Alien Rites (19 page)

He wondered how the disease would progress. Would it attack his brain? Would he get moody and unpredictable, like his mother? Would he be unkind to his children? What would it do to them, watching their father die?

Rose knew, as soon as he came into the kitchen, that something was very wrong. He was not surprised. They had been married a long time.

The kids weren't home—they were in school; he'd managed to forget that. His only thought had been to see them, and they weren't there. He considered taking them out of school. Too upsetting for them, he decided. Disruptive.

Rose was watching him. “You want to talk in here?”

“Fine.”

They sat across from each other at the kitchen table. It had not been wiped after breakfast, and there were sticky rings of milk, and a smear of grease.

“I'm sick, Rose.”

“Sick?” She nodded. “I thought you were coming down with something last night.”

She didn't get it.

“I mean that I have a serious and possibly fatal something or other—it's a sort of virus/bacterial hybrid. The girls are safe, so are you. It's only fatal to males.”

She went rigid. “
Fatal
.”

“I'm a long way from dead, Rose.” He touched his chest, smiled at her. “Heart still beating. I've got a good chance of pulling through this.”

“But, where did—”

“It's a long story. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

She nodded slowly. “And talk fast, will you?”

He knew what she meant. She wanted every question answered all at once. He'd felt the same way in Halliday's office.

It calmed him, the physical and familiar act of making coffee. Focusing on Rose made it easier not to worry about himself. He had a lot of ground to cover. The days when he'd confided every detail of his work were long gone.

For a while, just a short while, it was like the old days between them, except that while he talked she cried very unobtrusively, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was quick, she understood police work. They could talk in a sort of professional shorthand, and when he told her something, she knew exactly what he meant. He had missed these conversations.

Eventually the talk wound down. David's throat was sore. There was a long silence between them.

“How do you feel now?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I don't know.”

“Maybe you should rest. You didn't get much sleep last night.”

He stared at the floor. Sleep was not attractive. Sleep was not what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He took a sip of coffee. He'd made it strong and it was cold now, tasted horrible.

“Look, David. I know things aren't great between us. I just … you know I'll take care of you. I'll get you through this.”

“You don't have to be nice to me, Rose.”

“I'm not being
nice
, David.”

“Feel sorry for me? Every night I come home, you
throw
something at me. And
now
you're going to take care of me?”

“Get real, David.
Yes
. I feel sorry for you. Tell me you have a potentially fatal illness, tell me you might die—I'm not going to feel
sorry?
” Her eyes were red-rimmed, bathed in tears. “You're posturing, David. You're angry, so you're going to project it all on me. I don't accept it and I don't deserve it.”

“Now who's posturing?”

He left her sitting at the kitchen table, slammed the door on his way out. He never slammed doors; he'd had that tendency drummed out of him in childhood, and he didn't tolerate it in his kids. But Rose did it all the time. He'd expected to enjoy it more.

He went to a far, dark corner of the barn, burrowed in the corner, pulled the filthy bedspread off his old Triumph. The motorcycle didn't run anymore, it needed work. As he recalled, it hadn't needed all that much; he just hadn't been able to get to it.

He blew dust off the seat. No time like the present.

THIRTY-SEVEN

David was up to his elbows in grease when his chest got tight and his breath started coming short and fast. He felt heat spread through his body, wondered if his face was as red as it felt. He put his wrench down, sat on a moldy bale of hay that had been in the barn since they'd bought the property. His hands were shaking.

He had actually forgotten, just for a little while, but the shadow was back. He was sick, and his children were going to watch him die.

He checked his watch, was astounded to see that the children had been home from school a while now. He was suddenly reluctant to see them.

He imagined the days ahead. How he would feel. How the kids would feel, watching. There would be times where they'd all be convinced he would beat this. And down times, where they'd all be afraid of his death.

Was it kind to drag them down with him? Easier for everyone, himself included, if he went off on his own a while, till he won or till he lost.

He was in the bedroom packing when he heard or felt a presence. Lisa stood in the doorway, barefooted, book tucked under one arm. Her hair was braided, coming loose. Her shirttail was out. She noted the open suitcase on the bed and looked up at him, and he thought he would remember the look on her face for the rest of his life.

“I knew this was going to happen. You're leaving us, aren't you, Daddy?”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, clutching the sides of the mattress. He held out his arms and she came to him, hugged him tight.

“I'm not going to let you go, Daddy.”

“I'm sick,” he said softly. He patted the edge of the bed and she sat down beside him. He saw ink on her hands, where she'd written herself a note to get her math test signed. “Mama and I were going to talk to you guys all together. But I have a very bad sickness. It's something you can't get, so you don't have to worry.”

“I wouldn't care, Daddy. Please don't go.”

“This sickness is very bad, Lisa. Sometimes when people get it they die. I'm just going for a while, till I get better.”

“Are you going to the hospital?”

“Not yet, maybe later.”

She pushed her glasses up on her nose. “Then where are you going?”

“I just need to get away for a while. Be by myself.”

“Is this divorce stuff?”

Cut to the bottom line, every time. David smiled weakly. “I'm going to get sicker, I think, before I get better. I don't want you to have to see that.”

“I think you're mad at us.”

He grabbed her shoulders. “At you kids? Of course not. Not at
all
. How could you think that?”

“But don't you love us? Us kids?”

“Yes, of course—you know I do.”

“Then why are you leaving, Daddy? What if you do die? Don't you want to be with us some first?”

He was going to tell her that it wasn't about her, or about Mattie or Kendra or even Rose. He was going to give her a garbage speech about a man facing up to mortality, when he realized that he was kidding them all. It was about them, it was exactly about his difficult wife and his precious children. He didn't want to see their pain when he had enough of his own.

