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It’s my fault Nicholas and his father have had a falling out.
Remorse filled her as Vassilis’s words about the silver and his wagers flashed through her mind. Nicholas, Sirena, and Pen could see past the disaster, but Vassilis could not.
Saving her concerns for later, Helen forced herself to focus on her friend. “Whatever the reason, it gladdens me that your father has supported the match. Since he’s so inclined to grant your wishes, have you tried changing the family menu so the dessert course is served first?”
Pen laughed exactly as Helen had hoped.
“Oh, Helen, you’re smiling again!”
“I’ve been poor company, haven’t I?”
Pen gasped. “Company is the least of it, sister! No, do not feel guilty about that. Ofcourse,you’ve been in low spirits after everything. I would be devastated if I lost either of my brothers for good. It’s been difficult enough with Adrian gone! Please don’t give it another thought. I only meant I was glad for your sake, you know.”
“I do know. Please know how grateful I am for everything you’ve done these past weeks.”
Helen’s newfound energy and renewal lasted only until she and Pen returned to her townhouse. She’d intended to speak with Nicholas about his father later that night, but by the time he arrived, the fog returned and enveloped her. She couldn’t rally enough fortitude for the emotional subject, but managed to ask about the firm’s recent business—the first question about his affairs in weeks.
The next day, however, she woke feeling more animated, and when Sirena arrived to spend the morning with her, she noted Helen’s improved spirits.
Smoothing Helen’s hand between her own, the woman looked into her eyes. “Would you feel up to visiting my studio today? I believe you might be ready to see my new work. I’ve done my best, but I need your opinion. I’ve painted Elijah for you.”
Helen wasn’t confident she was ready, but the lure was too great to resist. Though painful in its own right, seeing her brother on canvas brought comfort. She couldn’t remember her mother in detail. She could still recall her father’s appearance, but possessed no images of him.
She laughed through her tears. “If Elijah were to see this, he’d be most pleased!” He looked less worn, more at peace, than he had been in recent years. “How grateful I am that you met him and could capture him like this! You remembered a remarkable amount of detail!”
“I sketched him after that dinner party,” she admitted quietly, staring at the painting, which was still drying in spots. “Your brother knew how to make an impression!”
“Yes! Yes, he did.”
“I wish he was returning to you from his travels rather than going on your wall. But at least you’ll have this canvas. As soon as it’s dried and its frame is constructed, I’ll have it sent over.”
“I’ll treasure it for the rest of my life. If only I had words to thank you for everything you’ve done.”
Reaching up to hold her cheek, the woman shook her head. “It’s what a mother does, Helen.”
She closed her eyes, uncomfortable with everything Sirena and her family had seen of her and done for her these past weeks. “I have been so feeble. Part of me is ashamed for allowing the weakness to take over as it did. Never—and with no one else—have I felt safe enough to do that before.”
Clucking her tongue, Sirena pulled her close, her breath catching. “I’ve never received such a kind compliment before. It’s beautiful. Not your suffering, no. But to know that we could help. Life has no meaning except to share with each other—everything, including the misery. What you have been through, my dear, is too much for one person to carry.”
Helen couldn’t deny the truth of that, nor the comfort of Sirena’s maternal embrace.
