“Girls,” my mom says, “sixteen . . . nineteen, to a wife that wouldn’t matter. The first thing I’d want to know is why my husband was using a chat room in the first place.”
We pull up in front of the Kemps’ house. Mrs. Kemp must have been watching for us because she’s already holding the door open as we get out of the car.
We all give Mrs. Kemp a hug when we walk through the door. Then she leads us into the living room. As soon as we’re all seated, Mrs. Kemp says, “Thank you, ladies, for checking in on me again.” She eyes my backpack as she talks.
“Is there any new news from the police, Bonnie?” my mom asks.
“No,” she says, her eyes glazed as if she’s looking through us. “Nothing at all. Absolutely . . . nothing.” She shakes her head and then looks out the window. “You know, they asked about the motion cameras at our front and back doors. They wanted to see the footage, thinking maybe they could narrow down the time when Jenna dropped off the car, maybe see if she was with someone. But the batteries got low in August, and we were just so busy all the time that neither Joseph nor I changed them.” She looks at us. “Do you believe that? If one of us had taken five minutes to pop new batteries into even just the front porch camera, we’d probably know a heck of a lot more than we do.” She leans forward in her chair, props her elbows on her knees with her hands folded, and stares at the floor.
I widen my eyes at my mom, imploring her to say something. I don’t know how Mrs. Kemp is going to react to what we discovered, but at least it’s something.
“Bonnie?” my mom says.
Mrs. Kemp looks up.
“The girls—Keeley and Delaney—”
“And Leighton,” I add, to which Mrs. Kemp creases her brow.
“And Leighton,” my mom says, “they discovered something you should know.”
“What is it?” She looks from me to Delaney and back again.
I take a deep breath, unzip my backpack, and pull out Jenna’s pink and gray bag. Mrs. Kemp eyes the bag curiously as if she knows she’s seen it before but isn’t sure if it’s Jenna’s or not. I unzip it and pull out Jenna’s diaries.
“Keeley,” Mrs. Kemp’s breath hitches, “are those . . . where did you . . .” She stands slowly, shaking her head.
“Leighton. She said Jenna brought them over to her house about a month ago and she left them there.”
“Oh my God,” she says, bringing her hands to cover her nose and mouth for a second. “Thank you for returning them.”
Delaney and I look at my mom. She sighs before looking at Jenna’s mom. “Bonnie, there’s something Jenna talks about in these that you should know.”
“You mean, you’ve read them?”
My mom nods.
“So did I,” Delaney says.
“We all did,” I say.
Mrs. Kemp looks from me to Delaney to my mom. “Leslie? Is it bad?”
“Bonnie, your nephew Thomas . . . we think he sexually abused Jenna.”
“What? What are you talking about? Thomas wouldn’t . . .” She shakes her head in disbelief, and I think about making a run for it with Jenna’s diaries. “Why would you say something like that?”
“Because it’s true,” my mom says. Then she turns to me and holds out her hand. I remove the diary on top and hand it to her. She opens it to the page we’ve marked as she stands, walks it over to Bonnie, and sets it on her lap. “Read this.”
“No.” Bonnie shakes her head and closes the diary. “I’ve invaded Jenna’s privacy before. I won’t do it again. No.”
“Bonnie, you have to read it.” My mom pulls the diary from under Mrs. Kemp’s hands, reopens it and plants it back in her lap. But this time she doesn’t let go. She holds it open until Bonnie looks down at the entry and begins to read.
After what seems like an eternity, Mrs. Kemp closes her eyes for another eternity. Delaney and I begin looking at each other and shifting in our seats. My mom puts her hands up, motioning for us to be still.
Then all of a sudden, Mrs. Kemp is out of her seat and heading for the kitchen.
“Bonnie!” My mom gets up and follows her.
Delaney and I tail both of them. When we get into the kitchen, my mom is standing between Mrs. Kemp and the door to the garage.
