Page 18 of In Her Wake
As recently as the spring of this year, this same yard had been neglected, overgrown, a wilderness of knee-high grass and choking weeds—a reflection of her mother’s inner state.The garden had been dead, save for the most stubborn and hardy perennials fighting through the tangle.
“It shouldn’t have to be a victory that your mother’s garden looks nice,” Jenna muttered to herself as she gathered her things.But it was.Sobriety was a daily choice, and Jenna had learned the hard way not to take her mother’s for granted.
She made her way up the concrete path, noting how the cracks had been recently filled with some kind of patching compound.The concrete steps had been swept clean of the oak leaves that inevitably gathered there.Small changes, significant effort.
Soon after she knocked, the door swung open.Margaret Graves stood in the threshold, her face lighting up at the sight of her daughter.“Jenna Marie,” she said, “what a lovely surprise.”The name slipped easily from her lips—only her mother and Frank used her middle name with such casual affection.
Jenna stepped forward into her mother’s embrace, inhaling the scent of lavender soap and herbal shampoo.No alcohol.No unwashed clothes.The knot in her stomach loosened just slightly.
“You look good, Mom,” she said, and meant it.Margaret’s hair was neatly styled, and she wore a sage green blouse that brought out the color in her eyes—just like the green eyes Jenna saw in the mirror each morning.
“Come in, come in,” Margaret urged, stepping aside.“I just made fresh iced tea.The real kind, brewed with the sun on the back porch, not that instant stuff.”
The interior of the house was as improved as the exterior.Gone were the stacks of old newspapers and unwashed dishes that had occupied every surface for years.The living room furniture had been recently rearranged to create a more open feeling, and a vase of freshly cut zinnias sat on the coffee table.
They settled in the kitchen at the round oak table that had survived decades of family meals, homework sessions, and heated arguments.Margaret poured two glasses of tea from a pitcher beaded with condensation, then sat across from her daughter.
“What brings you by?”she asked, passing a glass to Jenna.“Not that I’m not delighted to see you, but I know that look.You’ve got something on your mind.”
Jenna took a sip of tea, the sweetness and hint of mint refreshing after the long day.“I’m working a case,” she said.“A strange one.”
Mom sighed and shook her head.“Things have been strange in Trentville lately.I wonder what this town’s coming to.”
Jenna hesitated, unsure how much to share.
“A woman has gone missing,” she said.“Marjory Powell.”
Margaret’s hand, reaching for her tea glass, froze mid-motion.“Marjory?Harry’s wife?”
“You know them?”
“Not well, but better lately,” Margaret said, frowning with concern.“They’ve been attending First Baptist for years.I started going there a few months ago.”She took a sip of her tea, her eyes troubled.“What happened to Marjory?”
Jenna gave her a skimpy outline of the case—Marjory’s missed appointment, Harry finding the mannequin in their kitchen dressed just as Marjory would dress.She left out the more disturbing details—the intimate accuracy of the mannequin’s features, the clothes that matched what Marjory had been wearing that very day, her concerns about what might have happened to the real Marjory.
“Dear God,” Margaret whispered when Jenna finished.“That poor man.And poor Marjory, wherever she is.”She wrapped her hands around her glass, seeking its coolness.“I just saw her Sunday at the potluck dinner.She brought her famous seven-layer salad and told me she was hoping to just about pay off their mortgage with her latest commission.”
“You’re going to church regularly now?”Jenna couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice.
A small smile touched Margaret’s lips.“Every Sunday for the past four months.Zeke suggested it.Said it might help with the loneliness.”She reached across the table to touch Jenna’s hand.“I know, I know.After your father died, I swore I’d never set foot in a church again.But it’s been good for me—the community, the structure, the chance to think about something bigger than my own problems.”
“I’m glad,” Jenna said, and meant it.“It seems to be helping.”
"Church is just part of it," Margaret continued, her face animated in a way Jenna hadn't seen in years."I've joined the gardening club—we meet every other Thursday in the community center.Last month, we did a flower arrangement workshop.I was terrible at it, but Clara Wilson—you remember her, she taught third grade when you girls were little—she's got quite the knack for it."
Jenna leaned back in her chair, letting her mother’s words wash over her.There was something miraculous about watching Margaret Graves come back to life after so many years shrouded in grief and addiction.
“It’s good that you’re becoming active again,” Jenna observed, a warmth spreading through her chest at her mother’s enthusiasm.
“And then there’s the book club,” Margaret continued.“We just finished discussing that thriller everyone’s been talking about—the one with the unreliable narrator who might have killed her husband.A bit dark for my taste, but Barbara Hollingsworth was absolutely convinced she had figured out the twist before anyone else.”
“Sounds like you’ve really been busy,” Jenna observed.
“Oh, and I’ve started volunteering at the library on Monday afternoons.Just shelving books and helping with the children’s reading hour.Those little ones are such a delight.”Margaret’s smile widened.“There’s this one little boy, can’t be more than four, who insists on reading the same dinosaur book every single week.He’s memorized it, of course, but he pretends to read.It’s the sweetest thing.”
As her mother continued to detail her new social circle and activities, Jenna found herself marveling at the transformation.It wasn’t just that Margaret looked better physically—though she certainly did, with healthy color in her cheeks and clear eyes.It was the energy that animated her, the genuine interest she was taking in others, the forward momentum of her life.
“And how’s AA going?”Jenna asked during a natural pause.That question still felt fragile between them, even after months of sobriety.
