Page 6 of In Her Fears (Jenna Graves #8)

As Jenna guided her patrol car along Elm Street, her conversation with Zeke Canfield replayed in her mind.

His voice had been hesitant, almost apologetic when he told her that her mom had been missing AA meetings—the tone of a man who took his responsibilities seriously but found himself caught between competing loyalties.

“I wouldn’t normally say anything, Sheriff,” he’d said, his voice lower than usual. “AA confidentiality is sacred to me. But I’m worried about your mother.”

She understood his reluctance to break her mother’s confidence, yet appreciated his concern enough to call her anyway. Zeke had been the catalyst for her mother’s recovery, turning her away from the liquor store counter one night when she’d been at her lowest.

“I can’t sell you this,” he’d told her, his own history of addiction giving him the clarity to recognize rock bottom when he saw it. Instead of a bottle, he’d given her a meeting time and location. And after some hesitation, she’d finally gone.

“Margaret has missed two meetings now,” Zeke had told her on the phone. “I’ve called, but she keeps making excuses. Something’s not right.”

Two meetings, Jenna thought. And Mom had never said anything. Jenna wondered—had she missed seeing trouble that was right in front of her?

Jenna had realized that the fragile peace her mother had found in sobriety was still new, still might shatter if handled too roughly. But she’d also thought that things were going along quite well.

Jenna turned onto Sycamore Lane, the street where she’d grown up, where her mother still lived alone in the house that once held their whole family.

The neighborhood hadn’t changed much—same mature trees, same well-kept lawns, same sense of solid middle-class stability.

But everything else had. Jenna’s father, Greg Graves, had died five years ago.

Piper had been gone for twenty years. And Jenna’s mom, Margaret Graves, had slowly put herself back together, one day of sobriety at a time.

As Jenna pulled into the driveway, the garden caught her eye immediately. Bright zinnias and marigolds nodded in the late summer breeze alongside carefully staked tomato plants heavy with fruit. It was still well tended with the same care her mother had once given to her family.

That was the thing about sobriety, Jenna thought as she turned off the engine. It gave you back your passions, your routines, your self-respect. The garden wasn’t just plants; it was a visual representation of her mother’s recovery. Which made Zeke’s news all the more concerning.

She took a deep breath and exited the car, the late August heat immediately pressing against her skin like a damp cloth.

As she approached the front door, she found herself cataloging details with a sheriff’s eye—windows intact, porch swept clean, mail collected from the box. No external signs of trouble.

Jenna knocked and waited, listening for movement inside. After a moment, the door swung open, and Mom stood before her, surprise evident in her raised eyebrows.

“Jenna! I wasn’t expecting you.” Her mother wore gardening clothes—faded jeans and a loose cotton blouse—with soil still under her fingernails.

Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, touches of gray more prominent than they’d been even six months ago.

But her eyes were clear, her movements steady. No obvious signs of drinking.

“I was in the neighborhood,” Jenna said. “Thought I’d stop by,” the half-truth was uncomfortable on her tongue.

Mom stepped back, gesturing for Jenna to enter. “Come in, then. I was just about to make some iced tea.”

The house smelled of lemon furniture polish and fresh herbs from the potted plants on the kitchen windowsill. Another good sign. The days when this house had reeked of stale alcohol and neglect seemed mercifully distant now.

They moved to the kitchen together, Mom filling two glasses with ice and tea while Jenna settled at the familiar table where she’d eaten countless childhood meals. The normalcy of it all made her doubt Zeke’s concerns for a moment. Her mother seemed fine—better than fine.

“So,” Mom said, setting a glass in front of Jenna and taking the seat opposite her. “What brings the sheriff to my door on a workday? I’m guessing this isn’t just a social call.”

Jenna took a sip of tea, buying herself a moment. Direct questions had always been her mother’s style. No point dancing around it now.

“Are you still going to your meetings, Mom?”

The change was subtle but immediate—a slight stiffening of Mom’s shoulders, a flicker of her gaze away from Jenna’s face.

