Keeping Secrets--Part Two

Kenmore Middle School 

Monday, January 21, 2002 

3:29 PM 

“You want my opinion?”  Lisa asked.

Jenna knelt beside her open locker, putting  the books she needed into her backpack. “I don’t know—do I?”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “Yeah—very funny, Stetson.”

“I thought so.” 

“Well, I’m going to give you my opinion anyway,”  Lisa said.  “And my opinion is that you’re making something out of nothing.” 

“That’s your opinion?”  Jenna closed her locker and rose to her feet, shouldering her backpack.  “Something out of nothing—meaning it’s all in my imagination or something, right?”

“That’s not what I said—I didn’t say it was all in your imagination.”

“Well then where is it? Lisa, I’m telling you I saw him. I saw my dad with my own eyes—I saw him talking to that guy in some—”

“In some funny language, I know—you said. That still doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

“It means something when he told me he didn’t really know any other languages.” Jenna had to practically run to keep up with her friend. “But he was talking to this guy—it looked like he knew just what he was saying.” 

Lisa sighed. “Jenna, I—”

“And he didn’t look happy. Did I mention that?  In fact, he looked angry. Then when I asked him where he’d been he said the restroom.” 

“So?”

“What do you mean, so? Isn’t it strange that he would lie about that?” 

“We’re kids,” Lisa replied as she pushed open the doors leading to the outside. “I’ve pretty much figured out that parents never tell us the entire truth of anything—they think it’s for our own good. But it doesn’t mean there’s any big conspiracy there.”

“Lisa, I’m telling you that this is more.” 

“How do you know that?”

How did she?  Jenna thought back to the list she’d made—it wasn’t much so far, she had to admit—just a bunch of random things that added up to nothing and went nowhere.  Maybe Lisa was right, but still—“I just—I have a feeling,” she explained finally. 

“A feeling—that’s really substantial.”  Lisa shaded her eyes as she scanned the  car line, looking for  her Mom’s station wagon.  “Look, Jenna—I’m not trying to be mean or anything. Really, I’m not. I just think—“

“What do you just think?”

“That your kidnapping trial wasn’t all that long ago—all that stuff you went through.”   Jenna could see the worry in her friend’s eyes.  “I think maybe you’re having a hard time coming down from it all—accepting that life is finally normal again, you know?

Having trouble coming back to normality—Jenna had never thought of it that way, but maybe Lisa had a point.  “You could be right,” she said slowly. “It is possible.”

“Of course it’s possible,” Lisa said. “Did I ever tell you what a genius I am?”

Jenna smiled as she elbowed her friend. “Watch out—or you might not be able to get that head of yours through the car door.” 

“I’m going to live there one day.”

Terri’s voice—it carried over the crowd. Jenna didn’t dare look back to see how close the girl was—the last thing she wanted to do was start something.  Apart from a few nasty looks here and there Terri had pretty much ignored Jenna since the start of the school year. That was what she preferred—and she was determined to keep it that way.

“Yeah, right,” a guy near Jenna muttered. “In your dreams, maybe.” 

“Girl, that house probably costs a couple of million at least,” another girl replied. “What makes you think you could ever afford it?”

“Well I will,” Terri said confidently. “One day. I just know it.”

“Who did you say had a swelled head?” Lisa murmured her breath. Jenna bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

Despite everything though, Jenna found her eyes drawn to the house that Terri was talking about—the house that everyone knew—the house next door. Amongst a sea of normal suburban houses it stuck out like a sore thumb. An ornate iron fence surrounded the large red-brick house—correction, the red-brick mansion.  Through the fence she could see the white pillars that graced the front of the mansion—the large circular driveway paved with red interlocking brick that always looked shiny somehow—like it was always wet? But who wet it?  Jenna had never actually seen a car  parked on that drive—never seen anyone doing anything around the property and yet the house always seemed perfect, the lawn always green and manicured, even in the middle of the winter.

“Who do you think lives there?” she asked Lisa.

“Someone very, very lucky.”

“I don’t know,” Jenna shook her head reflexively. “That would be an awful lot to clean. “

“That would be the only way you could ever hope to be in a house like that, Scarface,” Terri said as she came up from behind. Instinctively Jenna stepped back.  “With a face like yours, you would have to be the maid.” 

“Put a sock in it,” Lisa told Terri.

The blond girl rolled her eyes. “What-ever,” she said. “There’s my mom, bye.”

“You know, the sad thing is that Terri could probably sleep her way into a house like that,” Lisa said.

“Lisa!”

