Erika Blumhardt glanced nervously at the clock. Just one more appointment left for the day. A young couple who had scheduled last month. Erika suddenly regretted having agreed to see them. Even though they weren’t due to arrive for another fifteen minutes, she couldn’t take her eyes off the parking lot outside her office window. She caught herself shifting from one foot to the other in agitation. Why weren’t they here yet? Why did everyone always show up at the last minute?

To be fair, she’d been getting annoyed at little things a lot more frequently lately. Especially work-related things. She’d been working in social services for fifteen years now, the last ten in AIDS therapy, and it hadn’t been like this at all before. The people who’d come to her seeking help hadn’t infuriated her. Deep down, she knew it was wrong of her to feel this way about them, but she couldn’t help it. The people who came to her were just so irresponsible. In principle, it didn’t matter to Erika at all that they put their own lives at risk, but they endangered people around them as well. It was like Russian roulette, except that some of the people involved didn’t even know they were part of an immoral game.

She’d never have seen it that way before. Back then, she’d just felt sorry for her ‘patients,’ as she’d secretly called her clients. Nowadays, when an HIV-positive man told her he’d had unprotected sex with the sobbing, terrified woman sitting beside him and only told her about his condition afterward, she’d think of her own daughter.

They came in wanting to know if there was anything they could do about it, and yes, it was possible to do something about it, but most of the time she felt like screaming at the guys to think with their brains and not their other organs. The thought of Yasemine ending up with a guy like that made her want to climb the walls.

Yasemine’s birth had changed a lot of things. Everything, actually. Erika had changed. She knew that her new attitude made her the wrong person for this job, and she resolved yet again to speak to her supervisor, to lay her cards out on the table and ask to be transferred. This just couldn’t continue. She was already furious with her next clients despite the fact that they weren’t even late yet, just because she wanted to get back to Yasemine. Maybe she should call the nanny?

The knock at the door jolted her out of her thoughts. She strode quickly across the room and opened the door.

“Erika Blumhardt,” she said, shaking the young man’s hand first. He was tall, blond, and unusually attractive. The dark blue of his eyes was fascinating, and she caught herself staring into them a second too long. She hadn’t caught his name. Hastily, she turned to the young woman and shook her hand as well. The girl was more ordinary-looking, slender, with large brown eyes in a pale face. Her chestnut-colored hair was slightly stringy and reminded Erika of the fat, ancient pony she’d owned as a child. She introduced herself as Jessica.

“Come with me,” Erika said. “Have a seat at the table.” The couple followed her to the back of the room, and she gestured for them to sit.

It’s the woman! Ever since she’d started working there, she’d secretly played this game, guessing which of her clients was the infected one. She was almost always right. This time, it was easy. “What can I do for you?” she asked in a pleasant tone, sneaking a glance at her papers to remember the man’s name. Danijel Taylor.

“We just wanted to get some information,” the girl said. “About the disease. Transmission and all of that.” She struggled a little to get out the words. She seemed nervous. Her partner sat silently, arms crossed, relaxed but reserved. He seemed to wish he was somewhere else. He probably found the situation unpleasant. The partners often did.

“First of all, let me give you some pamphlets you can read later, on your own time. One of my business cards is in there, too. You can call me anytime if you have any other questions or need help.”

The young woman slipped the stack of papers into her bag. A moment of silence followed.

“I’ll start by telling you about the disease. Feel free to interrupt me if I cover anything you already know, or if you don’t understand anything I say.” Erika barely suppressed a sigh. Clients like these were the absolute worst. Came in without actually knowing what they wanted, so she had to tell them anything and everything. This could take a while.

“HIV infection progresses through three stages: the acute stage, the latency stage, and then Acquired Immunodeficiency Virus, or AIDS. The acute stage occurs a few weeks after a person is first infected. The virus multiplies rapidly in the person’s body, and his or her own immune system weakens as it attempts to fight the disease off. The acute stage is often mistaken for the flu, because the symptoms are very similar: fever, lack of energy, and nausea, for example. Some people don’t experience any symptoms, though. Eventually, the body manages to stabilize the virus level, and the immune cells slowly recover, so the symptoms subside. That’s the second stage, known as latency, where the virus is still gradually multiplying within the person’s body, but he or she experiences no physical effects.”