“Move out of the way, Leslie,” Mrs. Kemp screams. She accidentally drops her keys, and my mom beats her to them. “Give me my keys!”
“Not until you calm down and tell me what you’re going to do.”
“I’m going to kill him,” she says through gritted teeth.
“Mom?” We all look over at Shaina who’s behind us looking on from the living room. “Who do you want to kill? Did someone hurt Jenna?”
Mrs. Kemp stands there staring at her youngest daughter, her chest heaving. “Yes. Someone hurt your sister very badly, and I’m going to make him pay for it.” She holds her hand out to my mom and says very calmly, “Leslie, please give me my keys. You, of all people, should understand that I need to help my daughter.”
As we pull away from the curb in front of the Kemps’ house, I watch Joseph hugging and comforting Shaina. When he got home from work shortly after Bonnie left and asked where she was, Delaney and I took Shaina upstairs so my mom could explain what happened. His reaction wasn’t much different from Bonnie’s, but somehow my mom convinced him to stay with Shaina.
“Do you think Thomas will go to jail?” Delaney asks.
“I don’t know,” my mom says.
“What do you mean, you don’t know? How could he not go to jail for what he did to Jenna?”
“Keeley, we can’t assume everything in Jenna’s diary is one hundred percent accurate. Those entries were from a long time ago, and . . . with the trouble she’s been getting into the last couple months and the drug and alcohol abuse.” She shakes her head. “I just don’t know.”
“Why would any of that matter?”
“I don’t know, Keeley, because they could say she was a troubled child.”
“But she wasn’t a troubled child,” I say.
“Yes, she was,” Delaney says. “Just not in any way that would lead her to make up something like that. Remember the nightmares she used to have, Keeley?”
I nod, turning in the passenger seat to look back at Delaney. “She had them all the time, at almost every sleepover.”
“And the way she would whimper and toss and turn in her sleep. Sometimes when I touched her to wake her, her skin would be all sweaty,” Delaney says.
“Oh, girls. I had no idea. Jenna has always been such a sweet, polite girl. And she always seemed so . . . happy.”
“That’s how she was to everyone mom. Only Delaney and I saw her when she was sad.”
“Well, no wonder she snapped. A person can only hold sadness and trauma in for so long.”
We sit in silence the rest of the way to our house. When my mom stops at a red light by Jolliet Park, I think about how Delaney and I were just here on Saturday morning, right before we walked to Leighton’s, but it feels like it’s been years. And for some reason, nothing about the park seems as magical as it used to, not even the old merry-go-round. Even though it was before everything started with Jenna.
Good times. Bad times. Boring times. We’ve spent every kind of time together at Jolliet. But now, we’re without Jenna, and even if she does return, I’ll never be able to think of this as her magical, safe place again. I always assumed she thought of it that way just like Delaney and I, but now I wonder if I was wrong. How could any place feel magical or safe for her? Maybe that’s why she loves running so much. Maybe being in one place makes her feel like she can’t escape the pain she feels. Maybe that’s why the spinning helped too. Like a dizzying type of therapy. But now I realize the brain numbness that spinning elicits has always been a temporary solution to combat the demons that are probably always active in her mind—maybe that’s why she’s drinking and doing drugs now. No amount of hypnotic spinning or alcohol or drugs could possibly eliminate those thoughts for go
od.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Sunday, October 22, 2017
Five Days Before Jenna’s Disappearance
As Jenna sat in church that Sunday morning, she thought about everything but the sermon, which was being delivered by none other than Thomas because her uncle was feeling under the weather.
She watched as Mr. Kimble held out his hand for Mrs. Kimble when it was time to rise for The Lord’s Prayer. When he helped pull her to her feet, Jenna thought about all the old, frail people in Jacob’s life who he’d taken care of.
