Page 98 of Deadly Revenge

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.”

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