Page 15 of In Her Prayers

“Thanks, Jake,” Jenna said, sincerity lacing her voice as he stepped out into the waning light of dusk.She watched him walk away, his figure gradually held for a moment in the light of his porch before disappearing inside.

The engine hummed softly as Jenna lingered in the quiet aftermath, allowing herself a moment of stillness.She had only recently admitted to herself the depth of her attraction to her deputy.Were the words he’d just spoken a confirmation that he felt the same?Or were they an indication of a strong partnership rather than an impending romance?

Jenna’s hand stilled on the steering wheel, her gaze lingering on the space where Jake had vanished into his house.Not willing to dwell on her own questions, she shook off the feeling and pulled away from the curb, the tires whispering across the asphalt.Taking one last glance at the quiet homes nestled under the sheltering arms of old oaks, she drove away.

Even so, Jake’s words echoed through her mind long after she had driven off into the night – a gentle reminder that even amidst chaos and uncertainty, she wasn’t alone.

For a moment, she was caught in an eddy of reflection, the day’s events replaying with relentless clarity: the sight of lifeless bodies juxtaposed against the rich wood interior of St.Michael’s; the restless murmur of Trentville’s parishioners as fear and confusion wove through their ranks; the specter of an unsolved mystery darkening every corner of her mind.

She closed her eyes briefly, feeling another familiar tug at her consciousness, the intangible thread that bound her to a sister unseen for two decades.Jenna’s dreams, those vivid nocturnal visitations from the dead, had yet to yield any trace of Piper.She wondered if she was going to be able to sleep tonight with so many issues on her mind.

Then Jenna remembered that this day wasn’t finished for her.She had another responsibility to attend to, one that Jake couldn’t help with.There was one more stop she needed to make before she could even think of rest.

The cruiser’s headlights illuminated the path ahead.This errand was not simply another item to check off her list; it was a pilgrimage of sorts, a nod to a past that refused to stay buried.The thought tugged at her resolve like a persistent child demanding attention.

Jenna reached for the bottle of water in the cup holder and took a long sip, trying to dislodge the tightness in her throat.The task wasn’t part of her official duties, it was personal, an obligation forged by blood and memory.There could be no sleep yet, no dreams to guide her investigation.The night wasn’t over.

CHAPTER NINE

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.

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