Sixteen and Dying (10 page)

S
TAY WITH ME
.
Anne heard the words echoing in her brain, felt the yearning they carved inside her heart. To stay with Morgan, to spend a night in his arms, to taste a world she’d only read about in books and poetry.… “Skip will be coming back for me soon,” she said.

“Skip will pull up outside and honk. If you don’t go out, he’ll drive away.” Morgan cupped her chin and stroked her hair. “You must know how much I want to be with you, Anne. I’ve tried to stay away from you, tried to pretend that I wasn’t attracted to you, but for the life of me, I can’t pretend anymore. You’re very beautiful, and I want you very much.”

For the life of me
. The words fell like hammer blows into a core of cool logic inside her mind. What he was asking of her could cost him his life. She’d read about, heard about, and knew how to
practice safe sex, but in one heartrending moment, she realized that such safety could be illusionary. And one chance, even one in a million, was one too many for her to risk his life, no matter how much she wanted to stay with him. “I can’t stay.” Dragging out the words was difficult.

“Why?”

“I just can’t.” She pulled away from his arms and stood, struggling to keep her voice steady.

“Anne—”

“I think I should wait outside for Skip. I think you should get some rest.” She was trembling all over.

He looked up at her, and in the swath of moonlight, he looked wounded. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Anne felt tears jamming up behind her eyes. She fumbled for the doorknob. It felt cold and hard in her grip. Once she stepped out of the room, this part of her life would dissipate like smoke. She wanted to run back to him, throw herself in his arms, and beg him to hold her, kiss her. She knew in that moment that she loved him, but could never tell him.

“Good-bye,” she whispered. And with more bravery than she ever dreamed she possessed, Anne stepped quickly into the night.

She arose early the next morning and went straight to the lodge. The aroma of fresh coffee, sizzling bacon, and baking biscuits filled the air, and a radio played country music in the background.

When she entered, Morgan struggled up from one
of the sofas and came toward her. “Morning,” he said. His eyes looked guarded.

“You feeling all right?” she asked, her heart thudding.

“I ache all over. Uncle Don’s relieved me of my duties for the next week; the doctor told us it’ll take at least six weeks for the ribs to completely heal. Anyway, I’m supposed to be taking it easy.”

“Then you should still be in bed, resting.”

“I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to apologize for last night.”

Anne nervously glanced down at the floor. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“I was out of line. I never should have asked you what I did.”

She didn’t want him taking it back. She wanted to think, even now, that he’d meant what he’d said. “It’s okay. Forget it.”

“I guess that bronco rattled my brain,” Morgan said with a sincere smile. “I’m sorry if I insulted you.”

“You didn’t insult me.”

“Then you’re not angry at me?”

“I’m not.”

Morgan tipped the brim of his hat to her, then limped painfully away.

Anne thought the matter was settled and that she and Morgan were finished, so when Maggie asked her to go see Morgan down in the barn, she was surprised and mystified. She hurried to the barn, eager to spend any time she could near him. When she came in out of the hot, bright sun, she saw Morgan
leaning against the gate of a stall, the fancy leather-and-silver saddle thrown over it.

“It came!” Anne cried, hurrying over. She’d forgotten all about it. “Do you like it?”

“I thought my apology was enough.” His voice sounded cool.

Anne felt her smile fade. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Did you think you had to soothe my feelings with this?”

She was confused by his hostility. “I thought you’d like it. That you would use it on the bay, during parades. I thought you’d be pleased.”

He shook his head and pushed stiffly away from the stall. “You little rich girls are all alike. You think that you can buy anybody’s favor, purchase anything you want with Daddy’s money.”

“Rich?” She couldn’t believe his assumption. “What makes you think I’m rich?”

“I know what that saddle cost. I’ve looked at it many times. Don’t tell me you didn’t spend a fortune on it.”