For the past couple weeks, it was like he’d been taking care of her too, being there for her to tell someone how her week was going, being there to listen when she was hurting about the fact that Dustin and Delaney were dating and telling her how beautiful she was when she finally sent him a selfie. Since then, though, things had changed. He’d asked her on Tuesday night what she was wearing and then asked if she’d send a full shot selfie so he could see all of her. Then Friday night, when he’d called her around midnight, he asked if she’d be willing to say certain things to him. She tried to play along, but it made her uncomfortable, so she ended up clamming up and telling him she had to go. He apologized the next day by text, and when she didn’t respond, he called her that night even though he said he could never talk on Saturdays. He felt bad for whatever he’d done to upset her, which made Jenna feel bad because it wasn’t about him. It was about her. So, after contemplating sharing with him the way he’d shared so much with her, she told him about Thomas. He was outraged and told her how badly he wanted to help her feel safe and comfortable with him. But she was beginning to sense that she didn’t feel the way for him that he felt for her, which made her realize she might have to stop talking to him.
When it was time to take communion, Jenna thanked God for the friend he’d given her in Leighton who had served a purpose much like Jacob in Jenna’s life. As crazy as it seemed, Leighton also offered a certain level of comfort. Jenna wondered if it was because damaged people are drawn to other damaged people, and the comfort was an empathetic response, sort of like a sixth sense. Maybe two wrongs don’t make a right, but two negatives do make a positive. And that’s exactly what her friendship with Leighton reminded her of.
As people stood for the final hymn, Jenna watched Audra and Stella. She found herself looking back and forth between them out in the congregation and Thomas standing at an elevated position in front of them. Jenna felt a sudden need to protect them from Thomas.
When the time had finally come to file out of the chapel, Jenna purposely switched sides so she could be in Thomas’s line. She saw the shock in his eyes when she shook his hand and held his gaze. Doing so had helped her stand a little taller. But shock wasn’t the only thing she sensed behind his dark bottomless pits for eyes. Was it remorse? She wondered. When she released his hand and walked past him, not only did she feel a sense of relief, but she also felt as if the gauntlet had been thrown down. It had been her warning to Thomas that she wasn’t going to stay silent any longer.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Bonnie
Thursday, November 2, 2017
Six Days After Jenna’s Disappearance
“I need to talk to Detective Collins. Tell him it’s important.”
“Mrs. Kemp, he’s in—”
“Now,” I demand, slamming my hand on the counter.
“Mrs. Kemp,” the desk clerk says, unintimidated, “He’s . . . in . . . a meeting.”
The way she draws out the words infuriates me, but I need this woman’s help, so I know I need to reign it in.
“Please listen to me.” I lean over the desk. “Someone hurt her. And I think he’s the reason she’s missing.”
An alarmed expression crosses the clerk’s face. “I’ll see if I can get Collins’ attention. Please have a seat.”
“Thank you,” I say, remaining on my feet.
Moments later, Collins appears, and he doesn’t look happy. “Mrs. Kemp, you’ve been down here every single day. I promise you we’re doing—”
“I brought you new evidence,” I interrupt, shoving the entire stack of Jenna’s diaries into Collins’ arms. He staggers a bit as he steadies the pile and gets a better grip on it.
“What are these?”
“Those are Jenna’s diaries from the past eight years. They prove that Pastor Thomas Steele abused her.”
“Mrs. Kemp,” Collins whispers. “Please keep your voice down.” He looks over at the desk clerk and asks, “Can you buzz us in?”
When we get to Collin’s office, he offers me a seat, but I refuse. Why do these people keep suggesting I sit? How can I sit at a time like this? Instead, I pace his office from wall to wall. Collins sits behind his desk and watches me for a few moments before talking.
“Mrs. Kemp, please sit. You’re going to want to sit.”
“What?” I pause mid pace and jerk my neck to look at him. It was something about the way he said it.
“Thomas Steele came in a few hours ago.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, taking a seat. “Why?”
“He turned himself in.”
“For . . . for what exactly?” Suddenly, I’m scared. Is it possible he’s the reason Jenna is missing?
“He confessed to sexually abusing Jenna starting when she was very young.”
