November 17, 2003
San Diego, California
Rose sat in a hard, narrow chair in the waiting room of the county clinic, pointedly ignoring Tim as he tried to talk to her. Daffodil had made her suspicions known to Tim the night before, and, despite Tim’s insistence that there was nothing to worry about, Daffodil and Rose had dragged him to one of the county-run health clinics in the city.
Now, as Tim bent forward, coughing hard into a tissue, Rose became more and more convinced that Daffodil was right—something was wrong with him. She could only hope that whatever it was hadn’t been passed on to her or anyone else.
It was several hours before anyone saw them, a typical wait in the overburdened county facility. The nurse who called them back looked with contempt at both of their information packets—neither had listed a permanent address or a phone number. Rose supposed that Tim could have used his parents’ address in Texas, but that might have made him ineligible for services in California, especially since AIDS and TB tests weren’t emergency procedures. She herself could have used her mother’s address in Masline, but that would have told Ruth that Rose was alive and well, and she might have found some pretext to bring her daughter home—something that Rose wasn’t ready for. She wondered if she would ever be ready.
As they talked to a doctor and had blood drawn and TB skin tests administered, Rose thought about Masline and the people she had left behind. It would be so easy to go there—it was only sixty miles away, and in the van or by bus, or even on foot, it wouldn’t take her long to get there. She could see Tommy, Helga, and Sophie, perhaps even let her mother know that she was all right. She wondered if Ruth thought her dead, or if she perhaps suspected, in some way, that Rose had simply chosen to disappear.
It was tempting, very tempting. It would be a few days before the test results were in, and she could easily go to Masline and return in that time. Then, if it turned out that something was wrong, she would have the support of her friends, and maybe even her mother.
But Rose also knew that if she returned to Masline, she would be hard-pressed to keep quiet on how Jack had died. She didn’t know what the autopsy results had been, but she knew that there was a strong possibility that homicide was suspected. A bullet wound to the back wasn’t natural, and was unlikely to be considered self-inflicted.
Jack’s friends would undoubtedly want to know who had killed him—and she might not be able to pretend ignorance if they asked her. They knew that she and Jack had gone out together before the earthquake, and that was the last time any of them had seen him alive. Her own disappearance would only add to their suspicion that she knew something, although she doubted that they would hold her responsible.
She could go to them, tell them what she knew…but then her deal with Cal would be null and void. He might be convicted of murder—but if he wasn’t, he would be able to come after her again, and either way, the freedom she had found would be gone. Her mother would pull her back, pushing her back into college to study whatever Ruth deemed appropriate—with no money and no home of her own, Rose would have no say in the matter. She would be bound to her old life again, to a world that valued money and the material symbols of wealth above all else, to a world that seldom looked beyond its own boundaries until forced to do so.
Even if she went to live with Tommy, she would have to give up the freedom she had come to cherish. She loved her friends dearly, but they would never understand her need to roam, to see and experience everything possible. She couldn’t tie herself down to a home and a job and continue to live as she did. Perhaps one day such a life would appeal to her again, but not now. She was seeing the country as Jack had seen it, living by her wits and her talents from day to day, answering to no one and with no one to depend upon her.
No, she couldn’t go back, not even for a visit. It was too soon, the emotional wounds too raw, for her to see those she had left behind. She would have to find a place to stay, and she feared what Cal might do if she returned. She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him, or of seeing Jack’s grave, if indeed he was buried in Masline. There were others, too, who might be buried there, and she couldn’t face those silent graves, either.
She would stay where she was, in San Diego, until the test results were ready, and then leave with the band, going wherever they went, until she felt that it was finally time to move on.
*****
It was over a week before the test results were ready, partly because TB skin tests naturally took that long to show results, and partly because of the backlog of cases that the cash-strapped facility had to deal with. In the meantime, the band looked for work, succeeding in booking two gigs. After spending the first three nights camped out in a vacant lot, huddling together for warmth and safety, they at last were able to afford to stay in a cheap motel—not the fanciest lodgings, but warmer and safer than a garbage-strewn lot.
On November twenty-sixth, the day before Thanksgiving, Rose and Tim returned to the county medical facility to learn the results of their tests. They sat together silently in the waiting room, each lost in their own thoughts, hoping that everything was all right, but fearing that it wasn’t.