Anne was speechless. She wanted to tell him she wasn’t wealthy, hadn’t been born into the lap of luxury. Yet, how could she explain? She clamped her lips tightly. There was no way, of course. It was far better to allow Morgan to cling to his false assumptions about her than for her to explain reality. “It’s a gift, Morgan, with no strings, no hidden motives.”

“I don’t want it.”

She held her head high. “It’s yours anyway. If you really don’t want it, you can throw it in the garbage, for all I care. Rich girls like me can buy others.” She
spun, kicking up dust and hay with her boots, and jogged quickly away from the barn and the gleaming saddle.

The next week dragged for Anne. She didn’t feel well, either. Her glands were swollen, and a persistent cough plagued her. Sometimes she awoke in the night sweating profusely. Her appetite decreased, but she attributed that to the unhappiness she felt over her estrangement from Morgan.

One afternoon, a steady rain forced all activity on the ranch to a standstill. Anne confined herself to a game of solitaire in the main lodge, hardly noticing the guests who grouped around the TV set and board games. From the corner of her eye, she saw Morgan sitting on the hearth of the great stone fireplace. He was entertaining a group of kids with a length of rope, showing them how to tie different kinds of knots.

A violent clap of thunder shook the rafters. Anne started, and kids squealed, scampering toward their mothers like frightened kittens. “It’s only a big boomer,” Anne heard Maggie explain to everyone. “My mama used to say thunder was only the angels bowling up in heaven.”

Laughter rippled through the room. “Fall’s coming,” Maggie added. “Summer rain means autumn’s on its way.”

Anne didn’t want to think about autumn, because it meant she’d be back home, and if her health held, she’d be back in school. She’d miss the outdoors, Golden Star, Maggie, Marti, Skip, Morgan—most of all, Morgan.

Suddenly, the door of the lodge banged and Skip
stood framed in the open doorway. His yellow slicker streamed with water that puddled on the floor around his boots. “Morgan!” Skip shouted. “You’d better come quick. Your bay bolted, tried to jump the fence. He’s hurt. Bad.”

M
ORGAN GOT UP
too fast, and a stabbing pain shot through his side. He clamped his hand over his taped, bruised ribs and limped toward Skip. “What happened?” he asked.

“The thunder must have spooked him. I was in the barn and looked out in time to see him try to jump the corral fence. There wasn’t enough room for a running start, of course, and he went crashing through the poles.”

Morgan felt a sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach. “Is he up?”

“Last I saw, he was thrashing on the ground. I came to find you, quick as I could.”

Morgan didn’t wait for further explanations. He shoved past Skip and hurried outside into the driving rain faster than his aching side wanted him to
move. If his horse was still down, it meant only one thing—he was too hurt to get up. Horses instinctively sought to stay upright.

The rain was driving so hard, Morgan could barely navigate his way to the corral. He was drenched to the skin and trying to maneuver through the mud. He arrived at the corral, but the rain was so heavy, he couldn’t see from one side to the other. Skip caught up with him. “This way,” Skip yelled.

Gasping for breath, Morgan hobbled after him; his lungs felt on fire. The horse was lying on the ground, one of its legs twisted at an angle. The animal continued to thrash, but its movements looked weak. Morgan crouched by the bay’s head. Its eyes were wide with fright. “Take it easy, fella,” Morgan said, stroking the animal’s neck.

Skip knelt beside him. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” He had to shout to be heard above the rain.

“The worst. Uncle Don always said the horse was spooky. I should have listened to him, should never have tried to make him my own.”

“Don’t blame yourself.”

The horse was one more thing he’d loved and lost. Morgan rose painfully and steeled himself for what he knew he had to do. The horse would have to be put down. The ranch couldn’t afford to nurse a horse that had value only to him and that would probably never be right even if he did heal. Feed and veterinarians cost money. “Dumb, hardheaded beast,” Morgan said to himself, trying to distance himself emotionally.

“You want me to take over?” Skip asked.

“I can handle it.” Morgan felt a coldness inside himself, similar to the one he’d felt when he’d learned about his father.

