“The lost one,” the girl said again. “The one with nowhere to go.”
“How . . . how do you . . . ?”
The girl blew another slow bubble with her gum and gave Jenna an appraising look. The pink sphere expanded, its edges thinning. Jenna knew it was coming, yet the inevitable pop as it burst still made her flinch.
The teen pulled the gum back into her mouth, showing a slight gap between her two front teeth. “You’re not crazy, are you?” she asked with a suspicious candor.
“Um . . .” Jenna closed her eyes, shaking her head again. Such a bald question from this strange child.
“I mean, I don’t care if you are. Crazy, that is. Different strokes for different folks and all that.”
“That’s open-minded of you,” Jenna said, managing to string together a coherent response at last.
“But the thing is,” the girl continued as if Jenna hadn’t spoken. “My granddad has had enough crazy in his life. He doesn’t need any more from some weird, lost woman.”
“Your granddad?”
The teen’s eyebrows lifted slowly, a mocking salute. Stupid question. Those brows might be plucked and neat, as opposed to bushy and gray, but there was no possibility this girl wasn’t related to Lars Jorgensen.
“Lars is your grandfather,” Jenna said tiredly.
“Which is why it matters if you’re crazy.”
Jenna rubbed one hand along the back of her neck, then took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I guess crazy is a relative term, isn’t it?”
The girl didn’t smile, merely continued to point her assessing stare in Jenna’s direction. “This isn’t a joke,” she said.
Jenna looked up and met her eyes. “Who said I was joking?”
The girl’s eyes narrowed, and she shifted the weight of the backpack she had slung over one shoulder. “I don’t believe you appreciate the gravity of the situation.”
“Nice,” Cassie whispered, and with a sudden clarity Jenna recognized something in this girl. Not her face—she’d certainly never met the child before—but the essence of her was achingly familiar.
“I have a feeling you’re about to elucidate me.”
The girl did a double take, then tilted her head in recognition of a rare adult who wasn’t going to patronize her.
But she didn’t mince her words.
“My grandmother was crazy,” she said. “She ran off with their two youngest kids a long time ago.”
Jenna sat back and stared, her mouth dropping open against her will.
“They’re dead. Everyone knows it,” the girl continued, fully aware of the shock her words had caused. She walked up the steps, brushing past Jenna as she went. With one hand on the door leading into the church kitchen, she fired a final volley over her shoulder.
“He’s had to live with that . . . well, forever. So, no offense, but if you’re going to bring some extra crazy into his life, he’s had more than his share already.”
“I’m just passing through,” Jenna whispered without looking at her.
“That’s good. That’s very good to hear.”
Lars hadn’t just been preaching when he spoke of people living in their own hell.
He had firsthand experience.
Jenna heard the heavy door open at her back. Muted sounds escaped—chairs scraping, voices mingling. When the door shut, silence surrounded her once again, but somehow it was heavier than it had been only moments before.
13
Jenna sat for a while longer, fighting the immobility trying to take hold of her limbs and her mind. With effort, she forced herself to rise.
She’d taken control when she’d driven away from everything she knew, and she wouldn’t give in again. No matter the detours, she knew her destination.
For now, she had an apology to make.
Jenna turned as the door opened and Lars and his granddaughter emerged.
“You can’t be skipping school like this, Hannah,” the old man was saying with a scowl.
“You worry too much.” The girl planted a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks for the twenty.”
“Go on with you. Consider it a bribe. Your time bought and paid for, and I don’t want to see you outside that school for the rest of the week.”
The girl winked and gave him a grin that showed off her youth, despite the makeup. She skipped down the steps, passing Jenna without a word.
Jenna and Lars watched her go. The spell she’d unknowingly woven held them until she was around the corner and out of sight.
“That girl’s going to be the death of me,” Lars said. “Too smart for her own good, and full to the brim with trouble.”
He shook his head and turned his attention back to Jenna.
“Glad to see you’re still here.” His blunt exterior was firmly back in place. “Got plenty of dishes to do. If you think you can handle that without drowning yourself in the dishwater.”
Jenna clamped her jaw on the retort that sprang up and reminded herself she owed this man an apology.
Eventually, perhaps, she’d be able to force one past her lips. For the moment, the best she could manage was to glare at him in silence as she made her way back into the soup kitchen to help him clear up.
While Jenna stacked and collected trays, she thought about her options.
“I don’t suppose I could pay you to give me a ride to a town where I could rent a car?” she asked as she set the dirty trays next to the industrial stainless-steel sink.
There was a pause. Lars didn’t answer.
“I know you want me gone. It would solve both our problems.”
“You think so?” The old man gave a bark of laughter. “All our problems, poof. Just like that?”
“Look, if you don’t want to, just say so. It’s fine. I’ll ask around at the diner. Somebody will want the extra cash. Or I’ll call a taxi to come and pick me up.”
She twisted the faucet handle at the sink, letting the basin fill with warm, soapy water. She didn’t see the way his brow furrowed as he leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms.
“Nearest cab company comes from fifty miles away.”
