go get his dad. His pitying look and the way he
hurried away makes my heart sink. Tim knows what's wrong with Aunty and I found
no encouragement in his eyes.
 

I Bear My Soul
To
Sasquatch

The wind is
stinging my cheeks and, again, I find relief in the pain. Alone on the sidewalk
on this windy, God-forsaken day, my faith is wavering. Dr. Markowitz was kind
but direct. The way he described
Aunty's
cancer and
her present condition made it clear that he has given up hope for any medical
turnaround. "She's in the final stages," he said. I didn't understand
much of what he said about cells and malignancies and growth rate, but I
understood that. Final stages means death's doorstep. He said her speedy sudden
decline means she probably doesn't have much longer. He told me what the end
would probably look like. What to watch for.

I can hardly
stand to think about it. I told him that I had prayed over her and how I
was believing
God for healing. He didn't say anything, but
his emotionless face spoke volumes. He's a doctor and one of the Living. He
believes in healing as much as the rest of us, maybe more. He made it very
clear that he does not expect Aunty to get better. I wish he would've lied to
me. He offered to have Tim walk me home. I exuberantly insisted that that
wasn't necessary.

My legs feel
like wood as I come to the steps in front of the Inn. My feet are suddenly too
heavy to lift, too stubborn and unresponsive to carry me the last few steps to
the door. My faith is slipping out in wet drops down the front of my cheeks. I
consider sitting down on the front steps and giving the cold wind a chance to do
what it wants, freeze me over, inside and out.

The branches of
the tall shrubs next to the Inn's old front
porch,
shake with more than the wind's power. I turn my head expecting to see a
squirrel in
it's
acrobatic
antics; but, instead Matt steps out of the evergreen wall of pointy Holly
leaves. I'm too numb inside to jump or be startled. I slowly meet his green
eyes with my wet brown ones and dig around in my heart to find some emotion
that hasn't already been used up.

I thought he'd
look worse from the way Aunty described his injuries of only a week ago. There
aren't any stitches showing and I realize she didn't say where he needed them.
His wounds must be hidden by his clothes. Around one eye is a fading muddy
yellow bruise that spreads part way down the bridge of his nose. Other than
that, he looks healthy and not at all like a zombie. He defies both faith and
science with his lack of disease.

"What's
eating you?" he asks pleasantly. I'm sure he expected me to be my jumpy
self. He was probably looking forward to startling me.

"Hey,"
Is all I say.

He frowns,
puzzled, and says, "Well, I thought you'd be happier to see me.
After the letter."
He lifts his eyebrows up and down at
me, giving me his most handsome flirtatious look yet.

I shrug. I need
to get back inside to Aunty and Rosa and I don't have time for his sparkling
eyes today.

"You
reminded me what love looks like," he trills in a mocking, girl
voice.
  

My love goggles
have temporarily slipped off to one side and I remember how irritating he can
be.

"Aunty is
dying," I say bluntly.

"I thought
you people couldn't die," he returns jokingly.

"She has
cancer."

He finally
accepts my mood and his quirky half smile fades. He nods knowingly. Like he had
already figured out something was wrong with her. "I'm sorry," he
says sincerely.

"Thanks.
I'm still hoping God will heal her. I know He can."

Matt shrugs.
"You know where I stand on that theory," is all he says.

"Yeah."
I nod.

"I thought
they had you cooped up. So you're allowed out of your house now?" he asks
with an antagonistic smile. "I thought I was going to have to break in and
steal you."

"I—no.
I just had to
get something."

I remember Rosa
sleeping inside in just a towel. I want to get back in there before she wakes
up and doesn't know what to do. Neither of the missionaries
are
going to be comfortable caring for a little naked girl. I wonder if Jack even
knows about all the scars. I need to hurry.
 

"I'm sorry,
I have to go. I have a lot going on right now and I'm—really sad," I say,
my eyes brimming with tears again.

"I'm
sorry," he says in turn.

Then he is
suddenly holding me. I go rigid with shock! So many feelings fight for
precedence.
The desire to be comforted.
The thrill of being close to him.
The
reality that I'm being hugged in front of our house on the main street of town
in broad daylight by a zombie.
That one wins. I stand tense in his grasp
and after a second or two of
embrace,
he releases me
with a sad look on his face.

"I have to
go back in." I say, looking around to see if anyone was out on the street
to witness that.

"Sure,"
he says with disappointment in his voice. "How's Tom?" he asks.

"In
pain," is all I can think to say. I'm a real Debbie Downer today.

"Can you
give him this?"
 
Matt pulls a lump
of black shiny fabric out of his back pocket and I realize it's a glove.
One of their special gloves.
"When he's healed enough,
this will help him. It has all four fingers. I need you to tell him that I'm
keeping an eye on him. It'd be nice if you didn't say that to anyone else. It
just makes things harder for me."

I nod,
"Ok."

He melts back
into the bushes. I remember momentarily how much I had been missing him and I
call out, "Will I see you again?"

"Course,"
he says, closer to me than I realized, just behind the closest bush.

This brings a
small smile to my face as I climb the front stairs and go back inside.

