Since She Went Away(77)

“Talk to Ursula?” he asked.

“Or . . . Get your coat.”

“Why?”

“I want to talk to these kids. If they’re in the park, it’s a sign I was meant to find them. Otherwise, I’ll call Ian.”

“Mom, don’t embarrass me.”

“You want both of us to go on TV with Reena? Then you’ll be embarrassed.”

She had him there. Check.

“What about Domino fifty-five?” he asked.

“If the guy’s dangerous, then it’s better if we’re gone. Right?”

He couldn’t argue with her logic. He put his coat on.





CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR


Jenna opted to drive instead of walk. It was cold, too cold for her to be wandering around in the evening. And what if the kids weren’t there? It seemed easier to jump in and out of the car.

Jared rode slumped down in the passenger seat, embarrassed. If there had been a hole in the floor of the car, something he could slip through and disappear into, he would have done so. But Jenna was tired of hearing pieces of the story from a lot of different people. She could wait for the information to filter to her through the police, or she could go straight to the source. Bobby Allen. She barely remembered him from when he and Jared had played sports together.

And Ursula. Shouldn’t she be reaching out to the girl more? They hadn’t spoken in weeks, and she was spending her time hanging out in the same park her mother was kidnapped from. Jenna imagined it made sense—someone might go to the last place their loved one was seen alive. Someone might feel a connection that way, a bond to a place in the absence of the actual person.

As she thought those things, she rolled past the corner where she was supposed to pick Celia up on that November night. They found the earring there, but no one heard a scream. No one saw anything. People drove or walked by places where unspeakable and awful events happened all the time. A spot where someone dropped dead of a heart attack. A place where one lover told another he or she was leaving. Those spots weren’t marked. Nobody knew. Life went on.

Her body tensed as they went past, but Jared didn’t say anything. He stared out the window, the back of his head toward her. She let the scene go by without comment.

“Where are they?” she asked.

“By the band shell. Usually.”

Jenna went around to the far side of the park and pulled into the small public lot over there. The place had always held happy memories. She had brought Jared there when he was little, and her father had brought her before that, pushing her on the swings and watching her chase butterflies. And she and Celia—the park had been their spot. Where they met, where they planned.

“It looks empty,” Jared said. “We should go.”

“Hold it.”

“If you want to talk to Ursula, just call her. Or Bobby.”

“I don’t want to wait.” Jenna paused. “If you’re going to sit here, I’ll leave the car on.”

He heaved a heavy sigh, then pushed his door open.

They walked toward the band shell, the lights along the path casting their shadows ahead of them. The place did look deserted, locked up and shut down for winter. In just a couple of months, the flowers would be starting to bloom, the world returning to life again. Would everyone have forgotten about Celia by then? Would they possibly know some kind of answers by that point?

Jenna was glad Jared had stepped out of the car with her and walked along the path by her side. It seemed crazy to be in the same park where her friend was kidnapped, but the kidnapper was likely hundreds of miles away. It was a big world, one so big she wondered how anyone—living or dead—ever got found when they disappeared. So many places to run to or hide in. So many places to be discarded or buried. Hidden away forever . . .

Jenna stopped. A pang of nostalgia jabbed her in the heart. As a teenager, she’d come here, sometimes with a group of friends that included Celia and sometimes not. On more than one occasion, she’d spent a hot summer night making out with a guy from school in a deep recess of the band shell, their bodies wedged against a stack of chairs or sprawled over a collection of discarded cushions. In the darkness, she could have gone back in time, back to a place she once knew. Only Jared’s presence and the heavy weight of Celia’s loss reminded her she was well and truly an adult.

You can’t go back again. You can’t undo what’s been done.

“We can leave now, right?” Jared asked.

Jenna looked around some more. “Is this the only place?”

“I guess so. I don’t get invited—”

“This is the place,” a voice said.

Jenna spun to her right, toward the sound of the voice. A figure emerged from the side of the band shell, one that looked so familiar to Jenna that her heart stopped for a moment. She really felt as if she’d gone back in time because Ursula looked more like Celia than ever. Same posture, same height. Younger than Celia was on the day she disappeared, but compared to Celia at age fifteen, almost identical.

“What are you two doing here?” Ursula asked.

She didn’t approach them, but stood with her arms folded across her chest. She looked cold or uncertain. Or both.

Jenna walked toward her. “We were looking for you.”

“Why?”