Doug Glenn had become an old man since retiring five years ago. Violet watched the lines on his face grow deeper as he looked at her bruises, both of them embarrassed by the tears in his eyes. Doug cleared his throat and patted the chair next to his. “Have a seat, honey. Your mom’s been cooking for hours.” He grazed her cheek softly with the back of his fingers. “I’m so sorry you’re hurting. Thank God it wasn’t worse.”

“Yes, thank God,” Violet mumbled.

Her mother was piling dish after dish onto the table: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, biscuits, gravy, corn, sliced tomatoes, and green beans. Tolly walked in and immediately began helping her arrange them, the dutiful and helpful son-in-law. He pulled Alice’s chair out for her.

Violet waited for her father to finish saying the blessing. “Mama,” she said, “this looks wonderful. Your cooking is just what I need.” Tolly reached for her hand, and she managed not to jerk it away.

“My wife,” he said, “is almost as good a chef as her mother. Of course, Beatrice cooks every day, so I’m rarely treated to her creations anymore.”

Violet translated for her husband, “Tolly is trying to tell you I’m spoiled and pampered, afforded every luxury.” She locked eyes with him. “That’s true. My life is filled with things I never dreamed of. It’s a constant adventure.” Her mother beamed at Tolly, clearly missing her meaning.

The family ate in silence for a few minutes. Violet listened to the kitchen clock tick away the seconds with Tolly in the house, willing him to leave. She studied her parents. Daddy’s hair was fully white now. Her mother had streaks of gray and creases around her mouth and eyes. Tolly was right. She couldn’t tell her parents the truth without risking their health. She chewed Mama’s fried chicken slowly, trying not to aggravate the split in her lower lip.

“This is delicious, Mom,” Tolly said.

Violet cringed at the blasphemy. He had no right to call her that. She didn’t know how much longer she could sit next to her husband and keep from exploding. She closed her eyes and tasted something metallic, then realized her mouth was bleeding. Nausea rose like a flooding spring creek. She tried to think of anything but the truth she was keeping from her parents, from the world. The taste was overwhelming her.

This is the taste of secrets, she thought. Be quiet and let it linger on the tongue: the sickening cost of preserving the world for those I love, who can’t know I have a daughter in Florida; who can’t know my shining example of a husband is a drunk who beats me.

Violet set her fork down and turned to see Tolly rising from the table to peck her mother’s cheek and shake Glenn’s hand.