Silence as a Gift

A bonus story that follows the events of Sweet, Spicy, Delicate.

Note that this includes spoilers.

To have Helena’s job was to approach all food with low expectations. It was an

improvement on matters when the venison was, against all expectation, ideal. The meat

was rosy in the middle, the gravy rich and the texture was perfect. Helena had once

eaten a similar elk dish in Norway. She’d had no clue at the time she was only a train

trip and a rental car away from similar pleasures. Like elk, venison is best served

medium rare.

Helena was still admiring the dish when Piper’s cousin Lolly put her fork down and

addressed Helena.

“Hold on,” Lolly said. “Aren’t you that chef from the Yum channel? The one that

made our girl Piper a star?”

Helena had several reactions to that not the least of which to curse whatever

government project had brought broadband internet to the West Virginia Mountains.

This weekend, she wanted to be Piper’s lover. She wished to be hassled about treating

Piper well (assured), a potential marriage (maybe?) and grandchildren (quite unlikely

given Piper’s career.) Cooking show talk seemed beyond Helena’s imaginary rules.

Of course, this was the woods. The nearest five star restaurant was a rumor, yet her

face still traveled ahead of her. She smiled, gracious, faintly amused. Lolly was

untouched by the corrosive self-regard of the New York cooking scene. Let her remain a

fan.

Helena shifted her attention to Piper’s Aunt Jo, cook of the roast and indubitably

killer of the deer. She complimented Jo on the roast as only a fellow expert could,

naming the cut, picking out ingredients in the marinade and praised the restraint in not

overcooking it. Always such a danger with venison.

Jo’s stoop shoulders lifted.

Piper’s people were to a one warm, genuine, and good. Yet still, warmth could singe.

Especially if one were a person whose tendencies rand to the cold.

Wanting to be one of the family, Helena stood and helped gather the dishes and

utensils when the meal ended. She was impressed. There were serving dishes that had to

be a hundred years old. None so valuable but Piper should know about them. No doubt

the family had been using them for so long they were failing to appreciate what they

had. Helena gathered utensils and a knife skittered off a serving plate. As she bent to get

it, she knew she was stretching too far.

“Oh, honey, let me get that for you.” Amber, Piper’s mother, stepped up with unfussy

competence you only got from years working a hospital. She took the plates without

further comment. ”We’ve got it.”

The kindness was subtle as a knife trick.

Helena was only going to get in the way so she turned back to the table where the

local cousins were talking about high school football scandals and a Walmart opening

two counties over. Helena refilled her water class from the pitcher on the table. Piper’s

phone buzzed and Piper slipped it away. No work at the dinner table, lest of all on their

first night in town. Worst case, Lolly had let her first gossip mill know that the Helena

Chatfield was eating a plain old West Virginia deer.

* * *

The house had gone soft and quiet, the way country houses do once the dishwasher

has finished her last sigh. Piper and her father were talking on the porch, though Helena

couldn’t have made out their words. Through the small window above the sink, the night

lay over the back yard like a quilt. The black hills were against a scatter of porch light

with the faintest trace of frost on the grass.

Helena was rinsing the last three wine glasses. She couldn’t abide leaving crystal to

cloud overnight.

Amber stepped in the doorway. She had a self-contained elegance that reminded

Helena of Piper, though Amber wore flannel while Piper preferred silk. In one hand, a

cup of tea steamed faintly.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said, setting down a linen napkin.

Helena glanced over, hoping her smile didn’t betray her exhaustion.

“I like a clean kitchen before bed. Call it an occupational hazard.” She set the last

glass on the drying rack, letting it clink as it set into place.

Piper’s mother didn’t move, she kept watching Helena, who wasn’t sure she liked the

examination.

“That was kind, what you said about the roast. It meant something to Jo. She didn’t

think it was fancy enough for, well, someone like you.”

Helena felt a tug of wariness. “Someone like you” could cut either way after all. She

turned, drying her hands on a kitchen towel.

“It was a beautiful roast. Perfect. And if we’re measuring fanciness, I will take a good

roast over half the tasting menus in Manhattan.”

The older woman’s eyes warmed. Piper’s eyes, though her voice stayed matter-of-fact.

“You’re welcome here, Helena. I hope you know that.”