She stopped and looked at her clients. Jessica was listening attentively, but Danijel seemed bored. She was almost hoping one of them would interrupt. “On average, the latency stage lasts no more than ten years, though there are exceptions in both directions. A few patients remain HIV-positive for a very long time without developing AIDS, and a few develop AIDS just a few months after they are first infected.”

“Hang on,” Jessica said. Erika saw the glimmer of hope in her eyes. “You just said that some patients are HIV-positive without it developing into AIDS? So it’s possible to never get AIDS?”

Erika suppressed another sigh. This was usually the moment when she felt the most empathy for her patients: the moment where she had to dash their hopes.

“No, that doesn’t happen. At least, not yet. Researchers are working on it. As of right now, everyone infected with HIV will eventually develop AIDS. Just not necessarily within that ten-year time frame I mentioned. It may take more than ten years in a few patients, but it’s more frequently faster than that. It progresses differently every time, depending on the patient, on his or her immune system and physical constitution.

“Our best available treatment option is called AZT. It was originally developed to fight cancer, so there’s quite a bit we still don’t know about its effect on HIV. But there also aren’t any other options out there for prolonging the latency stage. Patients complain about its severe side effects, though, and most people don’t stay on it for long. So, right now, it’s mostly a question of when the infection occurred, and how long the latency stage lasts.”

Jessica drew in a sharp breath, seemingly processing what she’d just heard. Danijel was still placidly sitting there with a perfectly neutral expression on his face. Erika might as well have been explaining how cough drops were made.

There it was again—the rage. Who did he think he was, sitting here acting all indifferent and superior? He probably thought his good looks would protect him against infection. She knew these types of men. Arrogant to the bone. Barely stopping herself from shaking her head, Erika resolved yet again to talk to her supervisor about being transferred.

“As the person’s viral load slowly rises over time, it weakens their immune system even further, lowering the number of T-cells they have to fight off disease. When the person’s T-cell count drops below two hundred, they’re considered to have full-blown AIDS. The person may develop symptoms similar to the ones they had during the acute stage, only this time, the symptoms don’t go away, so there’s no mistaking it for the flu. With their immune system weakened like that, the person may develop what we call opportunistic infections—infections that a healthy person would be able to fight off easily, but that may prove fatal to someone with AIDS.”

The girl nodded. At least one of them was actually paying attention. “The problem is that we don’t know when exactly he was infected. He’s never had symptoms. All we know is that it was sometime between the ages of eleven and thirteen. Probably closer to eleven—that’s the most logical option.”

He? Erika blinked in surprise. She certainly hadn’t expected that.

Lost that bet.

“How old are you now, Mr. Taylor?” she asked, trying not to stare at him. There was something about him she found alluring.

Good God, Erika, she chided herself. This kid’s young enough to be your son!

“I’m almost twenty-one. So, according to your statistics, it’s about time for me to get on with dying.” His expression was still neutral, but there was no mistaking the cynicism in his voice. It didn’t faze her, though—she was used to such reactions.

“As I said, it’s just a rough guideline. It can progress very differently from one person to the next. What are you doing to prolong the latency stage? Do you take AZT?”

“Not anymore,” he said dryly. “I did for a while, years ago, but I couldn’t tolerate it. I just work out a lot and eat right, and so far that’s worked well. I’m already boosting the statistical average.” A hint of a smile played on his lips, taking the sting of sarcasm out of his words.

“How were your most recent blood tests?”

“Very good,” he said quickly. “Can you tell us about transmission risks?”

“Of course.” She cleared her throat and gave him a stern look. “You use protection during intercourse?”

“We’re not idiots,” he retorted.

He was really starting to get on her nerves. Even beautiful people couldn’t just treat people however they wanted and get away with it. “If you already know everything, Mr. Taylor, what exactly is it you’re looking for here?”

“Tell me something I don’t know yet,” he said. “Or even better…” He squinted accusingly at his girlfriend. “Tell her that it’s still possible to get infected no matter how careful you are!”

Aha. The truth was beginning to come out. The woman was the driving force behind this appointment. Erika had to smile—just like that, she began to like the young couple. He seemed genuinely worried about his girlfriend. That was so refreshing after all the men she’d seen, the ones she would have to protect her daughter from. With couples like those, she was usually overdramatic in describing how careful they needed to be. She’d exaggerate on purpose to scare them, to force the infected partner to face the facts.

These two, on the other hand, seemed like they were being more careful than necessary, so there was no need to exaggerate. In fact, she suddenly felt like she needed to de-escalate their fears.

