The scarf Lefty had tied around Race's neck that morning blew off as he ran. Cray was behind him, somewhere, and maybe she'd paused to pick it up. He never found out.

He flew through the streets, pushing his way through the midday crowds. To one tall, well dressed gentlemen Race looked like a young boy, maybe twelve, playing in the gray, early December air. Not in a million years would he have guessed that the short kid in the plain coat and blue cabbie had a wife and kid at home, waiting for his arrival.

"It's Lefty…" Cray's words still echoed in his head. He'd been copying the medical history of one of Sheepshead Races' finest horses when the redhead burst into the room, cheeks flushed. He had smirked in surprise at the sight of her. Race rarely got visitors at work, and was lonely and bored a lot of the time.

"Race…it's Lefty…I think she's sick"

"What?" he'd asked, bolting out of his uncomfortable wooden chair.

"She…fell" Cray said, eyes a little unfocused, "She kind of…slipped away…" he was out the door and into the cold before Cray could blink.

"Slipped away…" Cray's voice said over and over again as he ran. His own floated in.

"What the hell…what the hell…what the HELL does that mean?" Race yelled in his mind as he shoved some woman out of his way. For some horrible reason when he turned onto his street there seemed to be thousands of people between him and the apartment building.

"GET DA FUCK OUTTA MY WAY!!" Race yelled at the top of his lungs. An older woman who was walking in front of him, Mrs. Preston in fact, who lived three floors above the Higgins's looked at him in shock. Never would she have expected such language and anger from the grinning young man who lived on the first floor.

Race flew up the front steps of his building, fishing out his key and jamming it in the lock. He ran to the door of his flat, which was slightly ajar.

"Lefty?!" he yelled as he lunged into the kitchen.

"Papa!" cried Anthony, who had been sitting cheerfully on the floor, playing wit his tin horse. Race didn't hear him. He yelled for his wife again and walked into the bedroom. There was Taylor, bending over the bed where Lefty lay. Race had pushed Taylor aside in a second and sat down on the bed, taking Lefty's face into his hands. Her skin was white as paper, and hot to the touch.

"Lefty? Lefty, what is it dahling?" he asked in a soft gentle voice, so different than the one that had just yelled over the crowds. Her eyes made him jump. They weren't their usual crystal blue, but almost completely black. Race turned to Taylor with a purely chilled look.

"Her eyes—what's wrong wid dem Taylah?" he asked in a little, boyish voice.

"Her pupils have dilated" Taylor said gently. She wasn't sure how if she wanted to be in the same room, or house, or city with Race right now.

"Lefty" he turned his attention back to her, "can she see me?" he asked Taylor vaguely.

"Yes, she's conscious" Race smoothed her hair back from her face.

"Lefty…hey doll, what happened? What's wrong?" Lefty focused her great, dark eyes on him.

"Racetrack?" she said hoarsely. He nodded and took her hand, pressing it against his face. It burned him.

"I'm right heah, I'm right heah dahling" he cooed. Lefty smiled weakly.

"Race…I think I might be sick" she admitted. He shook his head.

"Only a liddle Lefty, you'll be ok. You'll be fine."

Taylor felt her stomach lurch as he said it. Her throat tensed up and she fought back tears.

Race pressed his lips against Lefty's forehead, finding a wet cloth placed over her skin. He rubbed her arm, and noticed that she was only wearing a thin, summery nightdress. She was shivering. He noticed that the window was open.

"Jesus Taylah, why da hell is da window open? Ya want her ta get moah sick?" he asked, springing up to shut it. "An why is she wearing dat thing…she's sick, we have ta keep her warm."

"I think she's warm enough, Race" Taylor said, "if I put any more clothes on her she'll beg us to take them off." Race hung his head.

"She's so hot…her face is so hot, even her arms…her chest…" Race stroked Lefty's collarbone with a finger. Taylor put a strong hand on his shoulder.

"She has a very high fever Race…I'm not sure how high; I wanted ta wait until you came befoah I called for a doctah" Race looked up.

"Why does she need a doctah? She'll be fine, just a few days rest, right?" That's was always the diagnosis when ever anyone got sick. Stay in bed with a wool blanket and some soup. In a few days you'll be right as rain. That's what Kloppman always said…

"I don't think so Race" Taylor said, sinking down into the chair she'd pulled up next to the bed.

"Whatta ya mean?" Race asked her, brown eyes seeing through her. Taylor felt her eyes beginning to sting with tears. Race's heart pounded; no one ever saw Taylor cry. It was widely believed that she had never shed a tear in her life.

"Race…" her breath caught in her chest. "Race…a few weeks ago a little goil at da Lodging House got real sick. She had a fevah, a really horrible, horrible one. It's called Scarlet Fever" Race shrugged.

"I've hoid a dat. Only kids get it" he said dismissively. Taylor shook her head.

"No, not just kids Race." She said darkly. Race looked down at Lefty, who closed her eyes.

"Lefty, she—I asked---" Taylor stumbled over her words, "I asked Lefty to sit with her for a while, to keep her company. Usually Ringlets does it…but she was out and I asked Lefty." Race looked up at her with his mouth open.

"Do ya…do ya think---"

"I wanna wait ta heah what da doctah has ta say" Taylor said. Race nodded.

"Yeah, yeah dat sounds good. We'll get a doctah. Den she'll be fine." Taylor frowned and watched Race take off his hat and coat. His off white shirt was faded and worn. His dark blue, patterned vest looked so familiar to her. How many years had he had it? The gold watch chain hung from a pocket.

Race stroked Lefty's cheek, trying to make her smile. Taylor began to put on her coat and headed towards the door.

"Taylah?" Race's voice called as she reached for the doorknob. She turned and looked at him over her shoulder.

"How long did it take fa da goil ta get bettah?" Taylor put her hand over her mouth.

"She…she didn't" she chocked out the words, "she died in a week."