She focused on the dishes in her hands as she scrubbed. “It’s not like I’m saving money for a family vacation.”
“And just where are you gonna go?”
“Why do you care?” She tossed the sponge into the soapy water and turned on him.
They stared at each other, neither willing to give in.
“No need to run off like a scared rabbit. I’m not the big bad wolf,” he finally said.
“Scared?” she scoffed. “You think I’m scared of you?”
“I think you’re scared of everything, Jenna Shaw,” he said. “I think you’re scared of living, or you wouldn’t be in such a big damn hurry to stop doing it.”
Suds dripped from the tips of her fingers, where her bandage was coming loose, and puddled on the tiles at her feet.
“More than that, you’re scared to take the time to heal from your hurt. Because then you just might realize what a fool you are.”
He was wrong. He had to be wrong.
“Give Owen a chance to get your van running. If you’re so sure you’re right, a few days shouldn’t make a difference.”
“I’m not going to change my mind,” Jenna whispered.
He stared at her like he knew exactly who she was trying to convince.
“A few days. If Owen doesn’t get you on the road again in a few days, I’ll take you. If you’re in that big of a hurry.”
She searched his eyes. She searched her parched heart.
“Of course,” he continued, turning away to wipe down the counter, “if you can’t handle spending another night in the spare room, I completely understand. I have that effect on women.”
“What effect?” Jenna asked in a tired voice. “Fear?”
“Yup,” he said. “Too much time in my company and women start throwing themselves at my feet, declaring their undying affection. It’s a
burden I’ve borne all my life.”
A dry choke of laughter fell from her lips. “I think my affections are safe.”
“Okay.” He shrugged. “But that’s what they all say, just so you know.”
Jenna went back to the waiting dishes. She hadn’t agreed to his request, had she?
“You didn’t disagree,” Cassie pointed out.
Jenna’s brow creased. Cassie’s words did nothing to quiet her troubled thoughts.
14
Jenna closed the dresser drawer after running her hand across the smooth surface of the box. Familiar melancholy clouds gathered. She stood and forced herself to walk out of Lars’s spare room.
She quickened her steps past the bed she longed to crawl into and hide from the world.
The cabin was sparse. Efficient, she supposed, for an old man living alone. The furnishings, though clean, were worn, their style dating them to many decades before.
Her fingers trailed down the kitchen counter as she listened to the hum of the aged refrigerator, the only sound in the place other than that of her own soft steps. Lars had disappeared somewhere upon their return. To the garage maybe, or the woods for a walk by the lake. Jenna doubted he’d gone far.
“Can I trust you alone?” he’d asked before stepping out the front door.
“I guess we’ll find out,” she replied.
She was drawn to the bookshelf on the far side of the living room, past the overstuffed recliner.
“You can’t judge a book by its cover,” Cassie said.
“But you can judge a person by their books,” Jenna continued, finishing her daughter’s thought.
One of the few things she and Cass agreed on.
Jenna remembered the night Cassie had come home from a first date with a boy she’d had a crush on for months. Jenna went on alert at the way Cassie tossed her purse on the floor and flopped onto the couch where she and Matt were watching a movie, pretending they hadn’t been waiting up.
“You’re home early,” Matt said. He sounded disinterested, but Jenna knew better.
Cass had only sighed and rolled her eyes.
Jenna and Matt shared a look over the bowl of popcorn. She gave him a small shake of her head.
By the time the credits rolled, Cassie had fallen asleep on the couch. At sixteen, she was long past the days when Jenna could have scooped her into her arms and carried her up the stairs to her bed, so she pulled a throw over her daughter’s body and lifted her head ever so slightly to place a pillow beneath it.
Cassie’s eyes had fluttered open, and Jenna knelt beside her, brushing the hair back from her daughter’s face. She was struck by how little time she had left with her.
“You okay?”
“Mm-hmm,” Cass murmured, giving her mother a sleepy smile and closing her eyes again.
That would have to do. Jenna lightly kissed her daughter’s cheek and rose to go to bed herself.
“Mom?”
Jenna, her hand on the doorjamb, turned back. “Hmm?”
“He doesn’t read. I mean, he knows how, but he said he doesn’t see the point.”
“Ah.” Understanding and an overwhelming surge of love washed over her. She struggled to hold back a smile. “That’s too bad.”
“Too bad for him,” Cassie mumbled, rolling over.
Yes. Jenna studied her child’s silhouette, a girl growing into a woman in front of her eyes. Too bad for him.
The boy had been at the memorial service, looking ill at ease in a suit and tie as he stood awkwardly next to his mother.
Jenna set the memories aside but made no attempt to stop herself from snooping around Lars’s bookshelves.
There were a fair number of thrillers, and a few classics sprinkled among the latest chart-toppers. Children’s books, well thumbed, sat shoulder to shoulder with nonfiction texts sharing a common theme. Mental illness.
The last gave her pause.
Set in various places along the bookshelves, with no apparent rhyme or reason to their pattern, the books gave way to recesses where framed photographs were propped.