“HIV is relatively difficult to transmit,” she told them. “There’s only an infection risk if infected bodily fluids—primarily blood, semen, or vaginal fluids—come into direct contact with open wounds or mucous membranes. The virus is most frequently transmitted through unprotected sex between men. Living with an infected person is absolutely not dangerous.

“Sleeping together in the same bed, kissing, sharing food, none of those are a problem. Intercourse using proper protection is fine, too. The risk associated with unprotected oral sex is negligible, provided you avoid swallowing bodily fluids. The only other thing you should avoid is sharing razors or toothbrushes, but that’s just to err on the side of caution—the virus dies almost immediately upon contact with air.”

Jessica gave Danijel a triumphant look. To Erika, it almost looked like the girl wanted to stick her tongue out at him. He, on the other hand, didn’t look pleased with the response at all.

“Isn’t it foolish to have sex despite all the danger?” He raised his eyebrows. “That’s gross negligence!”

“No, not at all!” Erika shook her head. “You, as an HIV-positive person, have a right to a completely normal life. From a purely legal standpoint, you’re not even obligated to tell your partner that you’re infected!”

“But if I infect her, from a purely legal standpoint, I’ll be on the hook for it.”

“Not now that she’s aware that you’re HIV-positive, and as long as everything between you is consensual. Don’t paint such a grim picture. Most new infections occur within the drug scene. Worldwide, HIV is transmitted far less frequently through heterosexual intercourse than through blood transfusions.

“Even if worse comes to worst and the condom breaks, there’s no reason to panic: it’s unlikely the infection will be transmitted, and even that small risk can most likely be prevented through what’s known as post-exposition prophylaxis, or PEP. The person takes HIV medication for four weeks, and it prevents the virus from taking hold in the body. It works almost every time.”

“Great,” the boy retorted sarcastically. “Sounds fantastic. So sensible!”

“I’m telling you how it is,” Erika said gruffly.

The young woman looked thoroughly satisfied with the conversation thus far, but Danijel seemed more annoyed than anything. This time, Erika didn’t even bother trying to hide her sigh of resignation. There was just no pleasing everyone, no matter how hard she tried. Maybe she should move to a beach somewhere and sell souvenirs. Then she’d have a better shot at making the people around her happy. She snuck a glance at the clock. Just after five. She needed to pick up Yasemine.

“If the two of you don’t have any other questions, I think I’d like to stop here. As I said, you’re welcome to call me any time.” With that, she sprang to her feet. She wanted to see her daughter, and she didn’t care anymore whether she came across as impolite.

 

***

 

Everything we had just heard slowly began working its way into my brain as we walked across the parking lot.

Ten years, she said. Ten years on average.

Then AIDS developed. Ten years… Danny would be twenty-one in December.

Ten years. The number was rotating in my head. How was he staying so calm?

Because he knew that already! He came to terms with it long ago.

I couldn’t process it. It was too much. Much too much.

My feet stopped working. We were only halfway to the car. Danny took another three steps before he realized, and then he turned around to look at me. “What is it?” he asked suspiciously.

“She said ten years,” I whispered.

“No, no, no.” He reached for my hands. “Stop getting worked up about that. It doesn’t apply to everyone!”

“It’s a statistic based on facts.” I couldn’t hold back my tears. Danny wiped them from my cheeks with his thumbs.

“It’s an average. Averages are for average people. Am I an average person?” He gave me a challenging look.

I shook my head. No, he was anything but average.

“See?” He smiled in satisfaction. “It doesn’t apply to me. I’m healthy, I’m in great shape, I eat right. I’m ten times more physically fit than most people are during the best years of their lives. That way, I’m constantly signaling to my body that I’m healthy, and it reacts accordingly. If I sat around thinking about the disease all day long, I’d end up getting sick.”

He tapped his forehead. “That’s the power of positive thinking. Your attitude makes all the difference. A little while ago, I read about an experiment where they brought some people who were allergic to carnations into a room with a big bouquet of carnations. So they all started to sneeze like crazy…and then they were told that the flowers were plastic.” He gave me a meaningful look. “You see? The people had allergic reactions because they thought they would. So I do the opposite—I always act like I’m completely healthy. We can’t give the disease an inch. That’s our only option.” He sighed. “Or, at least, it’s the only option I can handle. We have to live like everything is normal. You and me both, Ducky. Can you do that?” His eyes bored into mine hypnotically.

“I’ll try.”

He nodded. “Good.”

