He repeated the question.
“It means I don’t carry the gene. I can’t get the disease, and I can’t pass it on.”
A draft of air flowed between us as Keith stood up straighter. His mouth hung open, and I couldn’t tell if he was more pissed or stunned. Anger won out and he pushed me away. “When? When did you find this out?”
“I got the results a couple of weeks ago.”
“And you’re just telling me this now?”
“I was trying to figure out how to tell you… or evenifI should tell you.”
“If?” He demanded.
“It goes back to the wave, Keith. You finally got off it. I heard you were dating. I didn’t want to uproot your life again.”
“What is it with you, deciding what you think is best for me?” His voice rose above acceptable levels and, although I deserved the scorn, I still pulled him out into the hallway for a proper tongue-lashing.
“So, let me get this straight, Samantha. Are you saying you don’t have Huntington’s disease, and you will never get it?”
Unable to meet his eye, I nodded to an unforgiving floor.
Keith stood motionless for a moment before dropping into a crouched position and covering his mouth with his open palm. I could see him trying desperately to process the information. Once he’d had ample time, I reached out to touch him. Keith flinched like I was setting him on fire. Jumping to his feet, he stomped down the hallway, gripping his hair in his hands as a low growl bubbled from his gut.
“Keith…”
“No. Don’t talk to me. Don’t even look at me! You… you should’ve taken the test before breaking it off. We lost over a year. A year, Sam! Dammit.”
“I know. I was so sure. I thought… I thought I had it. No, I was convinced I had Huntington’s. Nothing anyone could say would change my mind. It wasn’t until you sent me back the necklace that I finally had the courage to face the truth. I’m so sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you. I truly am.”
“Stop saying that! I’m so… I’m going to…”
More angry marches up and down the corridor kept me rooted in place.
“Uuhhh. I don’t know if I should be pissed or jump for fucking joy.”
In a voice barely above a whisper, I replied, “I vote for fucking joy.”
Keith stopped, glaring at me. “Oh, I’m sure you do.”
I swear I heard the tiniest bit of amusement in his words, and I offered him up my own itty-bitty grin. I didn’t deserve his forgiveness but I’d accept if it were offered. Keith continued to stare – no, gawk – and then, unbelievably, the anger in his eyes began to fade, replaced not quite with ‘fucking joy’ but something damn near close to it.
Keith shook his head before grabbing my hand and leading me outside. I followed without protest. He was in charge now, and whatever he decided, I’d abide by. We stopped in the middle of a rose garden bursting with fragrance and color.
“You understand that I’m mad as hell, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you know you should have told me the second you found out, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you understand that I’m not going to forgive you for a very long time, got it?
“Yes.”
Keith sighed long and hard before reaching up around the back of his neck and untying a leather band. Pulling the necklace out from under the collar of his tuxedo shirt, his large hands shielded it from view.
When he finally looked back up, tears had flooded his eyes. “I never got off the wave, Sam. You of all people should know that.”
