Jenna woke in a daze still wearing her clothes from the day before. She’d fallen into a fitful sleep, her dreams a scattering of childhood memories threaded with images of a farmhouse.
For a moment, she thought the last few days had been a dream. She rubbed her bleary eyes then watched as shades of pale blue and gray came into focus.
She was in the carriage house apartment Zoe had taken her to last night. This was all real.
Needing to busy herself, she got to work unloading a few things from her car and setting up her laptop on the cozy corner desk. She turned on her computer and realized she needed to ask Zoe’s brother for the WiFi password and wrote herself a quick note.
A spark of apprehension prickled in her chest. She didn’t even know the person whose carriage house she was currently residing in. Jenna pushed the thought aside and scribbled out a to-do list.
Get coffee.
Get coffee.
Get coffee.
She glanced around the carriage house. After she satisfied her caffeine fix, she would need to purchase groceries. She added a few items to her list, and then the hint of a smile pulled at her lips. She sketched out two wheels held together with a frame. She added handlebars and a seat. Her smile bloomed as she ran her finger across her crude drawing of a bicycle.
A close third behind running and yoga, mountain biking was a surefire way to clear her mind when the echoes of her past came haunting.
As a child, her bike had been her means of escape. As a woman, riding reminded her she was strong, independent, and in control. For Jenna, the harder the trail, the better. She loved navigating bumps and rocks, her mind fully engaged in the sole pursuit of propelling forward.
She never brought her mountain bike with her when it was time to move on to a new city. It was a tradition of sorts that started after she was sent to her first school implementing the Gwyer Reading Program in Louisville, Kentucky.
Just twenty-two years old, she was excited to be working in the field she loved and was making good money doing it. She’d never had a nice bike as a child, so her first grown-up purchase was a Specialized S-Works Stumpjumper mountain bike. It was silver and white and one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen.
As Jenna’s two years in Louisville were coming to a close, she couldn’t stop thinking about Jordan, a fifth-grade girl she had taught to read.
Jordan lived alone with her mother. A mother who never answered any of Jenna’s calls or responded to notes from the school. Jordan was soft-spoken and often wore the same dress day in and day out. Jenna couldn’t help feeling a kinship with the girl and wanted to leave her something to bring her happiness.
On their last day working together, Jenna had explained she would be moving to a new city to help children learn to read and asked if Jordan wouldn’t mind taking her bike. The girl listened wide-eyed as Jenna explained she didn’t have room in her car to take it with her.
And that’s how it started. City by city, she would purchase a new mountain bike knowing she was going to leave it in the care of one of her students. Even in her haste to leave Denver, she was able to gift her bike to a worthy recipient.
Now she was in Langley Park which was technically a new city. While she wasn’t planning on staying long, she reasoned that under the circumstances, she needed a new bike now more than ever.
Jenna left the carriage house and walked down the driveway. She glanced at the main house, trying to get a look inside. She wanted to get a feel for the occupants, but the blinds in every window had been lowered and pulled shut.
Her first stop was the coffee shop she’d remembered seeing last night. As she made her way into town, she watched the families bustling about and assumed that there must be a school nearby. In the light of day, she easily found The Drip Coffee Shop.
“Good morning! What can I get you?” came the cheerful greeting of the young woman standing behind the counter.
“Your strongest coffee and a blueberry muffin, please.”
The girl went to work assembling the order as Jenna surveyed the shop. It was small with a few tables inside and a few more out on the sidewalk. A group of older gentlemen were sitting together talking and laughing. Two mothers sat chatting with sleeping infants in strollers. Zoe was right. Langley Park did have a Mayberry kind of feel.
“Here you go. One blueberry muffin and a large brew.”
Jenna settled in at an outdoor table and watched Langley Park come to life as she ate her breakfast. There was a yoga studio next door to the coffee shop that piqued her interest. She popped the last bite of blueberry muffin into her mouth and grabbed her coffee. It wouldn’t hurt to check if the yoga shop had its class schedule posted on the door. But before she could even look, the door swung open and a slew of women came walking out.
Jenna stood out of the way to allow the yoga patrons to exit the studio when an attractive, older woman stopped walking and looked her over. Oddly enough, the woman seemed vaguely familiar. Trying not to look uncomfortable, Jenna smiled.
“You must be Jenna. I’m Kathy Stein, Zoe and Ben’s mom.”
