Page 4 of In Her Mind

She found one measure of solace in a specific absence from her lucid dreams: only the dead ever visited her there, and her missing sister had never appeared among them. That silence affirmed Jenna’s belief that somewhere, somehow, Piper was still alive.

The bell above the café entrance jingled, but it wasn’t Mom who entered. The empty chair across from Jenna served as a stark reminder of their strained relationship. Perhaps fear had gotten the better of Mom, or maybe she just couldn’t muster the resolve to face what lay between them after all these months. After Dad had died five years ago, Mom had withdrawn from her friends, from Jenna, usually insisting that she just wanted to be left alone.

Jenna also contemplated the likelihood that her mother’s drinking had erased this meeting from her memory entirely. It was a harsh truth, one that chiseled away at the hope for reconciliation each moment the seat remained vacant. A part of Jenna wrestled with guilt for feeling relief at that prospect.

Then, as if summoned by Jenna’s conflicting emotions, Mom pushed in through the door. The sight was jarring; the once-vibrant woman now looked fragile, her features gaunt and her eyes dim. The forced smile did little to mask the toll life had exacted. It was more than the natural progression of age—it was a rapid decline fueled by grief and alcohol.

“Hi, Mom,” Jenna greeted her, attempting to infuse warmth into her voice despite the shock. It was clear that her mother’s condition was a silent scream for help, one that Jenna could no longer fail to observe. She knew that Mom had never really recovered from the loss of Piper. Then, after Dad died from cancer five years ago, she had withdrawn and often refused to even see Jenna.

Mom settled into the seat on the opposite side of the table, her hands smoothing the edges of a paper napkin with a twitch of anxiety. “Have you ordered?” she inquired, her voice tinged with that familiar rasp of disuse.

“Was waiting for you,” Jenna replied, her tone neutral, eyes briefly meeting those of her mother before calling over a waitress with a subtle gesture. They placed their orders—eggs and toast for Mom, oatmeal for Jenna, along with coffee for both. Then silence descended between them, thick and opaque.

“What’s been going on at work? Anything... interesting?” Mom’s attempt at conversation felt like an ill-fitting glove, awkward and not quite comfortable.

Jenna hesitated, not out of indecision but disbelief. The recent case was big news all over the local media and beyond.She knew it must also be the subject of shocked conversations all around Trentville. How had her mother not heard?

“Well, we just closed a big case.” She kept her voice even, watching her mother for any sign of recognition. “Turned out to be a serial killer.”

“Here? In Trentville?” Mom laughed—a short, sharp bark devoid of humor. “You must be joking.”

Mom’s skepticism came from a fog of disbelief that Jenna felt compelled to clear. “It’s no joke,” she said, her tone as firm as it was weary. “A local woman murdered two individuals over the years, and we just barely stopped her from killing someone else.”

The server arrived with their breakfast, providing a momentary reprieve from the conversation. Then, when Jenna finally said the name of the killer, she could see Mom struggling to reconcile the image of the woman she thought she knew with the monster Jenna had uncovered.

“Tell me what happened, Jenna,” Mom pressed, her curiosity piqued despite the horror of it all.

Jenna looked away, her gaze resting on the café’s cheerful decor, that clashed with the darkness of the tale her mother had asked to hear. She didn’t want to get into how the victims had been forced to die. Jenna opted for omission; those gruesome deaths were too much for this morning light.

“Let’s just say her methods were... cruel. And she didn’t go down without a fight.” The memory of cold steel pressing against her throat flashed through her mind, but Jenna kept that part of the story neatly folded inside her, away from her mother’s prying eyes.

An uncomfortable silence settled as Jenna stirred her coffee, its black surface mirroring her dark thoughts. To dispel the gloom, she shifted gears. “And how have you been, Mom? What keeps you busy these days?”

Mom’s shoulders lifted in a noncommittal shrug. “You know, this and that.” The vagueness of her reply did not escape Jenna, who recognized the telltale signs of isolation and neglect.

As if in response to that moment, her dead father’s voice echoed in her mind, a whisper from the dream realm where he could still reach her. “Jenna, you’ve got to get tough. No more pussyfooting around. You understand?” At the time, the words had seemed cryptic, but now, they resonated with painful clarity.

Jenna studied her mother’s face, noting the pallor beneath the deep lines. It struck her then—in last night’s dream, her father was trying to tell her he was worried about her mother. He’d entrusted her with responsibilities that reached beyond her badge, into the tangled roots of family and the personal debts that came with it.

“Mom,” Jenna started, choosing her words as one might select tools from a kit, precise and deliberate. “I can see you’re not yourself lately. It worries me.”

“I’m fine, Jenna,” Mom retorted, but her voice lacked conviction. The lines on her face told a story of solitary nights and empty bottles.

“Is it the drinking?” Jenna pressed on, unwilling to let the matter rest. She needed to address the problem, regardless of how uncomfortable it made them both feel. “The last time we talked, you promised you’d cut back.”

Mom shifted in her seat, a faint flush rising in her cheeks. “I did cut back,” she said, avoiding Jenna’s probing gaze. “It was a rough patch, that’s all. I’ve got it under control now.”

But Jenna wasn’t convinced. Her intuition told her there was more to the story. She leaned forward, her resolve hardening. “Mom, I don’t believe you,” she declared, her tone leaving no room for argument.

The response was instant and tinged with bitterness. “You always were too stubborn for your own good,” Mom snappedback. “And since when do you get to interrogate me? You barely have the time of day for me these days.”

Jenna felt a pang of hurt at the accusation, but she couldn’t let herself be derailed. “I’m here now, aren’t I? And I’m worried about you, Mom. You lost Piper, yes, and Dad died, and you’ll always be grieving, but drowning in alcohol isn’t the answer.”

Mom recoiled as if struck, and her voice cracked with vulnerability and anger. “You think I don’t know that?” Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she fought them back. “I’m a widow, Jenna, and a mother who lost a child. How am I supposed to cope?”

Jenna swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She understood grief—all too well—but she also knew the destructive path her mother was spiraling down. She had seen it too many times in her line of work.

“By letting me help you,” Jenna replied softly, reaching across the table in a tentative offer of support. “We can get through this together, but not if you shut me out.”

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