“I’m not drinking, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she said, tracing a finger through the condensation on her glass.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Mom sighed, setting her tea down with deliberate care. “I suppose Zeke called you.”

“He’s concerned. So am I.” Jenna leaned forward. “Mom, those meetings have been your lifeline. What’s going on?”

“Zeke shouldn’t have involved you,” Mom said, but there was no real heat in her words. “He’s just worried over nothing.”

“Is it nothing, though? Because skipping two meetings after going so faithfully sounds like something to me. And don’t get angry with Zeke for telling me.”

A look of resignation crossed Mom’s face. “I’m not angry with him, Jenna. Zeke’s a good man. He was trying to help, in his way.” She paused, idly turning her glass. “That’s actually part of the problem.”

“What do you mean?”

Mom took a breath, then met Jenna’s eyes directly. “I’ve developed... feelings for Zeke. Feelings that complicate our relationship as sponsor and sponsee.”

“Oh.” The single syllable was all Jenna could manage at first. Of all the explanations she’d prepared herself for on the drive over, this wasn’t one of them.

“So instead of causing trouble for both of us, I decided to step back from meetings. Just until I get my head straight about it all.” Mom’s voice was matter-of-fact, but Jenna could see the strain beneath her composed exterior.

“Mom, avoiding meetings isn’t the answer. Your sobriety has to come first.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” A flash of the old defensiveness surfaced, then subsided just as quickly. “I’m sorry. You’re right, of course. But what are the alternatives? Continue seeing him like that, meeting after meeting, pretending there’s nothing there?”

Jenna considered this, weighing her mother’s evident emotional turmoil against the vital importance of her continued recovery. “Have you told him how you feel?”

Mom looked genuinely alarmed. “God, no. I couldn’t.”

“Why not? The worst that happens is he doesn’t feel the same way, and you find a new sponsor. The best is...” Jenna left the sentence unfinished, letting her mother fill in the possibilities.

“It’s not that simple.” Mom rose from the table, moving to the window where she stood looking out at her garden. “What if he rejects me? Or worse, what if he doesn’t? What then?”

Jenna waited, sensing there was more her mother needed to say.

“I still miss your father, Jenna.” Mom’s voice softened. “Even after five years, sometimes I still expect to see him coming through that door. And now with these feelings for Zeke, and it feels like... like I’m betraying Greg somehow.”

“Dad would want you to be happy, Mom. You know that.”

Mom nodded slightly, still facing the window. “There’s also the fact that in AA, they strongly recommend not getting involved in any new relationships during your first year of recovery. Especially with another member.”

“But you can talk about it,” Jenna suggested gently. “Clear the air. Zeke’s been in recovery for years; he’ll understand better than most. And if you need to find a new sponsor, he can help with that too.”

Mom turned back to face her, eyes bright with unshed tears. “I’m scared, Jenna. I haven’t felt this way in so long, and now that I do, it’s all mixed up with my sobriety, which is something I can’t afford to mess up.”

“I know, Mom.” Jenna stood and crossed to her mother, placing a hand on her shoulder. “But avoiding meetings isn’t the answer. That’s putting your recovery at risk.”

Mom gave a brief laugh, then spoke a little sharply. “Well, Sheriff, maybe you should follow your own advice.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Jake Hawkins. The way you look at him, the way he looks at you. Everyone sees it but you two.”

Heat rose to Jenna’s cheeks. “That’s completely different.”

“Is it? You’re both avoiding something real because you’re afraid of tangling up your professional relationship.” Mom’s smile widened slightly. “Sounds pretty similar to me.”

“It’s complicated, Mom.”

“And my situation isn’t?” Mom raised an eyebrow, her momentary amusement fading. “At least you and Jake are in your thirties, with stable lives. You’re not trying to rebuild yourself from the ground up while navigating feelings you haven’t dealt with in years.”

Jenna had no ready response. Her mother wasn’t wrong about the parallels, uncomfortable as they were to acknowledge. They both lapsed into silence, the kitchen clock on the wall marking seconds that stretched awkwardly between them.