“Oh, hello,” Jenna replied, caught off guard. Word got out fast in this town.
“I didn’t mean to surprise you, honey. Zoe texted me. I want to get this right,” she said, digging her phone out of her yoga bag. “Just a heads up. My friend Jenna Lewis from Gwyer is going to be staying in Ben’s carriage house. If you see a tall, blonde, Barbie-looking chick, that’s her. No need to call the police.”
Jenna laughed. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Kathy.”
They shook hands, and Kathy tossed her phone back into her bag. “Zoe is insisting I start texting. I still don’t see what’s so awful about actually speaking to people, but I’m trying to get with the times.”
It was uncanny how much Zoe resembled her mother. Even their mannerisms were similar. And they both seemed to share this innate ability to befriend anyone at a moment’s notice.
“What brings you to town?” she asked casually.
Jenna sipped her coffee, wondering if Zoe had already told her mother why she was here, and now Kathy was just being polite.
“My mother was admitted to Midwest Hospital last week,” Jenna said, trying to gauge Kathy’s response.
“I’m so sorry to hear that. It’s an excellent hospital. I’m sure she’s in good hands.”
Jenna stood there a moment, not quite sure what to say or do next. Maybe Zoe hadn’t mentioned anything about her mother’s situation.
Kathy started to ask how long she was planning on staying in Langley Park when Jenna interrupted her, unable to hold back her words. “My mother’s been admitted to the psychiatric center.”
Kathy’s expression became serious. “I know we just met, but would you mind if I gave you a little advice?”
“Not at all,” Jenna said, still stunned she’d shared the truth.
“I don’t know your mother’s situation, but I can tell you one thing for sure,” she began, her blue eyes meeting Jenna’s. “It’s not your job to save her. Remember that. You can support her, but she has to do the work.”
Jenna nodded and swallowed past the lump in her throat. Those were the very words she needed to hear.
She took another sip of coffee to compose herself and, not knowing how to thank a virtual stranger for giving her the advice she desperately needed, changed the subject. “Could you tell me if there’s a grocery store close by?”
“Yes, yes,” Kathy answered, sensing the shift. “It’s just a block down off Bellflower and Mulberry. Pete’s Organic Market.”
As they said their goodbyes, Jenna turned to head toward the market when Kathy touched her arm. “Take care, dear.”
Jenna felt a calm come over her that she hadn’t known in days and marveled at how Zoe and her mother, with just a kind word or gentle touch, could make you feel like everything was going to be all right.
Back in the carriage house, Jenna unpacked the items she purchased at the organic market. It seemed too permanent to use the cabinets, so she placed the fruit as well as a box of cereal on the counter. She didn’t need much. She wasn’t planning on staying in Langley Park any longer than necessary.
Just as she put a carton of milk in the refrigerator, her cell phone buzzed with an incoming call.
“Hello, I’m calling for Jenna Lewis.”
She recognized the social worker’s voice. “Hi, Eric, it’s Jenna.”
“I’m glad I was able to reach you. Is this a good time?”
“Of course.” She wondered if this was how Eric began all his calls to patients’ families. She tried to keep her voice impassive. When it came to anything relating to her mother, Jenna needed to keep her guard up.
“Jenna, I was hoping that you could come in today. Would around eleven work?”
She looked at her watch. It was 9:30.
“Sure,” she answered, trying to keep her voice steady.
The call ended, and she released a shaky breath. Her respite in Langley Park had just ended.
She walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Grabbing her shampoo, she caught her reflection in the mirror above the small pedestal sink. She stared at herself and saw her mother’s golden hair and her mother’s brown eyes.
In appearance, she was her mother’s daughter. It didn’t matter how many lies she told or how many years they were apart. They would always be connected. The physical proof was reflected right in front of her. She gazed intently at the mirror as it fogged up from the heat generated by the shower. Her face blurred and disappeared into the haze.
Jenna entered the Midwest Psychiatric Center. She had to admit, the facility seemed quite inviting. It was open and airy with the sounds of a gentle water feature tinkling peacefully. It had a Zen-like, expensive feel to it. She wasn’t sure how her mother would feel about the Zen part, but the expensive part sounded about right.
Eric greeted her with a kind smile, then walked her back to his office and gestured toward a pair of chairs. Jenna sat, keeping her expression pleasant but neutral.
“Thank you for coming in today, Jenna. I know it means a lot to your mother to have you here.”
