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A
SHLEY CALLED THE HOSPITAL
laboratory six times Wednesday, but her results weren’t in yet. Finally late that afternoon, the woman who answered recognized her name.

“You were in here last week…from Bloomington, right?” Her voice held a hint of compassion.

“Yes.” Ashley raked her fingers through her hair. “I need the test results as soon as possible. I’ve got a…a business trip tomorrow.”

The woman hesitated. “We don’t usually do this, but I’m working tomorrow morning. If they come in I’ll give you a call. That way you don’t have to keep checking.”

“Thank you.” Ashley noticed she was shaking again. Something she’d been doing off and on since hearing the news about Jean-Claude. “Do you need my cell number?”

“Uh…” There was the sound of papers shuffling. “No, I’ve got it.”

“Can you call me even if the results aren’t in tomorrow morning? Whenever they come?”

“Sure.” Something in the woman’s voice told Ashley she’d been there before, waiting breathlessly for results that would perhaps set the course for the rest of her life.

On Thursday morning, Ashley was still thinking about the woman, her willingness to break protocol, her kindness. She tossed her suitcase and the portfolio with the three paintings into her car and hurried Cole to her parents’ house. Their good-bye was more emotional for her than usual, because chances were the next time she saw her son, she’d know at least a part of what the future held for them both.

Ashley got into her car without looking back. She arrived at the airport two hours before her flight, got through security, and found a seat at the gate.

The entire time her cell phone was never farther away than the pocket of her rayon blazer. She was glad the call hadn’t come while she was saying good-bye to Cole or driving to the airport. The news might’ve been more than she could handle at either of those times.

Now, though, seated and waiting for her flight, she was desperate to know the results. She brought the phone out and studied it. No missed calls. For a moment she waited, willing it to deliver the news that she was fine, her tests perfectly normal.

But an hour passed. Her boarding call had just been given when her cell phone rang. She yanked it from her pocket, giving quick furtive glances to the people around her.

She checked the caller ID window and felt her throat grow thick.

It was the hospital.

Ashley looked down and let her forehead rest in her hand. Privacy…she needed privacy. She flipped the phone open and held it to her ear. Her voice was soft and jerky, as though the call were some part of a covert operation. “Hello?”

“Ashley Baxter?” It was the nurse who had drawn her blood.

“Yes.” She closed her eyes. Her heart was racing so fast she could barely get the word out.

“I spoke with you yesterday about calling when your test results came in.” The nurse’s voice was measured, unreadable. “I got them a few minutes ago.”

Breathing wasn’t possible. Ashley’s voice was weak and breathy. “It’s…it’s negative, right?”

“No.” The woman paused. “I’m sorry. It’s positive.”

The woman was still talking, going on about having the test done a second time, and how a positive test wasn’t always accurate, and that Ashley needed to see a doctor immediately to plan a course of treatment.

But the words became a blurred mumbling. Ashley’s eyes flew open, and she nearly dropped the phone. A spot by the window was less crowded, and she walked toward it. She was dizzy, sick to her stomach; a rushing sound filled her brain.

It was positive? Her blood had tested positive for HIV?

“Ms. Baxter, did you hear me?” The woman’s voice was tinny and distant.

Ashley realized she’d let the phone slip partway down her cheek. She lifted it back to her ear. “Excuse me?” Her body was taking over for her because her heart and brain had checked out. They seemed paralyzed, unable to believe it was possible, certain that this moment was merely one more in a run of bad dreams. Nightmares.

“Ms. Baxter, do you have a doctor you can contact, someone who can help you get a second test and a treatment plan?”

Did she have a doctor? Ashley squinted and let her body rest against the full-length window. “A doctor?” She gave a few hard shakes of her head. Her father was a doctor, after all. She swallowed. “Yes, I have a doctor.”

“Final boarding call for Flight 27 to La Guardia.” The voice sounded throughout the gate area.

Ashley jolted into sudden awareness. She was about to miss her flight. A cough lodged in her throat, and it took a few seconds for her to speak. “I…I have to go. Thank you.” She slammed her phone shut, slipped it back into her pocket, and hurried the last few steps back to her bags. Five minutes later she found her spot on the airplane, a window seat in a row that was, once more, otherwise empty.

The shock was so devastating, she couldn’t concentrate. She handed her art case to a flight attendant, who promised to keep it in a special storage area. Then Ashley turned her cell phone off and leaned back in her seat.

She was positive for HIV?

It wasn’t even remotely possible. Not now, not when in a few hours she was supposed to meet Landon at La Guardia, spend the evening celebrating her return, and savor his hugs and kisses, the feel of him in her arms.

Breathe…you have to breathe.

She ordered herself to inhale, but nothing about the process seemed to be working. Ashley sat straight in her seat, and her gaze darted down the aisle toward the nearest exit. She had to get off, had to get a mouthful of fresh air or she’d suffocate.

But it was too late. Already the doors were shut, and the flight attendants were talking about the safety features of the plane and oxygen masks dropping if a change of pressure occurred. For a crazy moment, Ashley considered tearing at the paneling above her head, grabbing the oxygen mask, and gulping mouthfuls before she passed out.

Breathe. Get a breath. Hurry!

She sucked in, but the cabin seemed filled with something thick and stale that stuck in her throat. She knew what was happening. Her lungs were no longer capable of taking in air. Panic tightened its grip, and she clutched at the armrests on each side of her seat. “Help me.” The whispered words were lost in the hum of blowing air and jet engine sounds. “God…help.”

