“O-kay, then. That’s our queue to leave.” Annabelle pats her new boyfriend’s arm, then grabs her coat from the hook. “If you are gonna be loving each other, you make sure she does the work. You’re healing.” She winks, and then they are out the door, leaving us alone.
I waited with Ambrose while Bubbles went out for the quickest pee in history, but not while he examines the yard that Nyx and his team will be done with any day.
Aside from knowing they struggled to carry out a large concrete centerpiece, I don’t know what they’ve done out there the last few days.
I stop thinking about it completely as I reach the top of the stairs, the door to Mom and Dad’s room still open, and calling me in.
So much of their stuff is still in sacks, bringing a pang of pain to my chest.
I step inside the room, their plush carpet soft beneath my feet as I drift deeper into the room. I toss my phone to the bed to stop it from digging into me when I bend, and I rush to their stuff, needing it all out of the bags, needing Dad’s ties off his pillow because it feels too much like I’ll see him any second as he gets ready for work.
Opening up their closet doors, I pull the light string that hangs down. An orange glow welcomes me and the sack I drag along inside.
Ambrose finds me there a few minutes later, his height blocking out some of the light as he drags in another sack and starts hanging up Mom’s clothes. His top half is stripped off his wet clothes. His wet jeans squelch slightly as he moves.
We do this together, organize all their stuff, in silence until there are no sacks left and little trinkets line the dresser in the bedroom.
“I think we got everything in the exact right spot.” I gaze up at him as he stands behind me.
“I’m not sure our brains would have allowed different.”
I take his hand as I step away, passing by the window that overlooks the backyard.
New spotlights light up the area. A grassy patch still harbors the right side of the doors. Dad’s tiny tool shed is still standing close by, but the rest of the yard looks totally different. The left is taken up by tiny stones that look like?—
“Are those crystals?”
“Not authentic ones. I don’t forget what you tell me. I know lots of them can’t get wet.”
My cheeks bunch up as my smile grows, my squinting eyes still wandering the yard to the big centerpiece that stands raised and proud with a pentacle in the middle.
“It’s an altar.” My hand rubs the emotion welling in my chest.
“I’m not sure how often you’ll be able to use it, with the weather we get here, but?—”
“I love it. I’m not afraid of a little rain.” My cheeks get rounder until I can no longer see. “You did all this for me?”
“You needed cheering up.”
A tear falls, and I can only assume this one is from happiness.
“I really love you.” I turn to him, taking his face in my hands. “No one else would do this.”
My teeth chatter, emphasizing how cold I am.
“Take this off before you spend the next week on the sofa, fighting Bubbles for room.”
I lift my arms. “I won’t have the energy for that. My body has ached for days.”
“Are you coming down with something?” he asks, pulling the hoodie over my head.
“No, it’s the joys of being chronically ill.” My voice muffles as the thick material passes by my face.
“I get it.”
“Is HIV considered a chronic illness?”
“Yes, kinda. With the help of ART, it isn’t considered a progressive disease, but rather a chronic condition.”
