Forbidden Fruit

He looked into her eyes. The desperation in them told her everything. “No…Forget about it. Please,” he said again, when he had caught his breath. “I’m fine. Just promise…you won’t call…anyone.”

Lily clasped her hands together, torn. The boy was in some sort of trouble, that was obvious. Running from someone or something. Maybe the law, though she doubted it. He had the look of the hunted, of the outcast. Not of the criminal.

And he was hurt. He could have internal injuries or a concussion. He was slurring his words slightly; he couldn’t even stand, he was so hurt or dizzy.

So, how could she do as he asked?

She couldn’t.

Lily came to a decision. She knew someone she could call, an old friend who wouldn’t ask any questions. But she wouldn’t share that bit of information just yet.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” she said softly. “And I won’t call anyone…if you come with me.” When he started to protest, she cut him off. “I can’t just leave you. I won’t. So those are your choices. Come with me, or I call the cops. I don’t think you have the strength to crawl far enough or fast enough to elude them. If you think I’m wrong, go ahead and give it a try.”

She took his silence for acquiescence. “I’m glad we’re in agreement about this. Now, I’m going to try to get you to your feet, then to my car. You’re going to have to help me, because I’m too old and too weak to carry you.”

She did as she said, and in moments he was on his feet, though unsteadily. “Like I said before, I live right across the street. I’m going to make sure you’re okay. You’ll be safe with me until you feel strong enough to continue on your way.”

He hesitated, as if considering fighting her, then nodded. They started for her car. With each step, he leaned more heavily on her for support, though she sensed he hated it.

It took several minutes, but finally they reached the vehicle. She helped him into the front passenger seat, then went around to the driver’s side, climbed in and started the car. She drove the two hundred or so feet to her long driveway, and turned in. Only then did she dare peek at her young, unwilling companion.

He kept his gaze trained straight ahead; he held himself tautly, as if on guard, ready to spring from the vehicle at a second’s notice. He had drawn his mouth into a tight line, and Lily sensed that it took every ounce of his strength to keep from slumping over in his seat.

Poor boy, she thought, understanding him more than he would ever have believed if she told him. She understood him because she knew what it was to be an outcast, to not belong. To be alone.

Alone, always alone.

Lily drew in a shallow, aching breath. The Lord had exacted a harsh and appropriate payment for her sins. For how much worse this earthly hell than the fires that waited could ever be.

She tightened her fingers on the steering wheel, the pain inside her a living thing, twisting and turning, squeezing at her until taking even the smallest breath hurt. Her darling Hope. Her beautiful Glory. She longed to be with them, longed to share their lives.

So much so, she had spent the entire day waiting, hoping to get just one glimpse of them. She had sat in her car, across the street from the St. Charles, alternately too warm and too cold, her gaze trained on the hotel’s grand front entrance.

It hadn’t been the first time; it wouldn’t be the last.

And this time, her wait had been rewarded. Hope and Glory had emerged from the hotel, and for one perfect moment, as the sun spilled over their faces, Lily had drowned herself in the joy of just looking at them.

Lily sucked in a sharp breath, the pain of wanting so great, she thought it would consume her. It ate at her day and night, until she felt stripped of everything but hopelessness.

She flexed her fingers. All she had ever wanted was for her daughter to have a good life, a clean life untainted by her mother’s sin. Hope had that now. And Lily understood why her daughter wanted nothing to do with her, why she had become so upset the one time Lily had approached her to beg for another chance; she understood why Hope feared association with her. After all, she had lived her life as outcast and leper.

Lily understood, too, why Hope didn’t want Glory to know her grandmother, why she was ashamed for Glory to know who—and what—her ancestors were.

Lily was ashamed, too. She despised herself for her past actions.

But understanding didn’t lessen the ache inside her. Until the day she died, she would yearn for what she could never have, she would grieve for what she had lost. And just as she would spend her last years living alone, she would die alone.

Lily drew the car to a stop at the end of her driveway. “We’re here,” she said unnecessarily. “I’ll come around for you.”

“I can make it on my own.”

“Fine.” She went around the car, anyway. He glared at her but said nothing.

Stubborn, she thought as she watched him grimace with each step. Prideful and pigheaded. But even as those descriptions moved through her head, she acknowledged admiration for the strength of will it took him to stand on his own, to refuse her help though he was hurt and no doubt frightened.

She had known others like him, had helped others like him. Kids who had no one to depend on but themselves. Kids who had been hurt and let down again and again. This boy hadn’t had anyone in his corner for a long time. She didn’t blame him his defiance; he had probably earned it.

They entered the house through the side entrance—the servants’ entrance that led into the kitchen. She flipped on the overhead light. And saw that he was bleeding. His pant leg was wet with it, the blood creating a dark, ugly stain on the thigh of his jeans.

She made a soft sound of dismay. “Sit here,” she instructed, easing him onto one of the chairs set up around the old, oak table. “I’ll get some bandages.”

He caught her hand. “You promised you wouldn’t call anyone.”

She met his eyes, a modicum of guilt easing through her. Misplaced guilt, she told herself. Her first consideration had to be his physical well-being. “I know what I promised. I’ll be right back.”

Minutes later she returned with antiseptic, bandages and a bath towel. She filled a bowl with warm, soapy water and got a washcloth. “You’ll have to take off your pants. I don’t think I’ll be able to get to the cut if you don’t.”

He flushed. “Lady, I am not taking off my pants.”

She bit back a smile at his embarrassment. It didn’t fit his tough-guy image. “I’ve seen the male of the species without their pants many times. You have nothing to fear from an old woman like me.” She held out a towel. “If it will make you feel more comfortable.”

He snatched it from her hand, and fighting a smile, she turned her back to give him a little privacy.

“Okay.”

She turned back to him. He had returned to the chair, the towel wrapped snugly around his middle. He scowled at her, and she scooped up his jeans. “I’ll just throw these in the washer. Don’t go anywhere.”

Minutes later, his jeans safely in the washer, she returned to the kitchen. He scowled at her again. “You don’t have to look so fierce, I promise I’ll give you your pants back,” she said.

Lily knelt in front of him and gently probed his wound, relieved to see that, although long, it wasn’t too deep. She dipped the washcloth in the soapy water. “This might sting. Sorry.”

“I’ll just bet you are.” He stiffened and gritted his teeth as she moved the cloth over the gash.

“A friend of mine is a retired doctor—”

“No.”

“He lives close by,” she continued, unperturbed. “If I were to tell him you’re my nephew, he would accept that. He and I share many secrets. In fact, I would trust him with my life.”

“It’s not your life you would be trusting him with.”

“You could have internal injuries. You could have a concussion, or need stitches.”

“I don’t need stitches.” He winced. “Besides, you promised you wouldn’t call anyone.”

“I know. And I’m sorry about that. But, I would rather break a promise than have you die.” She lifted her gaze to his. “You’re much too young to die.”

Panic raced into his eyes. “What are you saying?”