Lisa shrugged.  “I’m only saying. Look, there’s my mom too—will you be okay out here by yourself? “ 

“I’ll be fine,” Jenna said. “Seriously. Talk to you later, huh?”

Lisa waved. “Later.”

Jenna looked at the car line—no silver ‘Vette—not yet, anyway. Where was he? After the kidnapping he usually made a point of always turning up on time.

‘Relax,’ she told herself. ‘He’s probably held up in traffic. Everything’s fine.”

“Wow,” a boy said. “Look at that limo.”

Limo? Jenna stared in amazement as the large silver vehicle pulled into the circular drive—the iron gate opening to admit the limo, which came to a halt in front of the house.

“Wonder who it could be,” another girl said. “Probably someone famous.”

“Someone famous in Arlington?”  The boy said incredulously.

Jenna watched, holding her breath as the chauffer got out of the car, opening the passenger door and helping the woman out.  A tall, very slender woman emerged, her slim figure encased in a blue gown, a fur around her shoulders.  Her dark hair was swept up in a bun, tendrils cascading down her neck.

Familiar—something about her was very familiar. The woman turned slowly—casting a quick glance in their direction.

Mom. Jenna’s chest felt suddenly constricted, making it hard to breathe. It looked just like her—the same eyes, the same face—even from this distance she could tell—she just knew.

Except it couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.  Mom didn’t live in that house—she certainly didn’t dress like that—well maybe for parties but not every day. So it had to be somebody else. It just had to be.

‘Are you sure?’ a little voice whispered in her ear—doubt gnawing at her. ‘Mom’s gone—you don’t even know where she is.’  Dad had said that she was on a remote shoot, but did he really know?  He couldn’t even tell her where she was.

What was going on?

Jenna’s hands hurt—she realized her nails were cutting into her palms.  Numbly she watched as the woman went up the steps and disappeared into the house.

“Munchkin?”  Dad’s voice—his hand touched her shoulder and she gave a little jump. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” his face was filled with concern  as he looked down at her. “You all right?” 

“Yeah.”  Again Jenna glanced over at the house—the house the woman had disappeared into. Should she tell Dad about it? Probably not—she wasn’t 100 percent sure that it had been Mom and if it wasn’t it would really embarrassing.

And if it was—

Jenna shook her head.  At the moment the ‘if it was’ felt too big to wrap her head around. Mom was a filmmaker, wasn’t she?  Just like Dad. So what would she be doing in a house she didn’t even live in?

Maybe Lisa was right—maybe she was just having trouble accepting normality. She noticed Dad was still looking at her.

“I’m fine,” she told him quickly. “Really—we should probably get going.” 

For a moment or two Dad just stared at her, saying nothing—Jenna just stared back and finally Dad ran one hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “We should get going, munchkin.” 

SMK  SMK SMK SMK

4247 Maplewood Dr 

5:20 PM

Number six on her list.

Jenna lay on her bed on her stomach, pen in hand, looking down at the blank spot on the page.

What exactly should she write?

‘Mom living in strange house? ‘

Except she didn’t really know if Mom was actually living there, Jenna reasoned. Did she? What was it that Ms. Pace, her English teacher had told them about writing news articles? Stick to the facts—what you know for sure—and stay away from conjecture or opinion.

How about ‘Mom staying in strange house?’

No, not that either. Absently Jenna rubbed her forehead. She didn’t actually know if Mom was staying there either—all she’d seen was the limo pulling up—the chauffer getting out, opening the door for Mom.

Since when did Mom have a chauffer, anyway? This was Mom, remember—her Mom. The same Mom who clipped coupons on a Sunday and tried to find the best price on everything—who always honed in on the clearance rack in the clothing store before looking anywhere else. For heaven’s sake, Mom didn’t even take cabs that often.  And now it was a limo?

‘You don’t even know for sure that it was Mom,’ the little voice in Jenna’s head chided her.  ‘You only looked at her for a second—how do you really know?’

Except that she did know—when she had seen her—not just her face, exactly but the way she moved, the way she walked. It had been Mom, Jenna was almost certain. If you really knew a person you could recognize them just from the back of their head.

But almost certain still wasn’t completely certain. With a small sigh Jenna wrote exactly what she did know.

6.  Woman who looks like Mom, wearing a fancy dress and visiting a strange house—correction, strange mansion—in a limo??

Then she wrote a little more.

But Mom is supposed to be shooting a film in a remote location.  If it is her—carefully she underlined the ‘her’—then what is she doing here?  If it is her, does Dad know that she’s here?  Does dad even know where she is?

Has Dad been telling me the truth? 