Most people would find comfort in that statement, but Jenna knew better. She nodded, a tight smile stretched across her lips. Eric leaned forward and picked up a folder, but before he could say anything, Jenna asked, “How’s my mother doing? Are you all under her thumb?”
It was a combative way to start the meeting, but Judith had a way of playing the victim and twisting the situation. As the icy words left her lips, Jenna immediately regretted them, remembering her mother had been staying at a women’s shelter.
Was her mother trying to escape Travis? Was she still even with him? Fourteen years apart was a long time. Things may have changed.
The tension in her shoulders softened just a fraction as her mind wrapped around the possibility her mother could have been abused. If she was still with Travis, Judith may have gone to the Rose Brooks shelter to escape the kind of pain Jenna knew all too well.
Eric smiled, clearly used to antagonistic family members, and placed the folder back on the table. “Let’s talk about that. Your mother shared with me that she wants to be completely open with you. I’ll do my best to answer any questions you have.”
Jenna bit down on her lip and tried to decide where to begin. “I haven’t seen or spoken with my mother since I was eighteen years old. I’m assuming she was given my contact information from the trust attorney.”
“Actually, we’ve never spoken about how she got your contact information or anything regarding a trust.”
This surprised her. Growing up, Jenna had listened to her mother’s countless rants about her self-righteous family and her measly trust fund. Judith would go on for hours detailing how her family had wronged her and then discarded her, leaving her only a fraction of what she was owed.
Her mother’s primary complaint had been that, until her thirty-second birthday, she was only granted a set amount of money each month—an allowance of sorts.
Thinking back on Judith’s extravagant spending, Jenna surmised the allowance itself must have been pretty substantial. Then she realized her mother was now well over thirty-two.
“My mother’s family is from Alabama,” Jenna began, trying to disconnect herself from the words. “I’ve never met them. Since she was twenty-one, my mother’s been receiving payments from a trust. There’s also a trust set up in my name as well. I only learned about it when I turned twenty-one. I knew that the same law firm handled both of our trusts because I recognized the letterhead from documents I had seen during my childhood.” She paused. “I didn’t know how to contact my mother after I left home. She moved around quite a bit. So, several years ago, I started leaving my contact information with the trust lawyers and asked them to pass it on to her.”
Eric nodded and jotted a few things on a notepad. “If I hear you right, you’re wondering why Judith reached out to you after all this time?”
Jenna folded her arms. She knew he’d read it as a protective gesture, but she didn’t care. “Has my mother shared anything about our past with you?”
Eric leaned forward, setting the pad aside. “From what your mother has told me, I think she feels a lot of regret about the past.”
Jenna sat quietly, not knowing how to respond to this information.
After a few long beats of silence, Eric sat back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. “Jenna, I think you’re here because you still care for your mother and are concerned for her well-being.”
Her arms still crossed, Jenna dropped her gaze to the floor. “I don’t know why I’m here.” She felt the weight of the situation closing in on her and forced herself to meet Eric’s gaze.
“How about we talk about your mother’s treatment plan and go from there.” His tone was soft as if he were trying to coax a frightened animal out of a cage.
She nodded, glad to have something more concrete to focus on.
For the next twenty minutes, Eric explained Judith had told him she was battling alcohol addiction. After undergoing a psychiatric evaluation, the doctors had also diagnosed her with bipolar disorder. The alcohol abuse wasn’t surprising to Jenna, but the bipolar disorder came as quite a shock until Eric shared that individuals suffering from the disorder were often manipulative, unpredictable, and childlike.
He went on to say those with the illness could exhibit severe impulsivity and long-term patterns of unstable relationships often with a frantic need to avoid abandonment.
“And the suicide attempt, could that be part of it?”
He gave Jenna a consoling smile. “Certainly, substance abuse, risk of suicide, and depression are all commonly associated with bipolar disorder.”
“Can she get better?" Jenna asked, knowing the shake in her voice betrayed her stony expression.
“In most cases, yes. Behavioral therapy combined with medication has helped many people with this illness live normal, productive lives.”
And then Jenna felt it. The tiny glimmer of hope she’d always harbored in her heart twitched. Though she had tried for years, she could never suppress that small part of her still yearning for her mother’s love.
“What now?” she asked. Her limbs were begging to run, begging to leave this place, if only for a moment.
Eric motioned to the door. “Now, we’ll go see your mother.”