Page 45 of Whispers of Helena
“Kiran, it’s time for bed.”My son sits beside me on the couch, holding the book we’ve been reading together.
“Yes, pa.” With the obedient resignation only a child can muster, he sets his book carefully on the coffee table. The sound of his footsteps fade as he ascends the staircase.
Silence settles over the house, disturbed only by the subtle creak of leather as Helena shifts in her chair. Across from where I sit, she’s perched in one of the cognac leather armchairs, her attention fixed on the Bible resting in her lap. Her presence feels like both a comfort and a torment.
The presence of the letter still tucked in my pocket lingers between us like unspoken words. Since its arrival, the day has unraveled with Kiran and the duties of the day acting as a buffer, an anchor that kept me distracted. But now, the evening draws to a close, and I can feel the pull of unfinished business clawing at my peace.
There’s one final knot I need to untangle, one thread I must sever before I can give Helena my undivided attention: Everly.
I push off the cushions, the sudden movement stirring the air. “Goodnight, Helena,” I say, my voice low.
Her amber eyes lift from the thin pages, catching the lamplight. Her lips curve softly. “Goodnight, Silas.”
The intimacy of her gaze lingers as I climb the stairs. At the top, Kiran appears, fresh from the bathroom, his tiny feet padding quietly over the floorboards.
“Did you brush your teeth?” I ask.
Kiran grins wide, baring his teeth in an exaggerated gesture, his boyish pride shining through. “Yes, see?”
A low chuckle escapes me. “Yes, I see. Now, into bed with you.”
I follow him down the short hallway to his room. He clambers onto his bed; the quilt shifting as he nestles into its folds, a tangled mess of energy still stubbornly winding down.
Kiran rolls onto his side, his brows knitting together as he studies me with an expression that’s far too pensive for a boy his age. I lower myself into the chair by his bed, a nightly ritual I cherish even when my thoughts threaten to steal me away.
“Pa,” he starts, his voice barely above a whisper, “can I ask you something?”
My heart tightens. His tone is too soft, too careful, like he already knows his question might sting. “Of course,” I reply, my voice gentle to encourage him.
The dim light from the bedside lamp casts his young face in shadows, making his features look older, as if time momentarily stole him from me.
“What was my mother like?”
The air is sucked from my lungs. The question hangs heavily in the stillness of the room, dredging up memories I’ve tried to bury, wounds I’ve fought to keep from bleeding. Mother is a name seldom spoken aloud. For years, it was simply too painful. But now, with Kiran growing older, curiosity is inevitable.
“She was beautiful,” I say after a long pause, my gaze shifting past him to the darkened window beyond. The past tugs at the edges of my mind. “She loved me, this land, God. But most of all, she loved you.”
His lips press together thoughtfully, and I brace myself for what’s coming.
“What did she look like?”
I let out a quiet, shuddering breath. The memory of Caroline’s face feels both sharp and blurred, as if time has worn down the edges. “She had light brown hair, long enough to fall down her back. Her eyes were like yours, kind and bright. She wasn’t very tall, but when she smiled…” My voice trails off, catching on the edges of longing and loss.
“Do you think she went to heaven?” His question is timid, but it strikes like a bell toll in my chest.
“I know she did,” I answer firmly.
“So we’ll see her there?” he asks.
“I guess we will,” I reply softly. Deep inside, I know Kiran will. But me? The possibility feels impossibly distant, a place beyond my reach.
He shifts onto his back, his eyelids growing heavy. “I can’t wait to see her.”
The twist of pain in my chest feels like a physical blow. His sweet hope clashes painfully with my fear. The thought of him reuniting with her in the hereafter without me gnaws at what’s left of my soul.
“She’ll be so happy to see you,” I manage, brushing his hair from his forehead. “Now, go to sleep. Love you, son.”
“Love you too, Pa.”
