Ten
I ARRIVE AT HELEN’S apartment much later than I originally planned. Our coffees are cold by now, something I hope she’ll overlook once I present her with one of Nick Hallstead’s cinnamon rolls.
I also hope she doesn’t ask me why I took so long.
“Hello!” I call. “Sorry I’m so late!”
“That’s OK, darling, you’re here now,” Helen calls back. At least that’s what I think she said. Her voice is strangely muffled, almost like she’s talking with something in her mouth.
“Darling?” I say as I walk into the living room, “Is everything OK?”
Helen looks up from her hospital bed. “Does it look like everything is OK, Tom?”
Surrounding her are a hundred cloth napkins of various sizes and colors. She has a box of large zip-top bags on her right side and a black permanent marker clutched in her l