“Jenna,” Mom said finally, her voice taking on a different tone, “I worry about you. Not just about Jake, but everything. All these horrible cases you’ve been dealing with...”

“It’s my job, Mom.”

“I know that. But why do you always have to carry so much?” Mom’s eyes were searching now, full of a mother’s concern. “Between that and your obsession with finding Piper... I just wonder sometimes if it’s time to consider that she might be—”

“Don’t say it.” The words came out sharper than Jenna intended.

“—dead,” Mom finished quietly. “It’s been twenty years, Jenna Marie.”

The middle name hit like a physical blow. Only her mother and Frank ever used it, and only when they were dead serious about something.

“I know how long it’s been.” Jenna turned away, arms crossed protectively over her chest. She couldn’t explain to her mother the certainty she felt that Piper was still alive somewhere—couldn’t explain that the dead came to her in dreams, and Piper never had.

That single fact was the foundation of her hope, the reason she wouldn’t stop searching.

“I just want you to live your life, sweetheart. Not spend it chasing ghosts and dealing with the worst humanity has to offer.” Mom moved closer, her hand light on Jenna’s back. “What I really hope is that you and Jake will get together and leave this town. Make a good, quiet life somewhere else.”

Jenna turned, shocked. “Leave? Mom, I can’t just run off and abandon everything. For one thing, I’d never leave you behind.”

Mom’s smile was gentle now, tinged with sadness. “I’ll be okay, Jenna. I’m not the broken woman I was. And your happiness matters more to me than having you nearby.”

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” Jenna said, trying to process her mother’s unexpected suggestion. “My life is here. My work is here.”

“Your sister was here,” Mom corrected softly. “And I understand why that keeps you bound to this place. But at some point, honey, you have to ask yourself if you’re staying for the right reasons.”

They had reached an impasse, staring at each other across a gulf of different perspectives, different priorities. Jenna recognized the concern in her mother’s eyes, the genuine wish for her happiness. But she couldn’t make her understand why leaving was impossible.

“Mom,” she said finally, “promise me you’ll call Zeke. Today, as soon as I’m gone.”

Mom hesitated, then nodded. “I will. I promise.”

“Good.” Jenna glanced at her watch. “I should get back to the station.”

They moved to the front door together, an awkward silence hanging between them. At the threshold, Jenna turned and pulled her mother into a tight hug.

“I love you,” she said. “Dad would be proud of how far you’ve come.”

Mom’s arms tightened around her. “I love you too. More than you know.”

Jenna pressed a kiss to her mother’s cheek, then stepped back. “Call me after you talk to Zeke, okay?”

“I will.”

The drive back toward the station felt longer somehow, the conversation with her mother weighing on her mind.

The landscape of Trentville slid past her window—the hardware store where her father had bought supplies for weekend projects, the ice cream shop where she and Piper had celebrated every report card, the park where they’d practiced soccer until dusk drove them home.

Her phone rang, the sound startling in the quiet car.

“Sheriff Graves,” she answered, grateful for the distraction.

“Jenna, it’s Jake.” His voice was all business, though she detected the underlying warmth that seemed reserved just for her.

“Got a situation over at Meyerson’s farm.

Couple of his cattle got loose and wandered onto Route 16.

Already got one fender-bender, no injuries, but we need to clear it up before something worse happens. ”

“I’m on my way,” she replied, making a U-turn at the next intersection.

“How’s your mom?”

The simple question caught her off guard with its genuine concern. “She’s... dealing with some things. I’ll tell you later.”

“Copy that.”

As she headed toward Route 16, the images of Martin Holbrook’s body suddenly flashed in her mind—the dead eyes staring at nothing, the wooden stake protruding from his chest, the crude pentagram carved into the ancient oak tree.

Jenna pushed that thought aside as the flashing lights of Jake’s patrol car came into view ahead. Right now, there were loose cattle to round up and a road to clear. The darkness would wait for her, as it always did.