Page 59 of Baking and Angels

And then they turned past the bar into another hallway.

Here were the signs of life.

Clothing and shoes of all sorts were thrown and scattered over a softly carpeted surface. Wine stains cut red slashes over the lighter fibers as well as the shards of the glass that used to hold that wine. More alarmingly, Rafferty picked out the sight of different colored pills amongst the refuse.

Helena ignored it all as she tripped her way through like a deer in a thick jungle. He had to resist the urge to sweep her up in his arms and carry her over it all or to start cleaning it up.

Another crash of glass spurred Helena faster, and she turned about halfway down the hall, through a doorway. “Scarlet? It’s Helena. Are you alright?” she asked as she passed through, Rafferty right onher heels.

It was a man’s bedroom; he could tell that by the clean masculine smell that greeted him. Like the hallway, clothes were thrown over the floor and the bed, though now there was a place of origin as their throw patterns suggested that they all came from the small walk-in closet off to one side. Scarlet was kneeling in the middle of it all, beside the messed-up bed, in a bathrobe and a slip of a nightgown, picking at the glass from a broken frame on the floor. Tears streamed down her face, even though she didn’t make a sound.

“Oh!” Helena said as she rushed to drop to Scarlet’s side. “I’ll get that.” She tried to take over, but Scarlet only batted her hands away before looking up in surprise at their suddenentrance.

“Helena? No, no, child. I’ve got it,” she said, but she abandoned the glass she had been gathering to pull the picture from the frame, dropping back in an unladylike, heedless way to stare at it. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have done that to him.”

Over her shoulder, Rafferty could see the image. It was of Yosef standing behind her, his hands on her wheelchair, laughing and smiling. Her older self laughed, too, and they were dressed in colorful shirts with balloons and streamers all around. There were also strings of flowers around their necks, though Rafferty was pretty sure they weren’t real flowers at all.

Tenderly, Scarlet’s fingers brushed over the image of Yosef. “I was so disgusted with my own ugly face, I forgot that he was in the picture, too.” The tears streamed afresh, but still she didn’t sob. Her voice didn’t even thicken as she spoke. “I was sixty years too old for him. He didn’t care. He was a baby, but… he said he didn’t care. That age was just a number and that he loved every inch of me.” Her head dropped into her hands, though she was careful not to crush the picture, unwilling to let it go from her fingers. “I was preparing him to live without me. It wasn’t supposed to be the other way around.”

“Here, let’s get you up,” Helena said, moving to take her arm to do just that, but Scarlet slappedher away.

“Leave me alone,” she barked.

While Scarlet couldn’t see their faces, Helena gestured with her hands, then she mouthed the wordsHelp mesilently.

He had only one idea. “What would you like to eat?”

It was strange to ask that question with no other agenda but to help Helena, and he needed to help her. Judging from the smell of alcohol, he would bet that she hadn’t eaten anything to counter it properly. Food did many things: bring comfort, sanity, and a sense of connection back to the consumer. Scarlet clearly neededall three.

The socialite blinked, lifting her head to look up at him standing over her. It took a moment more to process that there was someone else there, and he was male. A heartbeat later, she clutched at the top of her robe. “What… what are you doing here?” she asked, the thread of imperial authority returning to her despairing voice.

“I’m here to help,” he said, and he reached down to hook his hands under her shoulders to lift her back up toher feet.

She meeped as her equilibrium changed, forcing her to put more effort toward clutching at her robe than fighting his assistance.

Helena stood up as well, bringing the picture frame and all its glass shards piled in the middle with her. “Let’s go to the kitchen. I can get you something cold to drink,” she offered.

Scarlet opened her mouth as if to argue, then she looked away and cast her gaze over the rumpled, abandoned bed. “You must both think I am a disgusting old woman. That I planned allthisor something.” She gestured at Yosef’s room. “He moved in on his own. To better take care of me. Other than the cleaning service, he did everything for me. Cooked. Bathed me. Administered my medications. Made me laugh. Made me feel beautiful and worth loving again. He gave me everything. Everything.”

“What did he make you?” Rafferty asked gently. “What was your favorite thing that he would cook for you to eat?”

She laughed dryly. He could see it just behind her eyes. She hadan answer.

“I wish to take a shower,” she said instead of giving him an answer. She turned away from them and walked with forced dignity out of the room to another across the way, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Helena then made a hesitant motion to follow Scarlet but came up short when she got to the closed door. Instead, she leaned her ear to listen. Closing her eyes, she focused. “It’s so strange,” she whispered. “I can hear her in there so clearly.” Another moment later, she opened her eyes. “The shower is running. I… I don’t think she’ll doanything.”

“I don’t either,” he said, hoping it assured Helena.

“Why?”

“Her life is Yosef’s gift to her. She loves him too much to throw it away. At least,just yet.”

Helena went still a moment, thinking that over. “Yosef is keeping her alive in more ways than one.” She backed up from the door and crossed her arms, hugging herself. “Do you think he did the right thing? I mean, obviously it was the very wrong thing and very wrong for him, but… forher sake?”

He shook his head. “Right or wrong is pretty much irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant seems like the wrong word, too,” she said, nibbling at her lower lip as she thought.

---