Deadly Revenge (Pearl River #3)

Chapter 49

49

The actual breakup had been a little worse than he’d described it. Max shook the bad memories off.

Jenna stood. “I don’t know about you, but I could use another cup of coffee.”

“So can I.” She was so different from Shannon. When this case was over, he hoped they had an opportunity to explore their feelings for one another.

She poured them both a cup. “You want to sit on my patio and look at the stars? Might help us to take a break.”

“Sounds good.”

They took their cups to Jenna’s round glass-topped table where they’d sat earlier. He set his cup on the table and waited for her to sit down, then took the chair next to her. In the distance an owl hooted and another answered. Closer to them were the high-pitched notes of tree frogs. “It’s nice out here.”

“I know.” She looked up. “The sky is like a velvet blanket covered in diamonds.”

“I didn’t know you had a poetic bone in your body.”

“There’s nothing poetic about that.” She tilted her head again. “‘If you’re ever distressed, cast your eyes to the summer sky, when the stars are strung across the velvety night. And when a shooting star streaks through the blackness, turning night into day ... make a wish and think of me. And make your life spectacular.’ That’s poetic.”

“Robin Williams,” Max said. “From the movie Jack .”

“Get out of here!” She gave him a sideways look. “That movie was made when we were kids.”

“I know. I’ve watched every one of his movies. Dead Poets Society is my favorite.”

“Mine too,” she said. “My English teacher in high school gave us bonus points if we watched it and wrote a report.” Jenna rocked back in her chair. “I like to sit out here before I go to bed at night, especially when I’m having a week like this one.”

“It’s been a bad one,” he said. “And it’s only Wednesday.” Getting put on security detail for a senate candidate who received a threatening letter. Three murders, being attacked ... Yeah, it’d been a bad week. “Maybe not the worst week of my life, but it ranks right up there.”

“Really?” She turned and looked at him. “You’ve had a week worse than this? What happened?”

It wasn’t a time he liked to dwell on. “Officer-related shooting, and I was the officer and the victim was a sixteen-year-old robbery suspect—it was before you joined us. He pulled a gun when I tried to arrest him ... it didn’t end well. How about you? I don’t figure this is your worst week ever, either.”

Max knew of two events in Jenna’s life that would fit in a worst-week category. He was curious which one she’d choose.

Jenna was quiet for a minute. “It was summer, and a Saturday. My sixth birthday.” Her voice had a faraway sound to it as she continued.

“I woke up early, and I knew no one would be up for a while. And I knew I couldn’t lay there that long—my mom had promised me a pony for my birthday, and she never broke her promises ...”

“You don’t have to tell me.” It wasn’t one of the stories Max expected her to tell. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the story’s unhappy ending.

Jenna continued like she hadn’t heard him. “While I waited for everyone to wake up, I thought up names, and I must’ve gone off to sleep because someone yelling ‘I can’t do it anymore!’ woke me up.”

“What was it they couldn’t do?” Max asked.

“I didn’t know at the time. My dad kept saying, ‘Ivy, please, keep your voice down. You don’t want Jenna to hear you.’”

“I thought they were talking about my pony and Mom wanted to surprise me. Then the back door slammed so hard the windows rattled. I crept into the kitchen ...”

Jenna swiped her cheek with the back of her hand, and Max wished he’d never asked the question. After a minute, she took a deep breath. “Daddy sat at the kitchen table with a bottle of whiskey in front of him. When I asked where my mom was, he didn’t answer me, just uncapped the whiskey and drank straight from the bottle. It was the last time I ever saw him drink ...

“I ran outside, thinking she’d gotten me the pony, but the yard was empty, just like the driveway where her Honda Civic always sat.

“Later that day Dad told me Mom had died in a car accident. Evidently when she left, she was driving too fast, missed a curve, and slammed into a huge oak tree.”

“I’m so sorry.”

She looked at Max. “You want to know what my reaction was?” Before he could answer, she continued, “It wasn’t pretty and I feel so bad about it now, but I remember thinking, It isn’t fair—Mom promised me a pony, and she broke her promise .”

She worked her jaw. “You would’ve thought I would cry because she died, but the only thing that made me cry was when I thought about the pony I never got.”

She looked at him. “Do you have any idea how that made me feel as I grew older? I was a terrible human being, and it was probably my fault she died.”

“You know it wasn’t your fault, and you weren’t terrible. You were only six, just a preschooler and wouldn’t have understood it was permanent. A six-year-old thinks death—if they’re confronted with it—is temporary or reversible, like in the cartoons you probably watched.”

“Cartoons ... really?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t watch Wile E. Coyote? How many times did he die and come back?”

“How did you know I watched—”

“Every kid does.”

A tiny smile curved her lips up, then she sobered. “How do you happen to know all this?”

He looked up, and the immensity of the sky and stars filled his heart. God had directed him to learn about the subject ... for such a time as this? He turned to Jenna. “When I started mentoring Cody, I researched how children process death because he’d lost his dad. One of the things I came across was a breakdown by ages, and the information about preschoolers was there.”

She stared down at the ground and after a few minutes raised her head. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better.” She shook her head. “But I don’t know ...”

Max squeezed Jenna’s hand. “Learning your mom was gone was a hard blow for a six-year-old. Sometimes focusing on everything but what really happened is the way we process grief.”

Jenna raised her gaze. “Look!”

He looked up as a shooting star streaked across the sky. “Make a wish.”

“Okay.”

When it disappeared, he said, “What’d you wish for?”

“You first.”

He wasn’t about to tell her his wish. She wasn’t ready to hear it, and he wasn’t sure he was ready, either. “World peace.”

She laughed. “Baloney. Seriously, what did you wish for?”

“More nights like tonight.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yep. Now it’s your turn.”

“Same thing you wished for.”

Did he dare hope that she was telling the truth? “Tell me the best day ever you’ve had.”

She shook her head. “First, you—what were you like as a kid? What did you like to do?”

“I was ...” He thought a minute. “Normal. Did kid things, played baseball and football, rode my bike, took judo when I was a teenager.”

“You can do martial arts?”

“Now? Not so much, but I was pretty good—made it to blue belt before football took over.” He tilted his head toward her. “Now, what was your best day?”

“That’s easy. It was the day I learned Ace was mine. It was like my birthday and Christmas and winning the lottery all rolled into one.”

If he’d been guessing, Max would’ve guessed it.

“How about you?” she asked. “What’s the memory of your best day?”

He leaned back in his chair, mimicking Jenna’s position. He’d had a relatively happy childhood. Did he even have a particular happiest day ever? For years he’d pinned his hopes on having a kid, didn’t matter whether it was a boy or girl. After his engagement fell apart, he’d given up on that dream. After all, time was passing, and the only woman he had any interest in at all wasn’t interested in a relationship. After what happened with her fiancé, he didn’t blame her.

“I guess I’m still waiting for that day.”