“I don’t get it, though. You said you don’t even take medication. Why not? Are you insane, or are you just a complete idiot?”

He snorted. “It’s not that simple. I took Retrovir at the beginning—it’s a brand of AZT. But I couldn’t stomach it. I puked nonstop for three and a half months, I lost twenty-five pounds, I was sleeping twelve hours a day, and I was sweating like a pig all the time. I couldn’t play sports, couldn’t live anything like a normal life. I barely made it to school during that whole period. It was like I was already sick, with no end in sight.

“And then I stopped taking it, and just like that, I felt fine again. I just didn’t want to do that to myself anymore. The vague hope of living a little longer wasn’t worth the guaranteed loss of quality of life. I decided I wouldn’t take any medication at all as long as my T-cell count was still over three hundred.”

The explanation sounded plausible enough to me. I just hoped he got checked regularly. “How often do you have your T-cell count checked?”

“My last test results were fantastic, but that was a while ago,” he admitted. “It’s been almost two years. But I feel fine. Nothing’s changed since then, I can tell.”

“Listen,” I said. “I’ll go along with all of this, but you need to have that test done regularly. However often the doctor says you should. And you need to talk to him about whether it’s okay for you not to take medication.”

“Okay,” he agreed. “I need a new doctor anyway. Mine retired two years ago. I’ll make an appointment…on one condition.”

“What?”

“You have to go with me and get yourself tested for HIV.”

I was speechless for a moment. “What? W-why? That’s silly. There’s no way anything happened that night.”

“It’s not about that night,” he said, letting go of my hands and crossing his arms. “I know you don’t have it. But you went into such a panic about it, and I don’t want you even a little afraid when you’re with me.”

“Oh. Well, then, I’ll do it,” I said lightly, trying to suppress my budding fear. If I was so sure I didn’t have it, then why were my palms suddenly sweaty? Why was my heart racing? Why did I feel like I’d do anything to avoid having to take that test?

Because you’re crazy! my inner voice snapped at me. You dance with death every day and act like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I waved my hands in front of my face, shutting up the voice and waving away all the mental images suddenly flooding my head—images of the night Danny and I got close.

Too close!

Danny furrowed his brow in concern. “Everything okay?”

I hid my worries behind a smile. “Of course.” My voice was a shade too high. “Why wouldn’t it be? Make an appointment for both of us, and I’ll take the stupid test. Why not?”

“Okay,” he said, but he kept watching me. Reading my thoughts, I was sure. That was probably why he insisted on me taking that dumb test. He knew how afraid I really was.

He took his keys out of his pocket and unlocked his car. “We need to focus on the positive things we talked about back there.”

“Which were?”

He suddenly smiled. “Erika said it was okay for us to have sex.”

“Wonderful,” I grumbled. “When I say it, you cover your ears, but when she says it, it’s gospel.”

“She knows what she’s talking about!” Danny opened the passenger-side door for me, biting his lower lip to suppress a grin. “Anyway, it’s not like I have no personal interest in it.”

“Hmph.” I raised one eyebrow. “That’s not how it seems to me. These past few weeks, you’ve been shooting me down nonstop.”

“I just wanted to protect you.” He looked contrite. “It won’t happen again.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” I hardly dared hope anything would change in the future.

“As long as I can hold your wrists while we’re doing it, I’m good,” he admitted, still trying not to grin.

“You can,” I promised. I put my hands on my hips and shook my head. “That stuff with your dad really gave you issues, didn’t it?”

“I know,” he said. “And it’s amazing that you know that and you’re still with me.” With that, he walked around to the other side of the car, got in, and started the engine.

Sighing, I dropped down into my seat. “Erika was totally into you.”

“I noticed.” He rolled his eyes. “Sick, right? She’s old enough to be my mom.”

“Speaking of moms…”

“Yeah?” His voice was wary.

“So you said your parents aren’t dead…”

His body stiffened, and his hands cramped around the wheel. “Yes, I did say that.” He took his eyes off the road to give me an appraising look.

“I want to meet her!” I blurted out.

“What?” he shrieked, completely forgetting about the street for a moment. We veered dangerously close to the guardrail, and he had to yank the steering wheel around, causing the car to skid. We swerved back and forth a couple of times before he got it back under control.

“I just want to meet your family,” I muttered, gripping my seat. “That’s no reason to kill us both.”

“No way!” he growled, still clenching the wheel. “Never, not ever, not a chance, forget it!”

