Page 15 of Whispers of Helena
He nods, quiet for a moment, then reaches for his pencil. I watch his small fingers curve around it, only for the pencil to slip away. He tries again, his brow tenses with concentration before his grip steadies and he lifts it.
“Having trouble today?” I ask, my voice careful.
He hesitates. “Not really.”
“Does that happen often?”
He glances at me, unsure. “What?”
“Things slipping, like you can’t quite grab them.”
He blinks, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “Sometimes. But Pa says I just need to pay attention better.”
I nod, turning the dough onto the counter, letting the conversation settle between us. “He’s not wrong. It happens to me sometimes, too.”
His eyes widen slightly, his pencil hovering above the page. “Really?”
“Really,” I say, my hands pressing into the dough.
“Ms. Helena?” He peers up at me with hopeful eyes. “Can we make a cake for dinner tonight?”
“What’s the occasion?”
“No occasion, just happy.”
My movements still; his words linger longer than they should. “Okay, we can do that. And I’m happy too, Kiran. More than you know.”
Spook
Silas
The last sliverof sunlight slips below the tree line. I sit in the shadowed stillness of my office, the fatigue of the day pressing down as I cradle a glass of gin in my hand. The ledger on my desk is closed now, its leather cover worn smooth under my palm. The numbers are balanced, the ranch profitable, but the calculations bring no satisfaction. They never do.
I lean back in my chair, letting the quiet settle around me. The house groans with the shifting temperatures, and my thoughts wander to Helena, as they often do these days.
She moves through these rooms like she belongs here, her presence lingering long after she’s gone. Her perfume clings to the air, her warm amber eyes haunt my mind. As she works, her gentle humming of hymns becomes a constant presence in my head, persisting even when I desire quiet.
I’ve done my best to keep my distance, staying out of her way, but it’s a losing battle. Her laughter filters through the walls, a soft sound that stirs something buried deep. The sight of the curve of her hips has crossed my mind more than I care to admit. It feels like a betrayal to my wife, to the vows I swore. I’d promised myself that no one else would ever matter. Not after my Caroline left. My hands would never touch another’s skin; my heart wouldn’t dare beat for someone new.
When she died, she took everything that was good in me. For a year, I was a hollow man, living only because Kiran needed me. Since then, the sharp edges of grief dulled, but the emptiness remains a constant companion. Helena’s arrival disrupted that fragile balance. Her presence pokes at the scabs, her purity like a harsh light exposing every dark corner I’ve tried to bury.
She parades her faith through the house: her hymns, her Bible, the quiet way she bows her head before meals. She clings to hope and redemption, concepts that have no place here. She knows nothing of me or the sins that stack higher than the barn roof. If she did, she’d run.
“Done for the night, Silas?”
Eli’s voice cuts through the quiet, dragging me back. I glance up as he steps inside, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes steady on mine.
I nod, setting the glass on the desk. “Balanced the books. We’re in the black again this month.” I gesture toward the whiskey at the far end of the desk. “Help yourself.”
Eli crosses the room, pouring himself a glass. “So, when’s the other business gonna be wrapped up?”
I meet his gaze as I pick up my gin again, the tension between us unspoken but understood. “Soon,” I say, my voice low.
Eli takes a slow sip, his eyes not leaving mine. “You’ve been saying that for weeks. It needs to end, Silas. You can’t keep dragging this out.”
I reach into the desk drawer, pulling out a small, weathered notebook. Flipping it open, I slide it toward him, revealing a page with a single name yet to be crossed off. “One more.”
He studies it, then nods, sliding the book back. “You used to handle these things quickly. Lately, you’re out for hours at a time.”