So many questions. Jenna looked down at her list. Right now all she could see right now was a bunch of random things that didn’t come together—didn’t make any sense at all, not any of it.

Maybe that’s because there was no sense to it—and this was just her brain’s way of attempting to make something out of nothing. The problem was she just didn’t know. Her eyes went to a framed photo on her dresser—one of her favorites—a picture of Mom holding her when she was a baby. Mom’s face was in profile, she looked down at Jenna lovingly, smiling and to Jenna it looked like she was smiling back up at her—though everyone said that when babies smiled it was just gas.  But she’d never believed that.

‘Oh Mom—I  need you,”  Jenna thought as she stared at the photo intently. ‘I really need to talk to you right now.’ The ache was so deep it was almost physical. The colors and lines of the photograph blurred and swirled together. Jenna closed her eyes, taking deep breaths—fighting for control.

She couldn’t do this right now—she needed some distance, to stop dwelling on this. Hurriedly wiping at her eyes Jenna closed her notebook and stuffed it into her backpack, zipping the thing shut.

“Jenna!”  Grandma’s voice floated upstairs. 

Another deep breath. “Coming, Grandma,”  Jenna called out—trying to sound normal —more like her usual self.  She went downstairs and into the kitchen.

“There you are, darling.” In one arm grandma carried a mixing bowl.  “I was just going to put the fish into the oven and I wondered if you’d like to make a salad to go along with it.”

“Sure.”

“Just make sure to—”

“To wash my hands first, I know.” 

“Exactly,” Grandma replied.  “Your father should be home before too long and I’d like to have dinner on the table shortly. “

“I understand.”  Jenna went over to the sink and squirted some hand soap into her palms, rubbing both her hands together to lather the mixture as she ran them under the water.  “What kind of fish are we having?”

“Tilapia with a parmesan and bread crumb topping, “Grandma said. “It’s a new recipe so I’m really hoping that it works.” 

“Well it sounds great.” Carefully Jenna dried off her hands with a paper towel. Retrieving the salad bowl from one of the lower cabinets, she placed it on the counter. “I mean, I’m hungry already.”

Grandma already had the Tilapia in a glass pan—carefully she pressed the crumb mixture on top of the fish. “That’s certainly good to hear—you haven’t eaten much these past couple of nights.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”  Jenna admitted quietly. Trust Grandmothers to notice that sort of thing.

“Anything on your mind?” 

“No,” Jenna  opened the fridge and took out the lettuce and a package of cherry tomatoes.  “Well—not really.”

“Not really,” Grandma repeated. “You know that if you ever need to talk to me about anything I’m right here.”

“I know.” Grandma opened the oven and put the fish inside, closing the door.

Jenna grabbed the wooden chopping board and the green plastic knife that Mom always used for chopping lettuce.

Mom. She watched as Grandma opened the oven and put the fish inside, closing the door. Maybe Grandma knew something—maybe she had answers that no one else could—or would—provide.

“Jenna, aren’t you going to wash that lettuce first?” Grandma asked her.

“No—I usually wash it after I cut it.”

“Oh well,” Grandma shrugged.  “Chacun a son gout.”

Jenna stared.  “Shaking what?”

“No—chacun—not shaking,” Grandma said.  “It a French expression—it basically means ‘to each his own.’”

“Oh—we haven’t gone over that in class yet.” Using the lettuce knife Jenna chopped the head in half.  “I didn’t know you knew French.”

“Well, actually I don’t,” Grandma told her.  “I know a few phrases here and there—mostly picked up from Captain Curt.  He’s been to Paris a few times.”

“That’s nice.” Jenna tried to keep her tone as casual as possible. “Captain Curt is nice, isn’t he?”

“Yes, “Grandma nodded. “Yes, he is.”

“Did you know that Dad knew French?”

“No, but that doesn’t really surprise me—you know your father has traveled all over the world.”

“Yeah, I know,” she chopped one half of the lettuce lengthwise and then crosswise—the same way that Mom always did.  “Do you know if he knows any other language?”

“Well, no—” Grandma said. “But if he did, it wouldn’t really surprise me.” 

‘It might if he’d told you that he only knew bits and pieces,’ Jenna thought.  Out loud she said, “So—um—where did Dad go, exactly? He didn’t say.”

“Since he said it was work, I assume he went to IFF.” Not looking directly at her, Grandma filled a small saucepan with water and grabbed a box of noodles from the cabinet, putting the water to boil on the stove.

That wasn’t really an answer— Jenna realized.  It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t really the truth either. This wasn’t the first time she’d ever asked this question. How come she’d never noticed the evasiveness before?

‘Maybe because you didn’t want to.’