Her body was taking her straight into a panic attack, one that threatened to send her to her feet, running down the aisle, clawing at the exit doors.

“God…” She closed her eyes and the dizziness worsened. The jet engines roared now, and the plane began to taxi down the runway. Faster…faster…faster…

I can’t breathe.
Her words were silent now because she was out of air.
God, I have to get off. I’m going to die.

Suddenly a memory flashed in her mind. She’d had panic attacks before. Back when she was twelve years old, the year she entered junior high and realized she wasn’t gossipy and giggly like the other girls. The year they cut her out of their social circle and moved on without her.

She’d be lying in bed, and without warning her heart would leap into her throat. Her temples would pound, and she’d feel like she couldn’t breathe. The same way she felt now.

Ashley took in three quick gasps, none of them meeting her need for oxygen. The picture of herself as a girl developed some. Scared to death, she always ran to her father, and he would talk her back to a place of sanity.

The rushing in her temples grew fuller as she struggled to make sense of her thoughts. What was it her father told her? Breathe out. Her lungs felt as heavy as lead, stiff and unwilling to cooperate. The plane was lifting into the air, making her crazy with the need to get off the plane.

She closed her eyes, pursed her lips, and blew out. A whisper of air left her mouth, but the feel of it reassured her enough to keep her seated.

She opened her eyes and stared at her hands. Again she blew out. Again and again, all without even trying to draw a breath. Another infusion of calm filled her veins. Understanding dawned—she’d been hyperventilating. Of course. In the panic of the moment, of the terrifying truths about her life, she panicked and sucked in air without letting any out.

What else had her father told her? Breathe in through her nose. Slow and easy, through her nose. She widened her nostrils, sucked in a small bit of air, and felt her lungs respond.

Once more she brought her lips together and blew out, longer this time. Slower. After ten minutes, she felt her body regain control. But not her mind, not her heart and soul. She was HIV-positive. The more the words ran through her head, the more their meaning sank in, leaving her sick and defeated. At least the panic attack had passed, and though her fingers still trembled, she could breathe again. She was no longer desperate to get off the plane.

God, give me something to hang on to.

Ashley looked out the window and squinted at the brilliant blue reflecting against the upper side of a field of puffy cumulus clouds. No answers flashed in her heart, but rather a knowing. God had promised that he knew the plans for her life, good plans. Maybe not the plans she’d had for herself, but good plans all the same. Whatever happened.

In the past few days she’d researched HIV on the Internet. What she’d found was more encouraging than she’d expected. Positive test results were no longer a death sentence. Doctors could help people now—the basketball star Magic Johnson had taught them that much.

A statistic on-line caught her eye the other day in light of the awful waiting period she’d just survived: 10 percent of those infected with HIV would get AIDS, and 10 percent of those who developed AIDS would die because of the virus. And the medicine cost less than ever before—a few hundred dollars a year.

Whatever it cost, whatever it did to her lifestyle, she would fight to stay healthy and well. For Cole. He needed to be tested, of course, though she’d read on one of the Web sites that if he had the virus, doctors would’ve discovered it when he was born.

Still, she wanted to be sure.

The life she and Cole shared was all she had now, because involving Landon in such a nightmare was something she simply wouldn’t do. Marrying him would involve a physical relationship, which would always hold the risk that he would somehow become infected. She’d always believed he deserved someone better than her, and that was never more true than it was now.

Ashley blinked and breathed out again. The panic was gone, but in its place was a sorrow deeper than the ocean. A long time ago Kari told her something about love, a definition that had stayed with Ashley: “Love is a decision.” A decision that sometimes meant making hard choices. That was certainly true now.

She loved Landon. Saying good-bye to him would be the most difficult thing she’d ever done.

She’d go to New York and meet with him. She’d tell him about her test results, apologize, and insist they break off their relationship. She’d tell him good-bye, even if it killed her, and then she’d take her paintings to the gallery and explain that because of personal reasons she could no longer have a showing in the fall.

All of that lay ahead of her when she arrived at La Guardia.

Suddenly she was no longer desperate to get off the plane. Rather she wished she could stay on it forever.

The moment Ashley walked off the plane Landon knew something wasn’t right.

She came to him, hugged him. Even kissed him, but not the way she’d kissed him when she left. When he asked her about it, she shrugged off her lack of energy and blamed it on being overtired. They shared a quick lunch, and then he rode with her to her hotel.

He’d expected her to have a glass of iced tea with him at one of the cafes in the lobby. But instead she begged off, explained she needed to spend time with her work, catch up on her sleep, prepare for her meeting with the gallery owners the next day.

Before she headed to her room, she showed him the new pieces. They were breathtaking, each of them. Landon could hardly believe it had come to this, that her work was being featured in a Manhattan gallery, and that the gallery owners had completely fallen in love with her.

Not that he could blame them.

The night passed slowly, as did the day.

Just before seven o’clock on Friday night, Landon positioned himself at the center of the Hyatt lobby near a standing floral arrangement and locked his eyes on the bank of elevators. The gallery was walking distance from the hotel, and the owners had put Ashley up here this time. Last night when he and Ashley discussed tonight’s dinner, they’d agreed that the hotel restaurant made the most sense.

Besides, it was across the street from Central Park.

If things went the way he expected, he had plans for after dinner. A romantic walk south through the park to the place where horse-drawn carriages lined the street. Together they’d snuggle in the back of a carriage and spend an hour seeing the park by moonlight, talking about their wedding plans, and dreaming of a future together.

A future Landon had all but given up on just a year ago.