He looked at Lisa. Crossed his legs and leaned back. “The truth is, kidlet, I'm scared.”

“Of dying?”

“I'm scared of my children watching me die.”

She nodded; it made perfect sense to her, but she wasn't through with him yet.

“You can't go.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “You love us, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You want to be with us?”

He hesitated. Nodded.

“Then that's that.” She went to his bag, and began to unpack.

THIRTY-EIGHT

They had a family dinner, A rare event these days in the Silver household. David did not eat much, Rose even less. But the children, being children, forgot the shadow, ate like field hands, and laughed a lot. Rose had given everyone the same meal tonight—pot roast, mashed potatoes. Comfort food. They were going to have pie and ice cream for dessert.

David and Rose finished with coffee on the back porch.

“How do you think the kids are taking it?” Rose said.

David shrugged. “Too early to tell. But they volunteered to do the dishes and they're all getting along.”

Rose took a sip of coffee. “Yeah. They're taking it hard.”

“They don't really believe it,” David said.

“Me either.”

Dead Meat groaned and David scratched the dog's neck. “He really is a pretty good dog, even if he did eat my garden.” The tightness in his chest came suddenly. He took a deep, hard breath.

“David? You okay?”

“It'll pass, just need a minute.”

She watched him. “What does it feel like?”

“I'm hot, then I'm cold. Then hot and cold all at once, which is weird. Doesn't seem physically possible. Then I sweat, and then I shake and my teeth chatter. My chest feels tight, kind of frantic, like some kind of panic attack. Sometimes I ache. That enough symptoms for now?”

“David, what you said earlier. I want to get along with you. What if you do die? I want to be at peace with you, one way or another. It doesn't matter why, or what brings us to peace, just so we get there.”

David put a hand on her leg. Nodded.

The sun was going down, the heat of the day turning loose. Yesterday he wouldn't have noticed. Today, he noticed too much. In all honesty, he liked yesterday better; he preferred taking things for granted. Before he'd had purpose, work to do, a case to solve. Now he had mortality. Big deal.

“Is there anything special you want, David?”

He looked at her. “What do you mean by that, Rose?”

“We could pull the kids out of school and go on a trip. Borrow money and do something crazy.”

“And leave you guys in debt? I don't think so.”

“If it makes you happy, I don't care. Tell me what you want, and let's do it. I'm serious.”

She was leaning close, and he thought suddenly how sweet she could be. She had stayed up with him all night the night before. He had not heard word one about contagion fears, worries about what she would do on her own, how she would work if she was looking after him.

“What are you thinking, David?”

He looked at her and they both laughed. “‘What are you thinking?' My favorite marital question, second only to ‘Do you think I should get my hair cut?' but nowhere near as dangerous as that all-time favorite, ‘Do these jeans make me look fat?'”

She gave him a hard shove. “Come on, David, get serious.”

“I've had enough serious for one day, thank you very much.”

“No, but David. If there's something you want.”

“I want my life back, Rose. I want to find Miriam, and Luke Cochran, and work like a maniac, and come home to you and the girls.” I want Teddy, he thought, but didn't say it.

“So do it.” She waved her hands in the air. “Wish granted.”

He looked at her.

“I mean it. As long as you want it that way, as long as you can stay on your feet. You can't be easy with Miriam missing, I know you. You haven't lost your life, David, unless you give it up.”

“You don't care?”

“Of course I
care
. I don't mind. I mean, we could all sit in the kitchen and stare at each other. But.”

“And I want to work on my motorcycle. Do things with my hands.”

“Have at it.”

“I'm going to take some money out of savings, just a little, not much. I want to buy things, little things, for you and the girls.”

“Not me. Buy stuff for the kids, spend the money on them.”

“On whatever I want, which means you too. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“And I want homemade mashed potatoes every night.”

“Don't push your luck.”

He laughed. “Just testing.”

THIRTY-NINE

David knew, When he walked into the bullpen, That Aslanti had told. It was there in Della's eyes when he walked toward his desk. It was there in the way String slid toward him, then faltered. And while everyone else went about their business, the three of them looked at each other in silence.

“Hi, guys,” David said finally.

Della moved toward him, eyes hard, chin up. She gave him a quick, hard hug and he patted her back.

“
You
will get well. Is that clearly understood? You are going to eat a lot of chocolate, and that's going to increase the endorphins in your brain, to the point where your body
has
to get better.”

“Della Detective, you cannot—”

She looked at String. He slid backward, then reared up on his bottom fringe.

“Yesss, most correct is the chocolate. Much of it.”

“'Bout time you showed up.”

David turned, saw Mel trying to look at his watch and not spill the two extra-large cups of coffee he was carrying. He handed one cup to David, and smiled.

“We got work piling up, David,” he said, tone brash and friendly. “You picked a helluva morning to be late. That Sifter Chuck guy's waiting in Three.”

Was he was going to ignore it? David wondered. He gave his partner a sidelong glance.

Mel took a large swallow of coffee. “We all got tested yesterday afternoon, by the way. Should know by late today if any of the rest of us are infected.”

David felt a welcome sense of camaraderie, as if his illness was a mutual problem they all had to tackle.

Mel was still talking. “Nobody had any cuts or wounds, like you did, and nobody else is having any symptoms, so Aslanti don't think there's much chance any of the rest of us got it.”

David nodded matter-of-factly, marveling that he actually felt matter-of-fact. “I took that injection yesterday. So I'm not contagious.”

“Good thing,” Mel said.

Della glared at him. “As if we'd worry about that.”