Jenna scanned the images. She stalled on a photograph of three children together, then purposefully moved on, refusing the urge to look more closely at the faces of Lars Jorgensen’s dead children.
Her gaze fell on a final image. A wedding portrait.
She reached out and lifted the frame from its resting place. A much younger Lars looked into the eyes of a woman in a flowing white dress and lace veil.
Even with many years separating Jenna from this woman, she felt the happiness radiating from her. The corners of Jenna’s mouth lifted in a sad salute. To the hope. To the unknown future that waited, unfurled, before this ill-fated couple.
With a shake of her head, Jenna came back to the present. Whatever had derailed this life, it had nothing to do with her.
She set the photograph firmly back in place and tipped out the spine of a recent best seller, one she’d never read.
Jenna didn’t hold much hope that the novel would quiet her mind for long, but somehow, with the comforting softness of the recliner welcoming her as an old friend, the rhythm of her heart smoothed, at least for a little while. The minutes slipped through her fingers like water.
When the rattle of the doorknob pulled her from the story, she glanced up, bewildered by the changing light streaming from the windows.
As he closed the door behind him, Lars lifted a brow in her direction.
“Make yourself at home,” he said as he walked toward the kitchen.
Jenna placed the book upon the side table next to the armchair, rose, and walked across the room. She wiped her palms against the legs of her jeans and stood on the opposite side of the counter from him. He was pulling ingredients from the cupboards.
“Can I give you a hand?” she asked.
He glanced up at her. “Look in that drawer and get a big pot out to start some water boiling for the pasta.”
Jenna, fighting awkwardness, did as he asked.
The two of them fell into a stilted rhythm as they dodged each other in the small space, performing an ungainly dance in near silence.
When they were done, it was a simple meal. Salad, spaghetti, and pull-apart bread from the old gas oven. A simple meal shared by two strangers with little in common, save an intimate understanding of loss.
“I, um . . .” She sounded weak, even to her own ears. Lars met her eyes over the kitchen table. She cleared her throat and started again.
“I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have said what I did, at the church.”
Lars was silent for a beat, studying her.
“I don’t believe in debts,” he said finally. “You said what you said. Landed on no ears but my own, and I’ve heard worse. You don’t owe me a thing.”
Lars turned his attention back to his meal.
“Hannah told me about your family,” she blurted out. Heat started to climb up her neck. It was too late to reel the words back. “About your wife and your two youngest kids.”
Lars’s expression didn’t change, but there was a slight hitch, a tightening around his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she went on, even as she willed herself to stop speaking. “I know how pointless those words are. Believe me. And I know it’s none of my business. I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry. Sorry about the assumptions I made, about the things I said. I . . . I’m sorry that your wife and children died.”
Lars set down his fork and leaned back in his chair. The heat at Jenna’s neck had spread upward and rested on her cheeks. She looked down at her plate.
“Well, you got two out of three, Jenna Shaw.” His words were quiet, measured. “Saying sorry never did anybody a bit of good, so far as I can see. But I don’t suppose it ever did any harm either.”
Jenna raised her head. There was pain in the old man’s features. But she saw it was a pain that no longer crushed him, the way her own did. This man’s pain had grown old with him.
“And you’re right,” h
e went on. “It’s none of your business.”
The wooden legs of his chair scraped across the floor as he pushed it back and rose. He gathered their plates.
“As for my wife, you’re mistaken.” He carried their dishes to the sink. His back was to her, but she heard him perfectly well when he spoke again.
“Audrey’s very much alive.”
15
When Jenna woke the next morning, Lars was gone.
It was Owen she found seated at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper and sipping coffee. Her steps faltered when he raised his brows at the pajamas she was wearing. They belonged to Lars, old-man pajamas that lacked only a pair of worn slippers and a nightcap to complete the look Cassie had called “Ebenezer-chic” the previous night.
Jenna had fallen asleep with thoughts of her own ghosts—past, present, and future.
“It’s not what it looks like,” she told Owen.
The shrug of his shoulders only embarrassed her more.
“Dad asked me to drop by, see if you wanted a ride into town this morning.” He folded the paper and picked up his cup.
An overwhelming urge to leave this place and these too-familiar men washed over her anew.
What was she doing here?
“Come on,” Owen said. “You don’t want to hang around the house all day, do you? Get dressed and you can enjoy all the excitement of Raven, Minnesota, while I check on the part for your van. Might be I can get you back on the road today after all.”
Jenna sighed, but the thought raised her mood some, and she drank her coffee quickly while she retrieved her wrinkled clothing from the small laundry room Lars had suggested she make use of the night before.
“You’re starting to get ripe, missy.” He’d deposited the clean, folded pajamas and a bar of soap into her arms. “Take a shower. Wash your clothes.”
She had, all the while feeling like she’d tumbled down Alice’s rabbit hole.
“Only to find the Mad Hatter’s retired and living off a pension while hair grows in his ears,” Cassie added.
But the muted, satisfying sensation of being clean again had felt as good as anything had since the day she’d received the call. It was little enough, but it was something.
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