by Brenda Hill
I dialed my office. When Nina answered, I asked if by any chance, Jenna’s name sounded familiar.
“Hmmm,” she said, thinking. “Jenna Yearwood. I’ve heard that name, but can’t think....”
I perked up. “You’ve heard—”
“Wait a minute! Isn’t that Jenna, The Jerk?”
Of course! How could I have forgotten? It had started over ten years ago, when a woman had made appointments with me and then failed to show. Sometimes we made the appointment for the office to browse other listings; other times we were to meet at an address. But she never turned up, and the call-back numbers she left were never valid. We dubbed her The Nutcase and I quit taking her calls. She stopped calling for a while, then she started again a few years later. Finally I decided I’d give her one more chance and arranged to meet her at an address in Redlands. But once again she hadn’t turned up. After that, I wouldn’t take another call from her, and if I happened to answer a random call and heard that husky voice, I hung up.
Could it have been seven years ago when she’d started calling again? Somehow I knew it was.
So Mac and this woman had a child together and she’d wanted to tell me. To gloat? To threaten me somehow? To tell me my life was a lie? All the times I had been trying my damnedest to please Mac, he was out screwing this woman, making a baby with her.
They say that when you’re about to die, your life flashes in front of you. Well, I wasn’t about to die, but suddenly a review of Mac’s and my love life—if it could be called that, passed before my eyes. And it wasn’t pretty.
The first few times we had made love I’d wanted him so much that my entire body ached with desire. I hadn’t been frigid then. One look from his half-lidded bedroom eyes and I would be ready for him. Joyously I’d head for the bedroom, anticipating the feel of his body covering mine, loving his thoughtfulness in how he supported his weight on his elbows so he wouldn’t crush me.
Then I began to notice that as soon as sex was over, he’d rush to the bathroom and wash his hands. After that came the shower. But the hands had to be scrubbed as though I had contaminated him.
I’d loved him so much, was so grateful that he’d taken me in his protection and provided a home that I never wanted to offend him in any way. When he introduced me to oral sex, I’d never even imagined such exquisite pleasure—until he recommended a certain douche. After that I showered and douched every day just to make sure I wouldn’t offend him.
But I could never be certain. Some nights I felt too tired to keep up the routine so I avoided the bedroom, preferring to read in the living room and not climbing into bed until Mac was asleep.
Did Jenna smell nice and sweet? Mac must have thought so; he’d made a baby with her. I was more determined to find her, needed to see what my husband preferred to me.
I almost ran to the file cabinets where I kept old records, copies of the contracts I’d written, and old appointment books. Pulling them all out, some dating from fifteen years ago, I carried them to the kitchen table. Every instinct led me to believe that yes, the second series of calls had begun about seven years ago, about the time David said Jenna’s child was born.
Determined to go through every page, I fortified myself with some fruit and hot tea. Even if it took forever, I was going to find her.
***
At three in the morning, I found all the appointments I’d made with her and all the notations about her no-shows. The first flurry had begun just over ten years ago, and then I heard nothing from her for a few years until the calls started up again. I was correct about the timing as the calls began again around seven years ago. Seeing her name in my book made it even more real. I thought of the old expression about not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
Well, Miss Jenna, you wanted to talk to me. Now it’s time for us to meet.
***
When I woke five hours later, I knew what to do. Bolting out of bed, I checked the computer, searching for her name but found nothing. Next I got out a southern California map and a marker. Over coffee, I made a large dot on the city of San Bernardino, then circled a twenty-five mile radius around that dot, ready to bet anything that she lived somewhere inside that circle. Not only had it been where Mac and Jenna had worked, but Mac was buried in the San Bernardino cemetery. If she were like most widows she’d take her child to visit Mac’s grave. I’d make a list of the cities and visit each library for that area’s phone directory to see if she was listed.
After I made the list of libraries, I took it to the computer where I looked up the addresses and directions.
Jenna, I’m getting closer.
Chapter Sixteen
Just as I grabbed the keys by the garage door, the phone rang. Was it Terry? I hesitated, wanting just to hear his voice. No matter how I tried to forget him, he was never far from my thoughts. I wondered what the coming years with him would have been like and mentally shook my fist at the fates for such shitty timing.
Waiting to hear who was on the line, I decided to let the machine pick it up. I had things to do today and I didn’t want to be distracted.
“Mom?” Shanna’s voice. Maybe she didn’t hate me after all. I almost ran to the phone, but damn, if I talked to her right now, I’d get all emotional and wouldn’t make it to all the libraries. I didn’t know why I felt such an urgency to find Jenna, but I did. Perhaps it was simply anger, but anger was okay. I didn’t want to lose that, not until I found out some answers.
Torn, I waited until Shanna began her message. If it were an emergency, she’d say so now and I could pick up.
“Sorry I missed you, Mom,” she said. “I won’t call on your cell since you’re probably working and it’s not important anyway. I’m just calling, well...I have a doctor’s appointment, just routine, and, I wanted to hear your voice.”
She sounded different. Wistful even, so much so that I wanted to grab the phone and talk. But she’d said it wasn’t important, and I could call her this evening.
