didn't ask favors very often, but then when he did, they were never small. “What is it?”
“I need to get Ricky into the doctor, and I can't do it alone.”
“Is he hurt?”
“Sick,” he said.
“You didn't say anything yesterday. Is he okay?”
“There wasn't anything yesterday. We got our shots day before, then I dropped him off. He was having dinner with his mom last night and I worked today, so I told him I'd stop after. When I got here, he was a mess.”
Sid's stomach tightened. After learning what she just had about shots, she worried this was about to play out on people she knew. “Should you call an ambulance?”
“I suggested it, but you know Ricky. I'm the drama queen. He's embarrassed at the very idea of it. I exhaust him, he says. I figure we can just drive him up to urgent care and maybe he'll cooperate.”
Sid took a breath to keep calm. The part of her that managed to compartmentalize had to laugh at Grant's analysis. It was exactly their personalities. Ricky was soft-spoken and classy, not wanting to put anybody out for anything, and Grant believed all the world was a stage. Why waste your moment in the spotlight? Attention whore was how Ricky termed it—always with an affectionate smile.
“Sure. I have to drop off my stuff, but I'll be there in twenty.” She would have trouble parking in Northwest Portland and didn't want her car just sitting with her laptop in it. She was almost on top of their house anyway. Besides, she needed time to talk herself into the fact that Ricky was young and mostly healthy, not like all those people at the nursing home.
Unfortunately, her self-talk didn't work. Ricky seemed to get things worse than other people. Sid thought she knew why—she’d guessed a few years ago he was HIV positive, so this could be really bad. For all she knew, this was the complications of a cold, though she couldn't fight the bird image in her head. Or the news she was still digesting about the vaccine.
Sid drove back across the Broadway Bridge, repeating the mantra in her head. Ricky is young. The doctors will help him. And Grant doesn't have HIV. He won't get it at all. She only had limited success convincing herself, but was able to step back and try to focus on helping.
She knew why Grant needed help if it was really as bad as he suggested. Ricky lived on the third floor in a renovated northwest apartment. But renovated meant to historic grandeur, not modern convenience. There was no elevator, and Ricky was no pixie. He probably weighed two hundred and twenty pounds, topping Grant by about forty. That was a lot of person to get down three flights of stairs.
The other unfortunate feature of the gorgeous building was parking. It was hard to come by at the best of times, and rush hour was not the best of times. A quarter to six was the height of it. There were restaurants all over the neighborhood that people flocked to right after work. Ricky was partial owner of one of them. It was his reason for insisting he stick close, even when Grant had begged him to move to Northeast Portland closer to them, or even move in with them.
Sid managed to find a fifteen minute spot and hoped they would give her some leeway if it took twenty. Grant’s car wasn’t there since he never drove to work, so she was sure part of why he’d called her was for transportation.
Grant had left a flip-flop wedged in the outer door. Sparkly. That saved time and was a fashion statement to boot. The outer door was normally kept locked. Sid grabbed the flip-flop, wondering where a size eleven men's flip-flop could be purchased in purple sparkles. Probably Spartacus, the S&M store in Old Town. She climbed the staircase. It had a thick wooden banister and an oriental runner up the middle. It really was a pretty building. On the third floor she made a sharp right to the apartment on the end. That door was ajar, too, so she edged it open.
“Grant? Ricky?”
Grant came out of the bedroom running a hand
“I need to get Ricky into the doctor, and I can't do it alone.”
“Is he hurt?”
“Sick,” he said.
“You didn't say anything yesterday. Is he okay?”
“There wasn't anything yesterday. We got our shots day before, then I dropped him off. He was having dinner with his mom last night and I worked today, so I told him I'd stop after. When I got here, he was a mess.”
Sid's stomach tightened. After learning what she just had about shots, she worried this was about to play out on people she knew. “Should you call an ambulance?”
“I suggested it, but you know Ricky. I'm the drama queen. He's embarrassed at the very idea of it. I exhaust him, he says. I figure we can just drive him up to urgent care and maybe he'll cooperate.”
Sid took a breath to keep calm. The part of her that managed to compartmentalize had to laugh at Grant's analysis. It was exactly their personalities. Ricky was soft-spoken and classy, not wanting to put anybody out for anything, and Grant believed all the world was a stage. Why waste your moment in the spotlight? Attention whore was how Ricky termed it—always with an affectionate smile.
“Sure. I have to drop off my stuff, but I'll be there in twenty.” She would have trouble parking in Northwest Portland and didn't want her car just sitting with her laptop in it. She was almost on top of their house anyway. Besides, she needed time to talk herself into the fact that Ricky was young and mostly healthy, not like all those people at the nursing home.
Unfortunately, her self-talk didn't work. Ricky seemed to get things worse than other people. Sid thought she knew why—she’d guessed a few years ago he was HIV positive, so this could be really bad. For all she knew, this was the complications of a cold, though she couldn't fight the bird image in her head. Or the news she was still digesting about the vaccine.
Sid drove back across the Broadway Bridge, repeating the mantra in her head. Ricky is young. The doctors will help him. And Grant doesn't have HIV. He won't get it at all. She only had limited success convincing herself, but was able to step back and try to focus on helping.
She knew why Grant needed help if it was really as bad as he suggested. Ricky lived on the third floor in a renovated northwest apartment. But renovated meant to historic grandeur, not modern convenience. There was no elevator, and Ricky was no pixie. He probably weighed two hundred and twenty pounds, topping Grant by about forty. That was a lot of person to get down three flights of stairs.
The other unfortunate feature of the gorgeous building was parking. It was hard to come by at the best of times, and rush hour was not the best of times. A quarter to six was the height of it. There were restaurants all over the neighborhood that people flocked to right after work. Ricky was partial owner of one of them. It was his reason for insisting he stick close, even when Grant had begged him to move to Northeast Portland closer to them, or even move in with them.
Sid managed to find a fifteen minute spot and hoped they would give her some leeway if it took twenty. Grant’s car wasn’t there since he never drove to work, so she was sure part of why he’d called her was for transportation.
Grant had left a flip-flop wedged in the outer door. Sparkly. That saved time and was a fashion statement to boot. The outer door was normally kept locked. Sid grabbed the flip-flop, wondering where a size eleven men's flip-flop could be purchased in purple sparkles. Probably Spartacus, the S&M store in Old Town. She climbed the staircase. It had a thick wooden banister and an oriental runner up the middle. It really was a pretty building. On the third floor she made a sharp right to the apartment on the end. That door was ajar, too, so she edged it open.
“Grant? Ricky?”
Grant came out of the bedroom running a hand
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