In Sickness And In Health

"It's just fucking you up coming and going. The reality of this disease is that once you have it, no one wants anything to do with you. And I understand it, because I feel I'm toxic myself. I want to be around people about as much as they want me around, to be frank.

"Do you know I cannot give blood now, or be an organ donor? If you needed bone marrow or a kidney and I was a match, I couldn't give it to you, not without giving you a death sentence at the same time.

"Do you haveanyidea of how that makes a man feel, Grace? Do you? No, of course not. How could you?"

There was a pause, then Grace blurted out, "Mom still talks about you, you know. She knows what she did. She's not entirely devoid of guilt. She cries on your birthday. It takes days for her to settle down. She tried to find you once, but came up dry. Even her own brother won't find you for her."

"Well whoop de do, Grace. I'm sure her tear fest is every bit as equal to the life I've endured over the past eight years. Do you know what it's like to be among people and know you can never be a part of them? That if they knew, they'd treat you like a leper? That's the reality of HIV. All people really know about it is that damn movie with Tom Hanks and some nasty pictures of people dying from related illnesses during the eighties. I'm absolutely full of sympathy for her."

John stopped, understanding he was just being sarcastic because the hurt, for him, was still there.

"You know I suggest counseling to her? We went a few times, to a specialist, who worked with hetro couples. She was all attentive and full of good words, and promised to do things and try things to the counselor, and then did none of them. Not one. Eventually she just stopped going because she didn't want to admit she wasn't doing any of what she promised. Oh, there were 'other reasons' – she didn't have the problem,Idid, soIshould be finding the solution. Never mind she had no clue what she wanted me to do, no that was formeto figure out. Even though I had no clue either.

"I literally live alone, far out, because I have to. Being here, among people, just makes me understand what I've lost. I can't look at a woman without knowing I'll never touch her, that it'll never go anywhere. So I just don't.

There was a moments silence, and Grace rubbed her face, to wipe out the tears filling her eyes.

"You know, I picked up a stray once. A young girl who was obviously down on her luck, nowhere to sleep. I gave her a room and food, just for the company. I woke up one morning, three days later, to her trying to give me a blowjob. It was her way to say thank you. I mean, in some ways, it was awesome. But I had to literally throw her off me. Literally. Pick her up and throw her off. For her own good and health. She left the next day, and again, I don't blame her. I couldn't explain it without her knowing the full truth, so she just thought I was an angry gay and left.

"You honestly have no idea how it feels to know that the best thing you do for others, to avoid both the awkward avoidance of anything intimate and to avoid any possibility of your own heartbreak is just to avoid them entirely? You don't. How could you? But that's my life now. I can't even have female friends, because none of them understand and are always trying to 'fix me up', and get offended when I say no.

"I'm not gay or part of the gay scene, even though there is a ton more understanding and education in that group. I even tried going to a support group for a while, but the guys there just didn't have the same way to relate to my life. They were worried about their next fuck, not having children and trying to be celibate in a hetro sexual world."

Grace reached out to take her fathers hand, and when John saw her doing that, he withdrew his own.

"And then there's your behavior Grace. Yours alone. Well, yours and your sister. If I recall, the last thing you told me was that the new guy, Greg, would make a better father than I would. And your mother went along with that, lovely caring woman that she is. Not only had I lost her, I lost you too, and you madedamnsure I knew it. I don't care if you were fifteen or not. You were old enough to know right from wrong and you did it anyway. You and your sister took my broken heart and smashed the two pieces into a million smaller ones. You don't get to come here and plead 'oh, I was young', call me a coward and then have me just drop everything because you found me. You don't get that right. You gave that up years ago.

"Sure, you can argue I over reacted, but what the hell? I think any man would understand why. I had lost the only anchor in life I had, and now the wind had taken me far from land as well. I was fucked up, had no idea what my life was going to be – although a pretty good idea, and I've been right so far – and then you and your sister pulled the last thing I had to stand on our from under me.And you knew what you were doing when you did it.Hell, you didn't have to know my medical condition to know what you did wasfucking wrong."

John stopped again, to control his breathing. He was getting angry again, lashing out at his daughter, and while he didn't want this meeting to be about that, after eight years, it was not going to be contained.

"So yeah. Screw you Grace. Screw you and your sister and your mother. I'm not your Dad. Apparently I never was, even though the only reason you are here in the US at all is because of me. God knows your mother didn't do shit to make it happen. It was me that filled in all the forms, and went to the social worker to be judged, and paid all the money, and waited. It was me that arranged the trips to China to pick you up. It was me that made your mother happy bringing you home. Me. But what the hell, right? This other guy, because he had money, would make a much better Dad than me. Money, italwaysmakes right, doesn't it? No one would get hurt when you said what you said, right?Youcertainly didn't.

"Well guess what Honey? I had my own problems to deal with. I'm sure it didn't compare to you having anicer roomand anew carbut there you are."

More anger was surfacing now, anger that John thought he'd left at the roadside years ago. It was still there – the bitterness of how he'd been treated and how life had been since then.