Hurrying out the door, I slid into the seat, started the engine and sat for a moment, unable to back out. This was wrong, I thought. Would I do anything, even ignore my own child, to find the woman I considered responsible for my wrecked life?
Damn, damn, damn. I shut off the engine, raised the garage door so I wouldn’t asphyxiate myself and called Shanna.
When I punched in her number, she answered so quickly that she might have been waiting for it to ring.
“Hi honey,” I said. “I was just leaving the house. How are you? Is anything wrong?”
“I’m fine.” Her tone had changed. In the few moments between her call and now, her voice had taken on that same old inflection. Where, oh where was my daughter, and why the hell hadn’t I picked up when I had the chance?
“As I said,” she went on, “I’m on my way for my checkup. Everything’s fine. For a moment I reverted to childhood, I guess, and wanted my mommy. But I’m okay now.”
Damn, damn. “Honey, I’m glad you’re okay, but I’m here for you. Any time you need me.”
“Mom, can you...come out here? Just for a visit?”
“Is anything wrong? Is your pregnancy going okay?”
“I’m fine. I just get a little scared at times.”
“Oh, Shanna honey, I want to come out there, but I just can’t. Not right now.” I didn’t want to tell her the mess her father had left me in, and that I was worried I wouldn’t even be able to pay the mortgage, much less pay for a plane trip. She didn’t need the added stress during her pregnancy.
She said nothing for a moment. Finally, in a small, tired voice, she said, “I knew that. I don’t know why I bothered.”
I couldn’t handle her attitude today. Not today.
“Shanna,” I said, “ I know I’ve made mistakes, but I love you more than anything. You mean the world to me, and I’m trying everything I know to do to make things better.”
“Well, don’t put yourself out too much, Mom. Just go on with your life and I’ll be fine.” And sh
e hung up.
I wanted to throw the phone at the wall. Why the hell couldn’t she give me one ounce of credit, or try to understand that I might be going through my own crises? Damn, damn and double damn. If Mac hadn’t used her to gang up on me all those years ago, I might have had a better relationship with my daughter. But no, he had to make sure she knew he was the smart one, the one who kept the family together. Like hell.
I stomped to the gas pedal and shot on I-10 West, not yielding to oncoming traffic. Let someone else make way for me for a change.
***
The first city on my list was the Riverside-Corona area, selected not just because Jenna had lived there previously, but because it was on the outside perimeters of the circle and I thought I’d gradually work my way closer to San Bernardino. Just because The Galleria Mall also happened to be in Riverside, with Nordstrom’s and The May Company as lead stores, made no difference at all. Of course not.
Normally I would have made this trip into a fun day taking some time to drool over Nordstrom’s designer fashions while shopping to the background of live piano music. It always made me feel like one of the privileged. Then, after lunch, I’d head a few miles south to March Air Field and tour the museum. Over sixty historic aircraft were displayed there and I never tired of seeing what our country was capable of building. And March Field was the site of Bob Hope’s first USO tour in 1941. Even passing the base on the freeway filled me with pride and awe.
Returning north a couple of miles, I’d pass Riverside National Cemetery, sometimes stopping to stroll a small part of the eight-hundred acres, reading some of the memorials dedicated to our honored veterans.
Perhaps I should do something like that. Perhaps the gratitude I always felt toward the servicemen who gave their lives for me would prevail over the frustration I felt toward my daughter. Perhaps walking among the dead would help me rejoice in being alive and I could forgive my husband and his mistress.
But not today. The connecting 215 freeway was crowded and I wasn’t in the mood. Instead, I headed for Loma Linda, home of the twenty-three acre medical center, just a few miles west.
Maggie once said that I’m weird in many ways and I’m sure that’s true. I live on the edge of the desert and am terrified of all the venomous insects and reptiles that live there, yet I think it fascinating to watch them on TV.
One of the animal channels features a venom specialist from the Loma Linda University Medical Center who follows a victim, usually of snakebite, through transportation to the hospital, often by helicopter, then through the course of their treatment.
The white round towers of the complex stands as a landmark in the area, offering not only eleven stories of medical care, but facilities for training doctors, nurses, dentists and pharmacists. Surely their libraries would be well-stocked with directories from the surrounding cities.
A frustrating hour later, I was back in the car. The hospital’s library system had replaced the cumbersome directories and now used the Internet, offering three terminals for public use. Unfortunately I found no more information there than I had at home.
For three days I visited the libraries on my list and found nothing. Disappointment cooled my anger, which was a good thing. I couldn’t just show up at Jenna’s home spitting fire. I’m sure she’d slam the door in my face. I wished I weren’t feeling so hopeless. I needed to find her if for no other reason than I desperately needed some answers to the questions that were haunting me about my marriage.
The third day, feeling tired and discouraged, I was on my way home when my cell phone rang. It was Nina from the office.
“Hi, Stranger. We’ve missed you.”
“Well, a lot of things have been going on,” I told her cautiously. I didn’t want to be called into the office today. Ahead, the eastbound traffic was slowing. I crept past a couple of trucks, then swung into the right lane to make a quick exit.
