Page 10

When Jenna parked outside of her childhood home and turned off the ignition, she just sat motionless in her car. The house that had once radiated with the laughter of a family was now subdued by years of sorrow and silence. Since her father had died and her sister had disappeared, her mother had lived there alone.

The porch light was on, and the clock on the dashboard read just past nine-thirty. Jenna told herself it wasn’t too late for an unannounced visit. She stepped out of her cruiser and closed the door with a soft click.

As she approached the weathered front porch where she had played as a child, her eyes caught unexpected signs of revival in the small garden. The rose bushes, which had once grown wild and untended, now stood neatly pruned. The lawn, though not the lush carpet it used to be, showed evidence of recent care. Jenna hoped it meant that her mother was finding her way back to life without the bottle.

She rapped against the door, a solid sound that seemed to echo back at her. The door swung open, and Margaret Graves’s voice sliced through the stillness with an edge of disapproval. “Jenna, What brings you here at this hour?”

“I just thought I’d stop by,” she replied, crossing the threshold. Inside, she inhaled deeply, letting the scent of lavender and something else she couldn’t quite place fill her lungs. It was the smell of home, unchanged, as if holding onto a time before tragedy had struck.

“Is everything okay?” Jenna asked.

Mom’s irritation gave way to weariness. “I’m fine,” she said, though her rumpled housecoat and disheveled hair told a story of a day—or perhaps more than a day—spent battling demons alone.

Jenna trailed behind her mother to the kitchen. Mom’s hands were swift but unsteady as she retrieved the tea kettle and filled it with water, setting it on the stove with a rattle that seemed too loud in the quiet house. When the kettle whistled its readiness, piercing the silence between them, Mom poured the boiling water into two mugs, the chamomile teabags bobbing like tiny life rafts in a turbulent sea.

As they took their seats at the table, the worn surface felt like neutral territory in an unspoken truce. Mom’s gaze avoided Jenna’s as she sipped her tea, her movements betraying a restlessness that clung to her like a second skin. Jenna observed her mother, noting the absence of flushed cheeks or the scent of alcohol. Yet her agitation was undeniable.

Two weeks earlier, Jenna had stood beside her mother at the kitchen sink, watching years of dependence and denial swirl down the drain with one bottle of amber liquid. Mom had actually asked Jenna to pour out her very last bottle of whiskey—and Jenna had felt touched to have that honor. It had been a monumental victory, hard-fought and fragile. Jenna remembered how her chest had swelled with pride, love, and trepidation. They had held each other, a pair of survivors in the wreckage of a family torn apart by loss and addiction.

Now, Jenna needed to believe that the strength they had found that day could endure. The sight of Mom now, hands clenched around her mug as if holding onto sobriety itself, tugged at her heartstrings. There was no trace of alcohol on her mother’s breath, no slurring of words, just the raw edge of someone clinging desperately to a lifeline. But Jenna sensed that all was not well. And it wasn’t impossible that Mom had been drinking earlier.

“Where have you been?” Mom’s question sliced through the quiet, abrupt and sharp. “It feels like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Mom, it’s only been three or four days. I’ve been working, you know that.”

Mom’s expression darkened. “Three or four days is too long when you live in the same town, Jenna. Would it kill you to stop by more often?”

Jenna posed the question that had been burning within her since she stepped into the house. “Mom, have you been drinking?”

Mom recoiled as if struck, her voice rising to match the heat in her flushed skin. “Is that why you’re here?” she demanded. “To check up on me? To make sure I haven’t fallen off the wagon? What is this, some sort of spot inspection?”

Jenna reached out across the table, her hand extending toward Mom’s hand in a gesture meant to bridge the sudden chasm that opened between them. But Mom withdrew, leaving Jenna’s to hover in the air, grasping at nothing.

“I’m just concerned about you, Mom. I care about your wellbeing,” Jenna said, retracting her hand slowly.

Mom’s response came swiftly, laced with bitterness. “If you cared so much, you’d come around more often,” she shot back. “I’m still sober, Jenna. If you don’t believe me, feel free to turn the house upside down looking for booze. You don’t even need a search warrant, sheriff lady.”

The bitterness in her mother’s tone sent a jolt of alarm through Jenna. She studied Mom’s features, searching for the telltale signs she had come to know too well—the glassy stare, the slurred speech that betrayed a descent back into old habits. Yet, even in the anger and fatigue, there was no hint of intoxication. Her mother was irritable, yes, but not drunk.

Then Mom’s anger receded like a storm pulling back its fury, and Jenna saw hints of the woman who had once been the bedrock of their family.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Mom’s voice trembled. “It’s just... life is so hard sometimes. Losing your father, and Piper...” Her voice fractured, “There are days I don’t feel like I can go on.”

Jenna rose and moved to her mother’s side. She wrapped her arms around Mom’s slender shoulders, feeling the quiver of suppressed sobs through the thin fabric of the housecoat.

“I know, Mom. I know it’s hard,” Jenna murmured. “But you’re stronger than you think. Remember, Zeke from the liquor store gave you that list of AA meetings? Including the one he attends himself?”

Mom’s body stiffened momentarily before relaxing, her breath hitching as she sought composure. “AA” was a term they’d danced around since Mom’s last drink. “I know. But asking for help... it’s not easy, Jenna,” she confessed. “I always thought people who went to therapy were weak. I’m starting to know better, but AA? Those 12 steps... it seems overwhelming.”