“You sure?”

Morgan nodded.

Skip went into the barn and emerged with Morgan’s rifle. He handed it to him.

“What are you doing?” Anne’s frantic question above the roar of the rain took Morgan and Skip by surprise.

Morgan turned, ignoring the pain in his side from too quick a movement. “Get out of here,” he said.

“I won’t! What are you going to do?” Her eyes looked wide and frightened. The rain had plastered her clothing to her body, and her hair hung in soaked ringlets.

She tried to march past Morgan and Skip, but Morgan caught her around the waist and pushed her toward Skip. “Take her back to the lodge,” he ordered.

Anne struggled. “I won’t go! You’re going to shoot him, aren’t you? You’re going to kill your horse!”

“His leg is broken, and he’s suffering. It’s the humane thing to do.”

“But there are doctors—vets … you could call someone …”

“Get her out of here, Skip.”

Skip tried to pull her gently away. “Come on, Anne.”

She broke from Skip and hurled herself at Morgan. “How can you do such a thing? I don’t understand how you can be so heartless.”

Morgan raised the rifle, cocked the firing mechanism. “Don’t you know, Anne? Life’s cruel.”

She drew herself up tall and glared straight into his icy blue eyes. “Not life,” she said. “People are cruel.”

Anne shook off Skip’s hold on her elbow, spun, and ran as hard and fast as she could. She shivered. She was so wet and cold that her teeth chattered. She didn’t care. Nothing mattered, nothing except putting distance between Morgan and his shattered horse, and herself.

From far away, she heard the sharp, distinctive crack of a rifle. Anne covered her ears and cried out as if the bullet had hit her.

Anne stayed in bed all the following day. Her body ached, and she felt a pressure in her chest, as if weights were pressing against her, making it difficult to breathe.

“I’ve called Dr. Rinaldi in Denver,” her father fumed. “How could you allow yourself to get drenched yesterday? You know your immune system can’t handle this.”

Anne was too weak, too ill to argue. Her father bundled her up, put her in the backseat of the ranch’s station wagon, and drove much too fast all the way into the city. After Dr. Rinaldi examined her, he wrote several prescriptions. “You’ve got pneumonia. For an HIV-positive person, this is extremely dangerous. You’ll need to be hospitalized immediately.”

She tried to protest.

“You can’t put off going onto the AZT any longer
I believe that your blood work will show that your T4 cells have fallen drastically. Let me check you in to the hospital, start you on AZT, and get your infection under control.”

She shook her head. “I want to go home, back to New York City.” She looked to her father. “Can you get us a plane to New York tomorrow?” Anne felt surprisingly calm. “We can pack and be to the airport by morning,” she said.

“I’ll pack. You rest,” her father said. “Doctor, can she manage the trip?”

The doctor spoke against it, but finally admitted it was their choice.

They arrived back at the ranch late, but Anne insisted on saying good-bye to Marti. They’d be leaving before dawn. Anne slipped into the cabin and shook Marti’s shoulder.

“Is it time to get up already? I feel like I just went to bed.” Marti rubbed her eyes. “Is that you, Anne? What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

“My dad and I are going home,” Anne whispered.

“What?”

“Right after we pack.”

“But why?” Marti sat upright.

“I’m not feeling well, and Dad wants me home, near my own doctors.”

“I thought you just had a cold.”

For a moment, Anne was tempted to tell Marti the truth, then her courage failed. She wanted Marti to remember her fondly, not with fear or disgust. “I have to go.”

“But what about Morgan? Have you told him?”

“You tell him for me.”

Marti gripped Anne’s hand. “There’s something really wrong with you, isn’t there?”

“Yes,” Anne admitted.

Marti stifled a cry, then threw her arms around Anne. “I knew it. Morgan told me about your cut and how you acted. I decided not to ask you about it, but it’s got something to do with your leaving, doesn’t it? Anne, tell me.”