Helena opened her mouth to answer, but a brief tightness flared in her chest, the kind

she’d trained herself to ride out without fuss. She reached to hang the towel on its rack,

letting the movement disguise a deep breath. If Piper’s mother noticed, and Helena

suspected she did, she was polite enough to let it pass.

Amber took another sip of her tea and gazed out the dark window. “We don’t get out

much. In our community we try to take care of each other and family is family, but it’s

rare for an outsider to fit without forcing it. Piper is happy. I can see it.”

Helena felt a small, unfamiliar ache at the center of her ribs, not the tightness from

before but something warmer. She inclined her head the way she might towards a

grateful dinner guest. “Thank you,” she said.

For a moment they stood together in the quiet, two women of different worlds

connected by shared knowledge of how rare it is to be seen for exactly who you are and

liked anyway.

* * *

The next afternoon, they set out across the property, Piper, her mother and Helena

walking in loose formation. The track curved away from the house through open

pasture, the ground uneven beneath Helena’s boots. The light had that sharp, crystalline

edge fall afternoon often carried. Every branch was etched against the sky, every shadow

elongated. A crow startled and took off from the fence line, black wings flashing before it

found a higher perch in a tree.

Helena kept her stride measured. The brisk clip she’d perfected for camera entrances

was purposeful but never hurried. She had been feeling better as the months had gone

by but it had been a long path back to health and she was feeling it this afternoon. Each

incline, and the West Virginia countryside had many, pulled a little harder at her lungs.

She pressed a thumbs into her palm, a private tether to keep her composure. Beside her,

Piper occasionally brushed against her, easy and apparently unconscious. Helena let the

contact pass without reciprocation. If she leaned in to Piper now, it would be less

affection than anchor.

Amber walked ahead with the easy rhythm of someone who had always belonged to

the land. Her boots crunched against the grass. She pointed out a hawk spiraling above

the treetops, a fox’s narrow tracks and the way the ridge beyond the meadow turned

lavender in the light. Piper had smiled at it all. Helena was more struck by the ease

between mother and daughter than the natural beauty itself.

They reached a low hollow where the track dipped then rose again toward the house.

The slope was hardly more than a gentle incline but Helena felt that familiar tug in her

ribs, sharp and insistent. Her pace faltered. She angled her chin toward the horizon and

stopped, staring into the distance.

“It looks like a wave about to break, don’t you think?” She said, trying to catch her

breath. She kept her tone light though Piper’s look into the distance lingered a few

moments too long.

They made it back to the porch and Helena slid into a chair, grateful to be back.

Despite the chill, she was sweating. Piper went inside, promising sweet tea. Not typically

Helena’s first choice but she would take anything.

Amber remained on the porch, leaning slightly in. She touched Helena’s elbow with

the casual authority of someone used to being respected.

“Does my daughter know?”

“She’s one of very few who does.”

“You’re doing well. Recovery takes time in some of those cases. I’m skeptical anyone

here will notice, but you have nothing to prove to any of us.”

The words hit like a stone in clear water, sending out ripples. Helena drew herself up,

summoning the smile she used as an interview subject. This was different. Over the last

couple of years, she’d been learning to take down her armor.

Ander studied her a moment longer. “And you needn’t worry. It’s yours to tell or not.

Piper doesn’t need family broadcasting her business and neither do you.”

For a heartbeat, the afternoon stilled. The crow was silent, the fields were hushed and

the house held its breath. Helena exhaled slowly, this time without disguise, the air

sliding out of her lungs in quiet surrender. Relief was heavier than fatigue but no less

binding.

The screen door opened again and Piper carried out a tray of sweet teas. She pressed

a chilly one into Helena’s palm. “Cold as I could get it.” She murmured into Helena’s

ear.

Helena lifted it, the cold a welcome distraction against her skin. She glanced at

Amber who had already turned toward the steps, expression serene as though nothing

had passed between them. Not a hint of her quiet absolution remained.

Piper looped her arm through Helena’s radiant, unaware. Helena sipped the tea,

stood and let herself be guided back inside.

Amber was only one of half a dozen people who knew her secret but Helena didn’t

mind. In Amber’s silence, Helena found something she hadn’t expected; the relief of

being known and the safety of being kept.