Since She Went Away(7)

She’d shown up fifteen minutes late. Fifteen minutes Celia waited for her, standing near the entrance to Caldwell Park. Celia, who was always on time, and Jenna, who was always late. Didn’t that say so much about them? Celia the perfectly punctual one, and Jenna the straggler bringing up the rear?

If only she’d shown up on time for once . . . if only she’d gotten there when she was supposed to . . . would Celia still be alive?

The what-ifs played on a loop in her head like the trailer for a lousy movie.

And after Celia was gone and the cops were involved, Ian revealed that Celia once thought someone was following her. What if by being late, Jenna had led Celia right into the hands of some kind of stalker? Someone who had been planning to do her harm all along?

“Get that, Stan,” Becky said, her voice low and tense. “Are you getting that?”

“I’m on it.”

“What are they doing?” Becky asked. “Can you see?”

Jenna could see, but she didn’t understand.

One of the cops laughed and shook his head. And the guy in the coroner’s jacket started doing the same thing. He turned around, shrugging, the black bag still in his hand, and walked away, back toward his van. More of the cops were laughing, some of them leaving the barn with the coroner.

But most of them stayed, still lingering in their places as though something else was going to happen, something they didn’t want to miss.

Jenna turned. “What is it, Becky? What did they find?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Give it a . . . Wait.”

The cops at the barn door parted, creating a lane as though someone was about to emerge. A uniformed sheriff’s deputy appeared, and he held something in his hands, lifting it up above his head like a trophy.

The flush across Jenna’s face grew hotter, a trickle of sweat running down behind her ear. She felt sick as she tried to make out what the cop was holding.

Something jagged and gray, the color of old marble, and it made the other cops laugh.

“What is it, Becky?”

But even as she asked she understood. Bones. The cop was holding up bones. A rib cage or something.

How could he? How could they stand around, laughing and making light of somebody’s body? Somebody’s bones.

Maybe Celia’s bones.

“Becky, stop them,” Jenna said.

“Stop them?”

Then the cop lifted the bones and placed them on the top of his head.

Antlers. They were antlers.

“Oh, Jesus,” Jenna said, trying to breathe.

Her mouth was dry, and an ache grew in the pit of her stomach.

“Oh, shit,” Becky said. “It’s a deer. A deer’s bones.”

“Crap.” Stan lowered the camera. “Some hunter probably dragged the thing in there to dress it. Or maybe the deer just went in and croaked.”

“Oh, gosh.” Becky turned to Jenna, the cheer returning to her voice in full force. “Well, isn’t that fantastic, Jenna? It’s not a person at all. It’s just a deer. It’s not Celia. Aren’t you relieved?”

Jenna still felt hot. She fanned her face with her hand while the reporter smiled at her. The smile was so white and blinding that it hurt Jenna’s eyes, made them ache. It matched the ache in her stomach and the one forming in her head, just behind her left temple.

She took a couple of steps toward her car and leaned down by the side door. A hot stream of vomit shot out of her mouth, splattering the hard ground.

She spit a few times, wishing she had water, the remnants of the vomit stinging her cheeks. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then just remained there, hands on knees, making sure there was nothing more to come out.

Her sides ached and cramped, and the headache remained, as if someone had jammed a knitting needle into her brain.

“Oh,” Becky said behind her. “Oh, dear.”

“Damn,” Stan said. “Gross.”

“Stan,” Becky said as if she were correcting a naughty child. “Are you working or hanging out in a frat house?”

Jenna straightened up. She rested her right hand against the side of the car, bracing herself. She felt light-headed, and for a moment the world tilted, but then quickly settled. She heard a shuffling beside her, feet moving over the broken ground. A hand rubbed against her back.

Becky.

“Are you okay, hon?” she asked.

“Fine.”

“It’s been a crazy day, hasn’t it?”

“Not the craziest of the last few months,” Jenna said. “Unfortunately.” She turned around, intending to thank Becky for her concern. But Becky was right there, right in her face, microphone in hand. She nodded to Stan, who had the camera up on his shoulder again, the bright light rigging on top burning, the red dot glowing.

“What are you doing, Becky?” Jenna asked, her eyes darting between the camera’s eye and the made-up face of the reporter.

“You said we’d talk after we knew. Well, now it’s after. And we know. So just real quick give me your reaction to what happened here today. Just your own words about how relieved you are or how scared you are. Something like that. Maybe remind everyone how much you miss Celia.”

Jenna stood frozen, the sour taste of the vomit churning in her mouth.

She wanted to storm off. She wanted to shove Becky to the ground.