Blame: A Novel by Huneven Michelle

Author:Huneven, Michelle [Huneven, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780374114305
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Published: 2009-09-01T00:00:00+00:00

19

The note on her door read G back in Huntington.

What’s going on in here? she said, walking into the hospital room.

I need someone who can hold it together, he said. Take care of business for me. Brice is a mess, Mother is a mess. Auntie is way too busy. Dr. Truescorff is a real person, but also busy. So it’s you, Patsy.

It’s me, she said. It’s me for what?

I probably have that kind of pneumonia that only queers get, he said.

Well, I’m at your service, she said, trying to remember what she’d heard. Gays and Haitians got it. You could get it from dentists, mosquito bites. A colleague at Hallen told Patsy he’d stopped going to the gym because of sweat left on the exercise equipment.

I need some reality here, Gilles said, his voice rising. Auntie says to turn to my higher power, but I’m not very fond of my higher power right now.

I’m not so fond of your higher power either, Patsy said, and leaned down to embrace him. He clung to her with such tenacity her own terror ignited. He was such a small human, really, with thin little bones, and he sobbed into her neck like an eight-year-old. His lungs mewed and rustled like static on the radio. The more he wept, the more congested he became. Fear somersaulted through her—she’d also heard that bodily fluids, spit, and even tears could carry the disease. If that was true, it was already too late, her neck was drenched. She didn’t care, she thought, though in spite of herself, her heart galloped with the dread of infection. She stroked his head—his hair was not very clean—and held him until he began to wriggle free. He dried his eyes and blew his nose. There, he said. Enough of that.

Her own life had taught her that the surges of terror, the sense of drowning in a cold black wave, were temporary. Sooner or later a person crawled back onto solid ground. Gilles, she said. We’ll get you through, whatever it is.

Maybe not, Patsy, that’s the thing. So don’t get all cheerleader on me.

Okay, she said.

You weren’t a cheerleader, were you?

No.

Mother was.

•

A trim, big-eyed woman in a white coat came into the room. Truesy, this is Patsy, said Gilles. Patsy’s my best friend and our man on the ground. Tell her everything.

Dr. Truescorff, the woman said, and shook Patsy’s hand with a brisk maternal air. She turned to Gilles, and the brightness on their faces receded.

I have it, don’t I, he said in a low voice.

She took his hand. The results came back positive.

Patsy’s own heart began whapping like a helicopter; terror swept through her, hollowing her out. She stood there waiting for Gilles to ask questions, for the doctor’s reassurances, the list of treatment options. But moments passed, and the doctor and Gilles continued to look into each other’s eyes with such frankness and intensity that even Patsy was drawn in. Doctor, patient, and witness together bypassed all that could be said to look squarely at the way things were.

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