Rosa isn't in
the bed when I get up to her room. Panic is my first emotion but I keep it in
check and do a quick search of the room. No Rosa. I check the bathroom. I find
her hiding under her towel in a little puddle of water down in the big tub. She
is shivering and I'm not sure if it's from fright or cold. She has her head
down and is completely covered by the towel. I don't want to scare her.

"Rosa,"
I say sweetly, calling softly over the side of the tub. Her shivering lessens a
little so I say it again, "Rosa" in a small sing-song voice.

She peaks at me
from under the towel and I smile at her. She smiles back. I hold up the Mickey
Mouse hat and she squints quizzically at it.

"Hat,"
I say and I make a silly face and set it on top of my head. It doesn't fit and
it falls right off. She giggles.

I coax her out
of the tub and dress her warmly. Some of the clothes are too big, but I've
guessed close on most of them. The shoes fit perfectly and the boots are only a
little too big. She looks thrilled with all of it. She loves the hat and keeps
looking at
her self
in the full length mirror behind
the door.

I know nothing
about her. Did she ever have a mother who loved her? Someone must have nursed
her and brought her safely through those fragile newborn years. If she had only
been intended for meat—oh the sick thought makes me almost throw up—she
would've been killed at birth. Someone kept her safe. But those scars—
What
was done to her? Was she kept safe only to be
repeatedly hurt? What abuses has she suffered? I vow before God to keep her
safe.
To show her the special, wonderful things in this life.
Beautiful flowers, chocolate cookies, Disney movies, fancy dresses. Just like
Aunty did for me. And, most importantly, I will raise her to know Him. I lean
over and kiss her cheek. She looks at me with wonder in her eyes.

"Kiss,"
I say with a smile.

She leans close
to me and stares seriously into my eyes, like she's searching for something.
Suddenly satisfied, she brushes her lips against my cheek and then sits back to
weigh my reaction.

"Thank
you," I say as I pull her close and hug her.

"You sure
have a way with her," Jack's voice startles me. "She is more human
with you. With me, she was like a little animal. She would hide in the corner
of my tent and only dart out when I offered her food. She needs a mother. I'll
be relieved to see her with some nice family."

"I want
her," I blurt out. "I think God wants me to have her. I've never felt
like this before. I love her already. Could you tell the Elder's for me? I'm
not allowed to leave the house."

In retrospect
none of that sounded like the right way to convince him to let me keep Rosa.
I've proclaimed myself a crazy shut-in who is desperate for someone to love.

"I mean, I
can leave the house, just not lately because Pravda is hunting me."

This wasn't a
recovery. It made things worse. I can tell by the tight furrow of his
sasquatchian
eyebrows. I'm a crazy, desperate shut-in with
a death sentence.

"Why is
Pravda hunting you?" he asks quietly.

I can't make
things any worse than I already have, so I launch into the whole story. He nods
and asks occasional questions. I'm getting pretty good at telling it. I was
careful not to call them zombies this time.

"Did the
man cut you anywhere?" he asks after thinking quietly for a few moments.

"How could
you know that?"

I never even
mention that part when I tell the story. It wasn't worth mentioning, just a
scrape that happened in the struggle.

"They cut
you?" He can tell by the look on my face that they did.

"It was
just a scrape on my neck. It wasn't anything. It just happened in the
struggle."

"It was
everything. It was the whole point. Blood, Ivy. We live and die by blood these
days. Blood purchases health. For us it's the blood of Christ. For them, it's
the blood treatments. Pravda takes all the donated blood and cleans it. They
sell the cleaner blood to whoever can afford it and it slows the progress of the
disease. But Pravda doesn't want to just hold the disease at
bay,
they are looking for a cure. For some reason they think that your blood is
special. That man was sent to obtain a sample of your blood. The question is
,
what did they find? They may have found nothing. In which
case, you are safe. They only want you if they have some reason to believe your
blood will help them find a cure."

This is an
extreme "good news, bad news" scenario. The good news would mean that
I'm already safe. They have no use for me and are no longer interested. Long
gone. I could be free again. The bad news means that they'll never stop hunting
me—to the ends of the earth. And there's no way to know.

Jack lets me
take Rosa downstairs. I want to keep her close. Even if they won't let me have
her, I will love her forever. If someone else is chosen to adopt her I could
still be like a big sister to her. But I desperately hope they'll consider
Aunty and
I
.
If Aunty gets better.

I have to stop
saying if. WHEN.
When Aunty gets better.

I can't stop
thinking about where I would go if I no longer had a home here. I'm sure the
Elder's wouldn't kick me out, but I would never want to live here with someone
else running the Inn. All the memories of Aunty—my eyes spill over again. I
couldn't stay here.

After finally
cleaning up the breakfast dishes, I take Rosa to my room. My thoughts are
tangled in a hazy quagmire. Every time I try to unravel the mess, it is Matt's
face that emerges out of the fog. I wonder when I'll see him again. I dig
through my closet for some of my old toys and put them on my bed with Rosa. She
is instantly engrossed in them. I decide to finish devoting myself. Was it
really just this morning that the door bell interrupted my quiet time bringing
a new wave of chaos into my already frayed life? Today has felt like a week's
worth of energy and emotion and
it's
only
lunchtime.