“Why not?”

“My father’s in jail. If he ever gets out, I hope it’s in a body bag. Wild horses couldn’t drag me anywhere near him.”

“I don’t mean him,” I assured Danny. I’d decided never to use the word “father” to describe the man. It was just wrong. “But I’d at least like to meet your mom.”

Danny sniffed irritably. “I told you: my mom’s been making up her own reality for years now. She’s nuts.”

I stood my ground. “I don’t care if she’s nuts. I want to meet her.”

He rolled his eyes again. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“It can’t be that bad,” I said optimistically.

He ignored the remark. “I’ll let her know we’re coming to Rottweil this weekend.”

Wait, Rottweil? You mean she still lives in the same house?

I dismissed the thought. If Danny didn’t think he could handle it, he’d have said so.

 

***

 

A very slender woman opened the door to Danny’s childhood home and stared at us. She was exceptionally pretty, with light blond hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and blue eyes that seemed huge in her slim, pale face. They probably would have been gentle eyes if they hadn’t been darting around like a hunted animal’s.

“Come in, hurry,” she said, pressing herself against the wall so that we could get past her into the house, and then hastily shutting the door behind us. Nervously, she glanced back and forth between us.

“Hi, Mom,” Danny said. “I wanted to introduce you to Jessica.”

She beamed at me. “So nice to meet you! I’m Marina. Come in, come in.” I gave Danny a triumphant look before we followed Marina through the expansive entrance hall. “How nice of you two to finally come by.” For a moment, she appeared to be debating whether to shake my hand, and then seemingly decided against it.

It was an older house, with dark tile floors and white stucco walls. To my right, an oak staircase led to an upper floor. I shuddered, recalling how Danny had said the stairs had creaked when his visitor was on his way up to his room. What was this like for him, being here in the house he grew up in, where so many horrible things happened? But maybe the house itself wasn't as traumatizing with him gone, I reasoned. I hoped.

Marina led us into a large, open-plan living room, with a new-looking couch positioned behind an expensive marble table. I peeked over at the kitchen area, and the floor tiles and the counters were marble as well. Money had apparently been one thing the Taylors hadn’t wanted for. The centerpiece of the room was a large fireplace, where a huge fire was crackling away, despite the heat outside.

“Would you like something to drink?” Danny’s mother asked.

“No,” Danny said.

“Yes,” I said at the same time.

Marina walked over to the large living-room windows and stood there for a moment, rubbing her arms. “Terrible weather, isn’t it?” She looked over in our direction, but her gaze seemed to fix on a point above our heads. “It’s been snowing all day,” she said, turning back to the window. “I hope it stops soon! The cars can barely make it up the street, it’s so icy out... I don’t know why they haven’t come and plowed it yet…”

I gave Danny a look of confusion. It was September.

He tapped his forehead and then rotated his finger at his temple to remind me that his mother wasn’t all there. Almost automatically, I stepped behind Marina and looked out at the street to try to see what she was seeing. Someone slowly drove by in a convertible with the top down.

“I’ll make you two some tea,” she said, turning. “You must be frozen.”

“Just water for me, thanks,” I said, glancing down at my shorts and sandals. Danny was wearing shorts, too, along with an American flag T-shirt. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, I sat down on the couch and looked around, taking in the room. There wasn’t a speck of dirt anywhere, nothing out of place. Everything in the room had been polished until it gleamed. I didn’t see any photos or personal effects anywhere, either. All in all, the room seemed cold and emotionless.

Marina brought my water in a crystal-clear glass and sat down beside us. “So, tell me!” she said lightly, as though we’d known each other for years. “How are you both?”

“We’re fine. I’m glad I’m finally getting to meet you.”

“Has Danny ever told you about America?” Her eyes lit up. They were nearly the same unusual blue as her son’s.

“A little,” I replied. “He said you had a beautiful house with a pool.”

“It was beautiful, yes.” Her voice took on a rapturous note. “We lived way outside the city. All alone in a big meadow. At night, you could hear the grasshoppers chirping everywhere. Danny was very successful in swimming and track back then.” She launched into a full report of his childhood athletic achievements. Her memory was phenomenal—she knew his best throw, his longest jump, his fastest swimming and running times.

“My husband and I thought he’d grow up to be quite an athlete. He was such a promising young talent.” Then Marina stopped, giving Danny an accusatory look. “But when we came to Germany, he just threw it all away. Without a pool at home, practicing was too much trouble for him, so he quit. I’m afraid he was always a bit on the lazy side.” She brushed a long strand of hair behind her ear with trembling fingers.