Rose couldn’t stop berating herself. I am so dumb, she thought, her hands clenching the arms of her chair. I left Masline to find my own life, and what do I do? Jump into bed with a man I hardly know, who I have no strong feelings for, a man who might have AIDS, and who might have passed it along to me. I thought I’d learned so much in the year I spent as Cal’s fiancée, but the first chance I got, I did something else that was stupid. I guess it’s all a part of learning, but this is too high a price to pay for new experiences. It seems like the more I learn, the less I know.
Jack, what did you ever see in me? Did you recognize how dumb I can be? Of course, you were with me through half of that awful year with Cal, and you saw how quick I was to believe that you had stolen my engagement ring. I might have helped cause your death, too, by listening to you when you said that it was almost morning and there would be rescue crews out soon. If only I hadn’t listened, and had done something to get us out of there, you might still be alive. I should have learned from those experiences, but I’ve gone right on making mistakes, even if they are new ones. Will I ever wise up? Learning is all well and good, but some lessons are too painful to be learned the hard way. I just hope this isn’t one of them. I want to see you again, Jack, but not like this. I want to live first.
"Rose DeWitt-Bukater? Tim Myers?"
They looked up as a nurse beckoned to them from the doorway leading into the treatment area. Glancing at each other in trepidation, they went into the back, following her to an examination room.
"Sit down, both of you." Opening their charts, she quickly and efficiently checked their TB tests, shaking her head when she saw Tim’s. After writing the results in the charts, she told them, "The doctor will be with you in a moment."
Rose glanced worriedly at Tim. For all that they hadn’t gotten along as a couple, she still cared for him as a friend, and the nurse’s expression hadn’t been encouraging. Looking at Tim’s arm, she noticed the differences between their TB tests. Hers was almost healed, while his had developed bubble-like lesions around it. Remembering what they had been told when the tests were administered, she suspected that his was positive for tuberculosis.
The doctor arrived about ten minutes later. Ushering them into his office, he sat behind his desk, while Rose and Tim took seats across from him, looking at him warily. They could tell from his countenance that the news wasn’t good.
He looked at the charts, then turned to Rose. "Rose, I will give you your test results first."
Rose nodded, her breath catching in her throat and her heart beating wildly. This was it—the moment in which she would learn whether she was healthy or sick, whether she could expect to live for many more years, or only a few.
"Both of your tests, for tuberculosis and AIDS, are negative. You show every sign of being healthy."
Rose’s breath came out in a whoosh; she hadn’t realized she had been holding it. "Thank God," she murmured, leaning back in her chair, relief rushing through her. Then, she looked at Tim, her brow furrowing in concern. If the doctor’s grim face wasn’t about her, then it must be about Tim.
"Tim…your test results were both positive. I recommend another AIDS test to rule out a false positive, and a chest X-ray will be required to determine whether you actually have tuberculosis, or have only been exposed to it. Exposure can cause a positive TB test," he explained, at Tim’s confused look.
He nodded, his expression sad but not surprised. Daffodil’s hunches were often correct, and she had been proven right again. "Okay. Can I get those done right now, or will I have to wait?"
"I’ll send you to the lab and to radiology right away. Come back here when you’re done so that I can go over the chest X-ray with you." He wrote up the test order, handing it to Tim. "You already know where the lab is. Radiology is just down the hall from there."
Tim nodded dully, taking the papers as the doctor stood and left the office, heading for an examination room to see another patient. Rose turned to Tim, a horrified expression on her face.
"Oh, Tim!" She threw her arms around his neck, forgetting for the moment that she had been angry with him.
"It’s okay, Rose. I’m really not surprised."
She sighed. "Neither am I. Daffodil is a good doctor, even without a medical degree. Still…" She looked at the papers in his hand. "Maybe both she and the tests were wrong. You’d better go and get the new blood test and the X-ray done, before there are too many more people ahead of you." She paused, hugging him tighter. "I’ll wait for you in the waiting room, okay? You can get the doctor’s opinion, and then you can talk to Daffodil, if you really have TB. Sometimes she knows things that most doctors don’t."
"Sure." Tim gently disentangled Rose’s arms from around his neck. "We’ll do that.” He walked a few steps, then turned back to her. “I’m sorry, Rose."
He strode out the door, the papers in his hand, leaving her to wonder what he had meant by his apology.