Or maybe it was all that time spent in court—getting wise to the games that lawyers and defense attorneys played with the truth.

“Why did he have to go back to work in the evening, though?”  she asked.

“Unfinished work, probably—it happens.”  

“It does happen, yeah.”  Jenna placed the chopped lettuce in a colander along with some of the cherry tomatoes and put it in the sink, turning on the water to rinse the vegetables.  “He didn’t—you don’t know if he heard from Mom or anything, do you?” 

“Jenna, look at me.” 

Jenna turned to face Grandma—now standing beside her. Grandma took Jenna’s hands in hers as she spoke. 

“Sweetheart, listen,” she said. “I know you’re probably worried about your Mother—that you haven’t been able to contact her, but I swear, she’s just fine. “

“I know that—I know it.”  Jenna said.

Just fine, Jenna thought—and possibly living in the mansion next door to Kenmore Middle School? Although she couldn’t say that—not until she could prove it. And how would she prove it anyway?  It wasn’t as if she could walk over there and knock on the door and ask to talk to her Mom, was it? They’d probably think she was crazy and kick her out—she was almost certain of it.

‘What if I am crazy?’

Grandma squeezed her hands. “Yes, she is absolutely fine,” she told her. “And I promise, she’ll do everything she can to be here for your birthday. Okay?”

Her birthday—with everything else Jenna had almost forgotten. She tried to smile. “Okay.” 

“Good.”  Grandma released her hands and turned off the water in the sink, retrieving the colander and placing the lettuce and tomatoes in a bowl. “What do you want for your birthday? You haven’t said.”

“Probably clothes, I guess,”  Jenna said. “Some jewelry, maybe.” An idea suddenly hit her.  “Oh, and there was this book—this great book that I heard about.”

“Books make excellent presents—I’ve always said that,” Grandma replied as she tossed the salad. “What was the title of the book?”

The title. “Oh—I can’t remember,” Jenna said. “I heard a book report about it in school but I can’t remember the title.”

“What’s it about?”  Grandma asked. “Maybe I can help.”

“It’s about this girl—around my age, I guess—and she finds out that her parents are living a—” what was the phrase “—a double life.” 

“A double life how?” 

“Well her Dad has strange secret meetings with people,” Jenna added. “And her Mom is supposed to be working and out of town but she’s living in a mansion and being driven in a limo.”

“I see,” Grandma said. “And both of these things are going on at the same time, right?” Jenna nodded. “That sounds a little farfetched to me, Jenna.”

“It does,” Jenna replied. “But my friend said the book was really interesting.”

Grandma poured the noodles and seasoning into the now-boiling water. “I thought you said it was a book report.”

“It was—um—it was a friend’s book report.”

“I’ll ask in bookstores and see if I can find it,” Grandma said. “I have actually heard stories of people leading double lives—did you know that there was this airline pilot who actually had two separate wives and two different families?”

“Really?” Jenna asked incredulously.

“Really, Grandma replied. “And no one even knew until after he was dead.”

“How did he hide it for so long?”

“Well, he was a pilot—they lived in different parts of the country—so it was probably pretty easy for him to cheat. Jenna, do you want croutons or bacon bits on this salad?”

“Both?” 

Grandma raised her eyebrows. “Two condiments? That would be all right.”

“Here, I’ll do it.” Jenna grabbed the crouton packet and the container of bacon bits out of the cabinet.  She put them in the salad, using the tongs to toss the salad—at the moment, however—her mind was on anything but.

To cheat, Jenna mused. Somehow she’d never thought of that, not even after she’d seen her mother—what she thought was her mother.

Could that be it?  Could her Mom be having some sort of affair?  And lying to Dad about it?  The thought made her feel sick to her stomach.

No—fiercely Jenna pushed that thought to the back of her mind. She knew her parents—Mom and Dad loved each other way too much to do a thing like that. And Mom living a double life as what? A girlfriend to a millionaire?   No, that didn’t even make sense. Something else was going on here—it just had to be.

And it was up to her to find out what.

SMK SMK SMK SMK

IFF

5:35 PM

“One microdot, Billy.”  Lee said. “That’s all he could give me.”

“Most of the info on the dot seems to be in code,” Billy told him. “We’ve got cryptology on it and we’ll see what we’re working with so far. Any idea when he’ll be able to come across with the rest?”

Lee shook his head. “Sometime later this week—he claimed he was being ‘watched’ and he couldn’t be more specific.” 

Billy looked at the agent closely. “You don’t believe him, do you?”

