Chapter 4 - Jenna calls me
Jenna called from a number I did not recognize.
I almost ignored it.
“Uncle Grayson?”
Her voice sounded small.
“Jenna?”
“Don’t tell Mom I called.”
“I can’t promise that.”
Silence.
Then:
“Okay.”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“My dad’s.”
Good.
Celeste and Jenna’s father, Andrew Parker, had divorced five years earlier.
Jenna used his surname.
Andrew lived fifteen minutes away.
Shared custody.
I had already spoken to him after the party.
He was furious about the shove.
Not at me.
At Jenna.
Then Jenna said:
“I’m sorry I pushed Piper.”
“You should tell Piper that when she’s ready to hear it.”
“I will.”
“Why did you do it?”
Another pause.
“Mom kept saying Piper ruins everything.”
There.
“What does that mean?”
“She says Piper gets away with stuff because Aunt Audrey died.”
My chest tightened.
Audrey had been Celeste’s sister.
Grief can make relatives protective.
It can also make them cruel in ways they call honesty.
“Did Celeste tell you to push Piper?”
“No.”
Important.
“Did she tell you to make Piper leave the table?”
“She said not to let Piper act like queen of the whole party.”
“Why?”
“Because of the pictures.”
I sat straighter.
“What pictures?”
“Mom has been taking them.”
“You knew?”
“Some.”
“Why?”
“She says she needs proof Piper sneaks.”
“Proof for whom?”
“I don’t know.”
“Insurance?”
Jenna breathed in sharply.
Children are terrible liars when adults ask the right question gently.
“What happened last summer?”
“I dared Piper to go in the workshop.”
“Why?”
“Mom said Aunt Audrey’s stuff was in there. Piper always wants to see it.”
“Did your mother know you dared her?”
“Not before.”
“Then?”
“I ran when I heard Mom.”
“You left Piper inside.”
“Yes.”
Jenna started crying.
“I’m sorry.”
“What happened after?”
“I hid behind the pool house.”
“Did you see Celeste?”
“Yes.”
“Who was with her?”
“Mr. Miles.”
Miles Trent.
“What were they doing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you see anything being moved?”
“Boxes.”
“What kind?”
“Blue storage boxes. And silver things.”
“Where?”
“From Mom’s car.”
My hand tightened around phone.
“Celeste brought boxes in her car?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“I saw her trunk open.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“Mom told me it was restoration stuff.”
Maybe it was.
Do not jump.
Nathan’s voice was already in my head.
Facts.
Then Jenna said:
“After Piper broke the lamp, Mom made me promise I would say Piper went in alone.”
“Why?”
“She said if anyone asked, I was at the pool.”
“Did anyone ask?”
“No.”
“Why does your mom still care now?”
“I don’t know.”
Then something else.
“Mom told me last week that Piper’s been taking things again.”
“Taking what?”
“She didn’t say.”
“Did you believe her?”
Jenna whispered:
“I did at the party.”
There.
Her shove had not come from nowhere.
Celeste had been telling a twelve-year-old that her eight-year-old cousin was a liar and thief.
Jenna still owned the shove.
But an adult had supplied the story underneath it.
Then:
“Where are the pictures kept?”
“In Mom’s office sometimes.”
“Do not go looking.”
“Why?”
“Because this is an adult problem now.”
May you like
That sentence should have been spoken eleven months earlier.
I was not repeating the mistake.