“I have some good news,” she said.
“God, I need some. What is it?”
“Doris Matlock’s contact has been approved, but they rejected the other one. The credit wasn’t up to par and they couldn’t get around that.”
Damn. That meant I needed to put Jenna on hold after all and get back to work. The Matlock commission would be a good one, but with all my bills, and even if I lived like a miser, it would only last a few months, so tomorrow I’d get back on track and start previewing houses for another open house.
Brake lights flashed on Redlands Boulevard, so I thanked Nina for letting me know, then cut over to Lugonia, a side road through Mentone, a hillside community on the back road to Big Bear. The cutoff to Yucaipa was just before the highway heads up the mountain.
Even in late spring the mountain peaks were shrouded in mist, looking so beautiful, so mysterious that it was hard to imagine a thriving recreation community up there with fishing and water sports on a seven-mile lake.
Mac and I had loved Big Bear and often Stan and Maggie would join us, escaping for a couple of days to the clear, mountain air. We used to take the kids and we’d explore the pirate ship or spend a leisurely afternoon fishing for trout and bass, enjoying the sunset reflected on the lake. Sometimes we’d hike through the meadows, or bounce on horseback....
Oh my God, why hadn’t I thought of it sooner? Mac had loved the mountains.
Jenna was in Big Bear.
Chapter Seventeen
As much as I wanted to stay on Highway 38 and head for Big Bear, I was exhausted. Behind me, the setting sun was blazing, streaking the sky with orange, and it would soon be dark. During daylight hours the back way to the mountain resort was a scenic drive, but I wasn’t sure I felt alert enough to handle all the sharp switchbacks in the dark. And once there, I’d have a difficult time finding her house. Better to wait until morning. Reluctantly, I took the cutoff to Yucaipa.
After a sleepless night, I grabbed a handful of grapes from the fridge and was on the road by five in the morning. Sipping coffee from a drive-thru, I decided to go the longer way and avoid some of the hairpin turns up the mountain. I beat the rush hour freeway traffic and took the Mountain Resort cutoff from Redlands.
An hour later, I was on Big Bear Drive, the crisp mountain air a refreshing change from the dry climate below. Knowing the library and civic center wouldn’t be open this early, I headed for a parking place near the lake and pulled onto a concrete area in front of some condos. I could’ve stopped at one of my favorite breakfast places, but my stomach felt too tight to eat anything more and I wasn’t in the mood to make polite conversation—at least not yet.
Later, I started my search. While I usually never tired of browsing the shops in The Village, today I had tunnel vision, only wanting to find the library. If Jenna wasn’t listed there, I’d go to the civic center and browse the property owner records in city hall. I was sure that woman and her child would be living in their own home, a home bought with my money.
The librarian tried to be of help, but their local phone book had no more information than mine. Next, I headed for city hall and the property records. After searching the files for Jenna, Jennifer, or any other name she could possibly use, I left in defeat, wondering what to do next. I refused to consider that she had left the state.
I considered knocking on doors, but I nixed that idea pretty fast. Not only are the businesses scattered down the highway so that it would take forever, but someone might actually call the police on me.
I could ask some questions at the local restaurants. Maybe someone would know Jenna. After all, if I were right, she’d lived here at least a year, maybe even longer. Bypassing several resort lodges, I preferred some of the smaller places with a local flavor.
Mac and I had always loved the potato pancakes at The Log Cabin restaurant, but they closed at two, and I felt Jenna would frequent restaurants where she could take her child for dinner. The Grizzly Manor closed early as well. Just as I thought of Kujo’s BLT, I realized that woman might take her child to the Log Cabin on weekends. Might be
a good place after all.
Just as I found a parking spot, I had a sudden idea where to look for Jenna. I checked my watch. If I hurried, I could make it.
Back at city hall, I checked for any real estate under Jenna Montgomery instead of Yearwood.
And found it.
Everything else in my vision faded as I zeroed in on that name. While I’d hoped it would be listed, I hadn’t counted on my reaction at actually seeing that name in print. Jenna Montgomery, Jenna MONTGOMERY. The words seemed to grow large enough to slap me in the face and I could feel my heart thumping in my ears.
How dare that woman! She actually had the audacity to use my husband’s name to buy her property. Son of a bitch! I wanted to kick the wall and scream. But while it might make me feel better, I’d look like an idiot.
So, back to my breathing exercises. In, out, in, out. I closed my eyes. When I could picture casting a fishing line from a boat on the lake, I knew I had begun to relax. I could do this. Then I saw Mac giving me instruction on how to reel in the damn fish, then turning to a faceless woman and laughing at my ineptitude. With a superhuman shove, I pushed Mac and Jenna into the lake and whacked them both with an oar.
Then I felt better. The rage wasn’t gone, but I’d pushed it down enough to concentrate on what I needed to do.
I pulled out a legal description of a two-bedroom chalet-style home, a home bought with my money.
After taking a copy of the property description, I showed it to the clerk asked for directions. Perhaps I wasn’t as good at masking my outrage as I thought, because the older woman looked at me, her eyes behind the glasses judging, speculating.