Back at the house, Kave went off in search of John, and I found Helen in the kitchen once again. She was busily making sandwiches, chatting with three other women who were also helping prepare lunch. They all moved about the kitchen with the ease of long familiarity, their rhythm seamless, as if they had spent years doing this together. Looking up, Helen smiled warmly at me.
“There you are! Elaine, I want you to meet two of my daughters, Zoe and Phoebe.”
I turned to the two young women she nodded toward. Both looked to be in their early to mid-twenties, and they bore such a strong resemblance to Helen that there was no doubting their relation. Their figures were still trim, their hair a deep, lustrous brown not yet streaked with gray like their mother’s.
“And this is Zoe’s friend, Rose.