I blinked at Danny in confusion. It was news to me that he’d done other sports before, and I couldn’t imagine why Marina would call him lazy.

“I quit for other reasons,” Danny replied in his own defense. “Mainly because I switched sports. You know that—every time I entered a competition, you had to sign a permission form.”

Marina nodded. “Of course I know that, Danny. It’s okay. Sports just aren’t everyone’s thing.”

Danny took a breath, getting ready to defend himself again but then seemed to decide there was no point.

But a world championship and a coaching career counted as “successful” in my eyes.

“He’s a very successful athlete,” I piped up. As I spoke, I touched the table, absently tracing the pattern of the marble with my fingertips.

Marina jumped up and hurried to the kitchen, returning a moment later with a can of disinfectant. She sprayed the table and wiped it down with a soft cloth. For a moment, I wondered if she was going to spray me as well.

Danny rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

“Sorry,” she murmured as she sat back down again. “Liam will be home from school soon, you see. He’s been so susceptible to germs ever since that terrible accident. I have to keep everything completely clean, or he’ll have problems with his immune system. His is deficient, you know.”

I nodded, because I wasn’t sure what else to do. Who the hell is Liam? Danny had never mentioned a sibling…

“Mom.” Danny spoke with deliberate slowness, as if to someone who didn’t catch on to things very quickly. Which she probably didn’t. “You’re mixing that up. The one with the autoimmune disorder is me.”

She laughed, almost hysterically. “You really ought to show a little more compassion. Oh, Danny and Liam,” she added to me. “They’ve never gotten along, for whatever reason.” She looked at me for a long moment with a sad expression on her face. “I don’t think Danny’s ever forgiven Liam. Liam’s the reason we had to come to Germany—he was so sick when he was born, and the doctors here are just better. Danny would have rather stayed in Atlanta. He had his friends there, and his sports…and he never got over the fact that he couldn’t bring Rex with him.”

“Rex?” I gave Danny a blank look. He shook his head and rolled his eyes again.

“Danny’s dog. We had to leave him behind, because we couldn’t bring him on the plane.” Marina seemed genuinely sorry about it.

“The plane wasn’t the problem.” Danny turned to me. “We couldn’t take the dog with us because my father killed him in a rage.”

I glanced between the two of them in alarm and took a large gulp of water.

Marina turned pale. “Danijel!” she snapped. “How can you say such things? Your father would never have done such a thing. He loved you!”

“Oh, yeah, he sure did.” Danny’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “In his own special, perverse way.”

Suddenly, I realized coming here had been a bad idea. Guilt wracked me—for insisting that Danny bring me.

Without replying, Marina stood up and walked across the room, dropping into a rocking chair in the corner. She rocked back and forth incessantly, seemingly staring right through us, as though she’d forgotten we were there. I reached for Danny’s hand, intertwining my fingers with his in the odd way we always did. He watched his mother silently.

Marina ran her hand softly down her flat stomach. “Two more weeks,” she whispered tenderly. “The baby’s coming in two weeks.”

“Um, congratulations,” I said.

Danny shook his head and scowled at me. I gave him an innocent shrug. “I think we’d better go,” he said. I’d never seen him this irritated.

“Don’t you two want to look around? I’d like to show Jennifer the house.”

“I’d like to see it,” I told Danny quietly, ignoring the fact that she’d called me by the wrong name.

He jerked his hand away. “Have fun,” he replied bitterly.

Marina gestured for me to follow. I trotted along behind her, down the hallway and up the stairs. They really did creak. I shuddered again.

She brought me to Liam’s room first, of course. Colorful wooden letters spelling out “Liam Fynnley” were glued to the door. This family had a thing for unusual name spellings.

Marina opened the door almost reverently. It was clearly a boy’s room. Soccer-themed sheets on the bed. A poster of Britney Spears above the desk. A small glass case held a handful of trophies. I walked over and looked at them more closely. They were for kickboxing.

“Liam does kickboxing, too?” Strange. The two of them ought to have gotten along well.

Marina looked confused. “What? No. Liam plays tennis. He’s been playing since he was young.”

