I didn't have to look far for my dad. It turned out that he'd been waiting for my mom just out the door. When I stepped outside, I found him comforting her. She was sobbing.
"Shhhh," my dad whispered. He was hugging her and rubbing her back gently. "I know. It'll be okay."
My mom folded her arms, nodded silently, then pulled away from him and started down the path.
We watched her hurry away.
"Sometimes your mom just needs to be alone to process things," he told me.
"You heard, then?" I asked him. "She told you? Her results?"
My dad nodded. "I heard. Can't say I'm shocked." He added stoically, "It wasn't just Ed, kiddo. This is something your mom and I have been dealing with for a while now. Goes all the way back to Bob Hershel, years ago." He put a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way. I really am. But, you know, at least understanding that she's positive kinda helps put the whole thing in perspective. With Ed, this time at least, It was the pheromones." My dad shrugged. "She couldn't help it."
I remembered why I respected my dad so much. He was more understanding and forgiving than anyone else I knew. I couldn't help but compare his reaction to learning that my mom cheated on him to Shawn's reaction when he'd learned that I'd cheated. There just weren't many men like my dad. I really loved him.
My dad looked to Chris, who was waiting in the doorway.
"You're sure she's positive?"
Chris nodded. "Early stage two," he confirmed somberly.
My dad nodded back thoughtfully. I could tell that he'd accepted it.
"So . . . I gotta ask," I said. "Have you and mom . . . you know?"
As hard as it had been to ask my mom whether they'd been having sex, it was even harder to ask my dad. For a moment he just stared at me, blinking.
"I . . ." he stuttered. "We've . . ."
Chris broke in, rolling his eyes a little. "Do you think you might be at risk? If you are, we should test you."
My dad nodded at the ground. "Yes, we've . . . I might be at risk," he mumbled.
After a moment's hesitation, he stepped into Chris's room.
For a very brief moment, I was actually proud of my dad; I didn't think he still had it in him.
But then, in the next moment, the possibility that my dad could be infected came crashing into my consciousness. If he was, I'd be devastated. I wouldn't know what to do.
I sat next to him as he pulled up his parka's sleeve, exposing his forearm to Chris. I squeezed my dad's shoulder supportively while Chris took the blood sample.
We waited while Chris peered into the microscope.
He adjusted the lens's focus. He looked more closely, then he adjusted the focus again.
We waited for another couple of minutes.
Then a couple more. . . What was wrong?
I'd watched Chris make visual tests all morning, and it had never taken him more than a couple seconds to make a diagnosis.
"Chris," I said. "Everything . . . okay?"
Slowly, Chris raised his head from the lens. He looked at me, bewildered.
"Stage three," he said.
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