Jenna sensed the oscillation between hope and despair in her mother’s tone, understanding all too well the daunting prospect of baring one’s soul to strangers, of committing to a path whose end was uncertain. Then Jake’s words replayed in her mind: “You won’t ever have to handle anything without me … I’m here for you.” Sometimes, they all needed to borrow strength from someone they could trust.

“You don’t have to do it alone, Mom,” Jenna said. “I’ll be here to support you every step of the way. I can even drive you to the meetings if that would help.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she murmured. “I’ll... I’ll really consider it.” It was not a promise, but in the dim kitchen light, it felt like the closest thing to a commitment that Jenna had heard from her mother in years.

The silence that settled between them was comfortable, filled with the shared decades and the complexities of their entwined lives. They each took slow sips of tea, its warmth fading but still soothing. The clock ticked away the seconds, marking time in a home where so much remained frozen in the past.

Then, with a slight tilt of her head that seemed to push aside the weight of earlier conversations, Mom looked up and asked, “How was your day, Jenna? Anything exciting happen in our sleepy little town?”

Jenna considered the details that might be better left untold. “Mom,” she finally said as casually as she could manage, “it’s been a tough day. I guess I’d rather not talk about it. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll hear all about it soon enough.”

Mom gave a good-natured chuckle that sounded refreshingly like her old self.

“Oh, I know that tone,” she said. “You’re trying not to share any news that might upset me. Well, I can handle it. It might do me good to hear about other people’s problems. Remind me I’m not the only one in the world having a hard time.”

Jenna exhaled slowly, seeing the expectation in her mother’s gaze. “There was an incident at St. Michael’s,” she began cautiously, choosing her words with care. “We found...some victims, two dead bodies. It looks like foul play. Right now, we’re trying to piece together what happened. The whole town is on edge.”

Mom’s eyes widened, a spark of alertness igniting within them. “That’s terrible,” she whispered, her hand lifting to touch her throat as if to ward off the chill of the subject matter. “And your team, how are they handling it?” Mom asked, her maternal instinct momentarily overpowering her own woes.

“Everyone’s pulling their weight,” Jenna responded, pride flickering in her eyes. “We’ll get to the bottom of it. We have to.”

Mom was still waiting expectantly to hear more. “And exactly what did you find?” she asked calmly.

Jenna shared more details, skirting around the morbid specifics. Her mother’s shock and dismay deepened as the tale unfolded. Jenna concluded, “It’s shaken up the community—a place where everyone knows each other, you know? This kind of thing just doesn’t happen here.”

“What is this town coming to?” Mom whispered. Her gaze drifted past the kitchen window, seeking an answer to whatever had settled over their small community. “I feel like I don’t even understand Trentville anymore.”

Jenna nodded, her agreement silent but real. The town’s metamorphosis from a sanctuary of predictability to a landscape riddled with unease mirrored the internal transformation she grappled with daily. The innocence of her childhood, where the most significant disturbance might be a neighbor’s late-night row, now contrasted starkly with her reality as sheriff—a guardian against an encroaching chaos.

“I should get going, Mom,” Jenna said. She pushed back her chair, gathering their empty mugs. The porcelain clinked softly, a domestic soundtrack to the day’s harsher notes. “It’s been a long day, and tomorrow’s likely to be just as … intense.”

Mom rose, too, her movements slower. She walked Jenna to the door, reaching out to wrap her arms around her daughter in a hug that conveyed more than mere gratitude. It was an embrace filled with the complexities of remorse and recognition.

“Thank you for coming, sweetheart. And... I’m sorry about earlier. I know you care.” The apology, though quiet, resonated with sincerity, bridging the gap that the day’s tensions had widened.

Jenna’s arms tightened around her mother, the embrace a silent exchange of forgiveness and unspoken promises. “I love you, Mom. I’ll try to stop by more often, I promise.” Pulling away reluctantly from the comfort of their closeness, Jenna stepped out into the night, letting the door close behind her.

The drive to her own home was quiet, the streets of Trentville empty. As she navigated the familiar turns, her mind kept replaying the day’s events. The grim discovery at St. Michael’s Church seemed to taint the air, leaving an invisible residue on the town. She thought of her mother, the fragility beneath her stubborn exterior, the fight for sobriety like an unseen battle being waged within the walls of the house Jenna had once called home. And then there was Piper, her absence a void that lingered even after all these years.

The engine’s hum was a steady companion, a background to the cascade of thoughts that refused to settle. As Jenna pulled into her driveway, she killed the ignition and sat for a moment, taking in the stillness of her own home. The realization that sleep would not come easy weighed heavily on her. A premonition prickled at her senses—a forewarning of the dreams that so often bridged the gap between her world and the one just beyond sight.

Exiting the car, Jenna made her way to the front door, each step deliberate, as if grounding herself against the pull of the ethereal realm that awaited her in slumber. Once inside, she moved through the motions of preparing for bed, though she knew rest would be elusive.

She remembered Jake asking, “Do you think you’ll have any dreams tonight?” Now, she felt sure that she would. The visions that visited her lucid dreams were both a gift and a burden, unpredictable in their arrival and opaque in their intent. She wondered if tonight she would see the victims from the church, or if some other lost soul would seek her out in the hazy world of dreams.

Slipping under the covers, Jenna closed her eyes, the darkness behind her lids soon to be filled with spectral images of those who had crossed over. As she waited for sleep to claim her, she embraced the uncertainty of what—or whom—this night would bring to her.