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“Your father and I have the same name. Weston Islip. We have become best friends, and I’m here every Wednesday to cook a gourmet meal for the entire house.”
“B-but why is he here?”
“Your father is in the end stages of HIV-AIDS. He contracted it through a blood transfusion he received during a routine operation. Your mother didn’t want him to leave. She loved him dearly, and he adored her. She knew that if he took the medications prescribed, it would extend his life, and they could remain together. But he refused to expose her or their daughter to his disease and any possibility of contracting it.
“Every penny he could spare, he sent home for you. When the lesions and bruising started to appear, when the medications no longer seemed to be doing their job, when his weight started falling off, he didn’t want her or you to see him again. The house took him in years ago, even though he was coping well at the time. He provided a service for them as well.”
“I needed to see him. I needed him to hold me and tell me he loved me. I needed him!” she yelled.
“I have a feeling that he needed that as well, but he was worried that he would give it to you. Oh, we all know it can’t be contracted by hugging your family or having a meal with them. But your father wouldn’t let me contact you.”
“I need to see him,” she said, opening the door of the truck. Islip followed her, beating her up the steps and knocking on the front door. It was late, but he could see some lights on and a flickering television.
“Chef Islip!” smiled the young male nurse. “It’s Sunday night.”
“Yes, I know. I have some very special visitors. Is my namesake up?”
“We’re just watching an old movie together. He’s had a rough day, I’m afraid.” Casey pushed past the man, heading into the living room.
“Who is it, Greg? It’s awfully late.”
“D-Dad?” whispered Casey.
A gaunt face turned to stare at her. His eyes seemed hollowed out, their once brilliant blue now a dull color that couldn’t be named. He looked to barely weigh one-thirty, a warm wool blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His hair was thin, wisps poking up here and there, but nothing left of the thick head of hair that once crowned him.
“No,” he said, shaking his head, standing on wobbly limbs. “No, you promised, Wes!”
“He didn’t know,” said Casey. “I thought he was you, and I came to New Orleans to find you and work with you. Why? Why wouldn’t you call me? Why wouldn’t you tell me? Why, Dad?”
“You didn’t need to see this. You didn’t need to catch this.”
“You can’t catch HIV by holding hands, or hugging, or talking to your father!” she yelled. “I needed my father!”
“I didn’t want to take any chances, Casey. I didn’t want to cut myself with a knife and have my little girl come rushing in to help and become exposed. I thought your mother would tell you once I was gone,” he said calmly.
“Well, guess what. Dad. Mom died.” The pain on Weston’s face immediately made Casey regret what she’d said. He held his chest, wobbling as he fell backward into the chair. Gabe gently grabbed his arm to help soften the fall.
“I’ll get you some water,” said Greg, heading toward the kitchen.
“She can’t be gone. She was perfect. She was beautiful and perfect. Oh, God. Did I give this to her?” he asked, sobbing.
“No. No,” said Casey. “She died from cancer. She had lung cancer. We’re not even sure how she got it. She didn’t smoke. She was a kindergarten teacher, for God’s sake. Dad, I needed you. I needed to know that you were out here, and you still wanted me.”
“Casey, I’ve never wanted anyone more in my entire life other than your mother. I thought I was doing the right thing. We didn’t know what we know now about HIV back then. I thought it was an immediate death sentence. Now, here I am twenty years later. On my death bed.”
“No. No, there has to be something to do. Doctors? Medicines? Surely there’s someone that can help him.”
“Wes has done everything he can for me,” he smiled. Casey turned to the man.
“You? You’ve been helping him?” she asked.
“I had to,” he grinned. “I thought it was karma that we met. I’ve done what I could. The house allowed him to live here free while he cooked for the others. When he couldn’t cook any longer, he helped to train new chefs. He’s been invaluable here, and he’s been my friend and confidante for years now. I’m honored to be a part of his life.”
“How did you meet Wes?” asked Weston.
“I work at his restaurant. I went there because I thought he was you. Tonight, I got brave enough to search his desk for a photograph or something that would assure me that he was you. These men found me.” She looked at Otto, Gabe, and Luc, then frowned, realizing a critical detail that had slipped her mind. “You had guns.”
“It’s not what you think, Casey,” said Islip. “They’re trying to help me find out who’s sabotaging the restaurant.”