A sob escapes me, and I lower my face into my hands. How can this be happening?
Collins gives me some time. When I finally raise my head, I see that he’s pushed a box of tissue to the far edge of his desk so I can reach it. “Thank you,” I say, grabbing one. “How old was she when it started?”
“I can’t tell you that right now, and I can’t tell you what happened after they met yet either. We’re looking into his statement right now.”
“What do you mean after they met?”
Collins breaks eye contact with me for a second. “Mrs. Kemp, according to Thomas, he saw Jenna last Friday night. She initiated the contact.”
“Oh my God. What did he do to her?”
“No, no, no,” he raises a hand, “all he admitted to was talking to her. But he says when they were done talking, they parted ways, and she was fine and heading home, to his knowledge.”
“He has to be lying. Why would she want to talk to him? Why would she want to even be near him?” Suddenly it all makes sense. All the stomachaches and not wanting to go to church and the drinking and drugs. How could I have been so naïve to think it was just some kind of teen rebellion or because I read one lousy entry in her diary? Oh, my God . . . her diary entry. It was about Thomas.
“He says that she told him she was going to tell someone what he did to her if he didn’t confess.”
“He . . . he has to be lying. Where is he? Let me talk to him. He needs to tell us where she is.” I stand and head for the door, but Collins is up and around his desk blocking my way before I get there.
“We’ve spoken to his wife. She says he got home that night around ten thirty and didn’t leave the house again.
“Well, he still could have done something to Jenna when they were together. What time did they meet? If Jenna left Leighton’s a little before nine, that’s an entire hour and a half that he could have had to hurt her. And how can you even be sure Audra is telling the truth? That woman worships the ground he walks on!”
“Mrs. Kemp, we need a little time to look into this, question some people around the area where he and Jenna met, check some cameras in the area. But for right now, he’s here in a holding cell of his own free will. With these diaries and his own confession, he will do some time.”
“But where is she? Where is my daughter?” I yell.
Collins just stands there, with his hands on his hips and his head slumped, unable to look me in the eyes.
“Audra,” I say pounding on the door again. “I know you’re here. I can hear Stella.”
Finally, the door opens a crack and Audra peeks out. Her eyes are bloodshot, and her usually sleek hair and tastefu
lly applied makeup are a mess. She shakes her head at me and says, “I can’t, Bonnie. I’m truly sorry, but I just can’t.”
She moves to close the door, but I give it a shove sending her backward and the door with her. She stumbles, almost tripping over her daughter who’s crawling behind her. What have I done? Stella could have been hurt.
“I’m sorry,” I say, reaching out for . . . I don’t know what.
Audra sweeps Stella into her arms and holds her close, backing away from me. “Please, go, Bonnie.”
“Just tell me. Please . . . was he really here with you that night? Did you know what he did to Jenna?”
Audra begins crying at the mention of Jenna, and she won’t look at me. “I can’t talk to you. I don’t know anything,” she says to the floor. “Please, just go. Or I’ll call the police.”
Shocked by her threat, I walk backwards out the door. When I get on the doorstep, she lunges forward and slams the door in my face. I can hear her sobbing on the other side of the door, but I feel no sympathy for her. She’s married to a monster. How could she not know?
I turn and rush to my car. Greg and Lenore need to know what’s going on.
“Bonnie,” Greg says, opening the door. “What . . .” he looks behind me, to the left and to the right. “What are you doing here?”
Something is off. Why didn’t he greet me like he usually does? Ooooh, Bonnie, my favorite sister-in-law! To which I typically respond. Your only sister-in-law. Why hasn’t he invited me in?
“Greg, I need to talk to you and Lenore.”
“Okay,” he says, holding my gaze as he slowly opens the door.
I step inside and immediately hear the dishwasher running in the kitchen. Then I glance toward the stairs where I hear music and Lenore’s and Hannah’s laughter coming from upstairs.
“What is it, Bonnie? Did you hear something about Jenna?” he asks in a hushed voice.
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