“Oh.” I peered at the trophies again. Almost all of them had two small figurines on them, with one kicking his leg into the air almost vertically and the other ducking away. I didn’t see tennis rackets anywhere. Deciding maybe it was better not to ask any more questions, I straightened and looked around some more. Although the room was lovingly arranged down to the last detail, there was something cold and lifeless about it. The bed looked like no one had ever slept in it, the notebooks on the desk were new and blank. Stealthily, I opened the large closet, and discovered to my shock that it was empty.

Marina was busy straightening the bed, though it was already far too neat.

Danny must have gotten lonely downstairs, because he followed us up after all and came into the room, joining me beside the open closet. He noticed my confusion. “Come on, I’ll show you my room.” He closed the closet doors and was just reaching for my hand when his mother ran over to him.

“Are you crazy?” she shrieked. “Keep your hands off!”

Danny raised his hands immediately, yielding. “Okay, okay,” he said. “I won’t touch anything else.”

Marina sprayed every inch of both closet doors with the disinfectant and wiped them down several times. I felt like snatching the can and the towels from her.

Danny took my arm and pulled me to his old room, which was at the end of the hallway, between the bathroom and a hall closet. It was quite a bit larger than Liam’s room, and it was the complete opposite in almost every other respect as well. Everything in here was complete chaos—from the looks of it, nobody had set foot in the room since Danny had left home. The blue sheets wadded carelessly at the foot of the bed had a thick layer of dust on them. Several kickboxing awards hung on the walls, and there was another glass trophy case, but the trophies inside were arranged haphazardly, as though a few were missing here and there. The slanted ceiling was paneled in wood.

All in all, it was a cozy room, one a teenaged boy would feel comfortable in—if it weren’t for that big closet that instantly made me remember everything Danny had told me. I looked back at the unmade bed, at the dark-brown wooden frame, the headboard with the posts in the corners…

Suddenly I felt like I couldn’t breathe. My throat was closing up—I had to get out of that room before I suffocated. I didn’t dare look at the floor, for fear of seeing traces of blood. It felt like that monster was going to come stumbling drunkenly into the room any second. I could even smell the stench of alcohol and cigarettes, could hear the little boy crying out desperately for the mother who never came.

I practically ran from the room, dragging Danny behind me. We ran smack into Marina, who was standing in the middle of the hallway like a ghost, staring into Liam’s room. When she saw that we were holding hands, she let out a shriek and stared at me in horror. “That will kill you, Julia!” she hissed. “Didn’t he tell you?” All at once, her eyes took on a look of hysteria. “Didn’t you tell her?” she screamed at Danny. “Are you trying to kill her? Are you trying to kill us all?”

Danny took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. “Mom, don’t panic. The virus can’t be transmitted this way. Nothing’s going to happen to anyone.”

“The virus!” She clapped her hands over her mouth. “Heaven help us, Liam will be home from school any minute now!” She ran back into Liam’s room to retrieve the disinfectant and began meticulously spraying down every place we’d been standing.

I stared at Danny in disbelief. He shrugged, his face remaining expressionless.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said. We went back down the creaking steps, and I brought my glass back to the kitchen. Marina followed us.

“You’re leaving already?” she asked, her voice completely changed. “Don’t you want to meet Liam?”

“Maybe another time.”

She nodded and sat back down in her rocking chair.

“Bye, Mom,” Danny said, but his mother had forgotten we were there. Her eyes were fixed on that point above our heads once more, and she was rocking back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

 

We breathed a sigh of relief when we got back outside into the sun.

Danny gave me a challenging look.

“What? That went great,” I said, forcing brightness into my voice.

He raised his eyebrows and wrinkled his nose.

“Seriously,” I said. “I like your mom. She’s funny.”

“She’s completely nuts!”

“I like her anyway,” I insisted as we got in the car. “She can’t help that she’s crazy. Those were hard times for her, too.”

Danny muttered something under his breath in English.

“He didn’t really kill your dog, did he?”

“He did. Drunk as a skunk, he bashed his head in with a stick, right in front of me. At least he didn’t suffer.”

Don’t think about it, Jessica! For God’s sake, don’t think about it!

I felt like I needed to say something. “For a while, I was actually wondering why you’d never mentioned your brother. Then I figured it out.” I fell silent for a moment, my heart twisting in my chest. “Liam is the baby your mother miscarried.”

His silence told me I’d guessed right.

“I’m really sorry,” I whispered. “About your dog, about Liam, about…everything.”

Danny pursed his lips, seemingly fighting back his emotions. Then he nodded curtly and started the engine.