Lee sighed, running one hand through his hair. “Honestly? I’m not sure—but with all these evasions—these ‘surprise’ meetings—I’m really starting to wonder what his game is.”

“Any thoughts on how to proceed?”

“I think we keep going on as we have,”  Lee said. “At least for now. He still could come through with the rest of this information and I don’t want to risk spooking him.” 

“Good idea. Keep me posted—let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

“He hasn’t tried to approach you again while Jenna’s around, has he?”

“No—and he better not or I’ll make him regret it.”

“Speaking of Jenna, how is my goddaughter?  She must be looking forward to her birthday.”

Lee’s voice was low. “I guess.”

“You guess?” Billy repeated. “Is something wrong?”  

“Well, that’s the problem,” Lee admitted.  “I don’t really know. She’s just been acting weird lately.”

“Weird how?” 

“It’s hard to say—she’s just been kind of—moody these days.”

Billy grinned. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, Scarecrow, but all teenage girls are moody.”

There it was—that word again.  “She’s almost a teenager,” Lee said.  “Barely.” 

“Right, barely.”  Billy’s smile widened—if Lee didn’t know better he’d swear the man was positively enjoying this. “But trust me—moodiness comes with the territory. They can be on cloud nine one minute and crying hysterically the next.”

Just great—that was he had to look forward to? Not to mention—boys, makeup, the thought of Jenna driving—boys—again Lee raked his fingers back through his hair.

“Trust me.” Billy clapped his hand on Lee’s shoulder. “Jeannie and I went through this three times with our girls. You, Amanda and Jenna will get through this just fine, I promise you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Lee struggled to put his feelings into words.  “But I don’t know—this seemed like it was more than just a mood.”

“More how?”

“I’m not really sure.” As he spoke Lee’s mind went back to earlier—the drive home: 

As they pulled up to the stoplight shifted he cast a glance at his daughter, noting the way she clasped her hands tightly in her lap, her shoulders practically up around her ears. Briefly she caught his eye and turned to stare out the window, studiously avoiding his gaze—her teeth gnawing nervously on her bottom lip.

“So—anything you want to talk about?” 

Her reply was soft—barely audible. “Not really.”

He decided to press on.  “How was your day?”

“Good.” 

Long silence—not a normal silence—you could practically cut through the tension with a knife.

“You want to play some music, munchkin?”  He asked her. “Maybe the Barenaked whatevers?” He used the wrong name on purpose, trying to goad her into a response.

But instead of correcting him—instead of rolling her eyes or saying “Da-ad” the way she did when she thought he was being annoying-- Jenna had turned to look at him, dark eyes guarded—a brief, almost perfunctory smile gracing her lips before it was gone. 

“No thanks, Dad. I’m fine— really.”

“She told me she was fine.” Lee said.

“You didn’t believe her.” It was a statement, not a question.

Lee shook his head.  “No, I didn’t. I know my daughter, Billy. And when I picked her up at school she was staring off into space—like she didn’t even see me at first.”

“What do you mean—some sort of flashback?” 

“I don’t think so,” Lee thought back. “No—you know what? It was almost like she’d seen something—something that really bothered her. She looked like she’d seen a ghost.”

Billy fell silent for a moment. “You don’t know that for certain.”

Lee laughed shortly.  “I don’t know anything for certain.” 

“It could’ve been a class, a homework problem—even something someone said,” Billy told him. “I know that things like that might seem trivial to you and me, but to someone Jenna’s age they can be crucial.”

“But she could talk to me about it,” Lee said.  “She’s usually confided in me before.” Or Amanda—he added silently. If only she was here right now—she’d know how to deal with this.

“All I can tell you is that there are some things that girls find difficult to talk about—especially with their Dads.” Billy paused, looking at him. “I’m just wondering if there must be something else behind this.”

“Like what?” 

Billy sat down beside him. “After the trauma Jenna went through and the PTSD after I think maybe you got used to watching her closely—scrutinizing her behavior.”

“Billy, I had to,” Lee said. “We didn’t know what was going trigger an episode—what was going to happen next—”

“Of course you had to—you had to be vigilant for Jenna’s sake,” Billy said. “But you know it’s over—and I think that you might be having a little trouble adjusting to that.”

“You mean that I’m imagining things?”

“Not imagining things,” Billy replied. “If you say she was upset I’m sure she was. I just wonder if you’re not making this a bigger deal than it actually is—a mountain out of a molehill, so to speak.”

A mountain out of a molehill. Lee did tend to overreact—he knew that. Could he be making a teenage mood swing into something bigger than it was? It was possible. Then he thought back to Jenna—so distant, and quiet—

He could only hope that Billy was right.

TBC