"And while we are on that subject, how do you think you went to college? Who do you think paid for that? I'm sure that your mother and her asshole husband were happy for you to believe that they paid for it, but news flash, ex daughter of mine. They never once stuck their hands in their pockets. I'm sure he could afford it, but he never had to. I paid for it, out of the money I sent your mother, every month, for your upkeep, even when she told me – via his lawyer of course – that she didn't want it. That she was marrying the asshole and I didn't need to do it. Where do you think that money went?

"Frankly, right now, I'm about sick of the sight of you. I'm sick of you coming here, with your holier-than-thou and my-shit-doesn't-stink attitude, venting about things you do not know the true story to, with your fifty thousand dollar car outside and no worries in the world. I left for a reason and I can't see anything different now than I did then. All you've really done is remind me of that time, and I've spent a lot of time and effort trying to get past it. Obviously not enough.

"I feel bad enough about what I have, and the way the world views me, without you reopening old wounds.

"Tell you sister I said Hi and tell your mom...well, tell her anything you want. I have some place to be."

And with that, John got up from the table, ignoring the weeping girl sitting opposite him, dropped a twenty on the table and left.

Veronica and Betty stood aside to let him leave, mouth agape. He didn't even bother to nod to them; he was never coming back here anyway.

Three days later, Grace drove her car along the track she'd been assured led to the cabin where her father – "Joe" Stamper lived. It was covered with leaves and twisty and turny and she was worried that her Mustang wouldn't make it.

She'd spent a considerable amount of time going over the past in her mind, and trying to match what she knew and had felt with what her father had told her. And, terribly, it all fit. She'd spent one night getting very drunk, after the realization of his life, and what it was, finally broke through.

She'd spent some time skyping with her mother, asking her questions. Most of the time her mother wouldn't answer direct questions or tried to change the conversation, which had given Grace all the answers she'd need. Right then and there she'd vowed that her relationship with her mother would change. What her mother had done was understandable butjust not right. And worse still, through her thoughtless and greedy attitude, she'd made it so much worse.

Her heart ached for her Dad – living alone all those years. An outsider to the rest of the world, doing his best not to be judged, but it happening anyway.

She had no idea what she was going to do, only she wasn't going to let him go like that. Not again. She deserved the pain in her heart, but he did not, and yet he'd carried it for years. She needed to get him to see that she understood. That she wanted to behisdaughter, and no one else's.

When she arrived at the small cabin, she clambered out of the car, in the clearing in front. It was literally in a small clearing, with forest around all sides. A large hill stretched off a mile or so north, with small clouds wasping around the top.

She looked around, but didn't see the truck her father had driven off in. But there was a small man in dungaree's sweeping the front porch. He saw her, straightened up and cam over, extending a hand and a smile.

"Damn, that was quick. I only put this back on the market yesterday! That Lucy at the agency does a great job! I'm Bruce, I work for the rental group for this here cabin. You looking for a short or long term rental?"

"Err, rental? No, I'm not here for that. I'm looking for John Stamper? I was told he lived here."

Bruce lowered his hand and the smile faded a bit.

"He's gone miss. Called me two days ago and told me he was breaking his lease and he'd be gone by morning. I'll give him this, he did a good job of tidying up. There was one of those goodwill trucks outside and he had a bunch of stuff shipped off to them. He didn't have much though. Then he loaded up the truck and he was gone."

Grace was aghast, her plans dashed. "Did he say where he was going? A forwarding address?"

"No miss, sorry. He just said it was somewhere he'd never be followed. I figured it was Atlanta – he'd been talking about that probably being his next stop. You his kid I guess?"

"Yes, his daughter, Grace."

"I'm sorry we had to meet like this. He always spoke so highly of you, the times we spoke. I did wonder why no one ever came around but, well, family, you know," Bruce shrugged. "He was a great tenant though. Did some great work to the old place. Made it liveable. I have no idea how I'll rent it, all the way out here, but faith manages."

Grace just stood and looked at the cabin. After a minute, she just smiled at Bruce and said, "Thank you for your time. I need to be going," doing her best to get in the car before the tears started.

Grace never saw her father again. She never found where he went, despite looking for years. Her relationship with her mother was also never the same again, and neither was Sophia's, once Grace clued her in on what had really happened. Her mother, Kathy, spent three months coming to terms with what John Stampers life had become since she left him, and never did deal with it completely.

Grace sold the Mustang and donated the money to a hospice, dedicated to AIDS sufferers in San Francisco.

Sophia named her first boy child John, after his grandfather.

Four years later, a couple hiking in the forests north of Heron Falls in Oregon came across the remains of a body. There were some torn clothes, a couple of bones that had obviously been attacked by the local wildlife, and strangely enough, a rusted Heckler and Koch .45 automatic, with one round missing from the magazine. Whatever had happened, it was obviously it had been years ago.

Despite poking around and the police doing a small search, they never found the pants, dragged off a hundred yards away, with the ID in it.

The John Doe was marked off as Death by Misadventure and the case left open, with a note from the forensic coroner that the one thing he could tell from examination of the remaining bones was that the person who they belonged to had probably been infected with an auto immune disease.