Karen Rose - Have You Seen Her?

Steven sighed. "Let's make that two beers."

Saturday, October I, 10:30 P.M.

"Good boy." Jenna slipped the leash off Jim's collar and patted him on the head, grateful she could finally sit down. Her ankle throbbed, her head ached, and her stomach burned. Damn memorial dinners with sloppy joes from a can. She eased her body into the sofa and sighed as her tense muscles relaxed. A hot tub would be better, but that would mean getting up.

The phone jingled and Jenna glared at it. II it was Allison… But on the off chance it was only a telemarketer trying to put himself through college she made her voice pleasant.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Jen, how did it go?" It was Casey and she was yelling over the din of a noisy band.

"Okay, I guess. My bottle of Turns is all gone."

Casey chuckled. "Poor baby. So what feast did Allison serve tonight?"

Jenna winced, her stomach remembering all too well. "Sloppy joes. It's a family tradition."

Casey made a rude noise. "That family is weird, Jen. They're like the Munsters and Charlie's the only normal one, like… what was her name again? The blond one?"

Jenna smiled, accustomed to Casey's quicksilver topic shifts. "Marilyn."

"Oh, yeah. Well, now that Allison's dinner is done, why don't you come down to Jazzie's? The band is gieat."

"Can't. My foot is killing me."

"What happened to your foot?" Casey shouted above the din.

Knowing Casey would hear about her tires soon enough, Jenna told her the story, as briefly as possible, again keeping the threatening note to herself. Casey would have a conniption over that. "Steven brought me home and that was all there was to it," she finished.

"Steven?" Casey asked and Jenna felt her face heat. "Who's Steven?"

"Nobody," Jenna said, but it was too late. Casey would never let it go. "He's Brad's father."

"Hmm."

"What does that mean, hmm?" Jenna gritted, her jaw clenching.

"It means nothing."

"It was nothing," Jenna insisted, but the denial sounded pathetic even to her own ears.

"Just like your Steven is nobody," Casey added, her tone one of patronizing amusement.

Your Steven . Too bad the name conjured the face. Too bad it was such a very nice face. "Go back to your band, Casey," Jenna growled.

Casey laughed out loud. "Whatever you say, Jen. I'll be by tonight after my date and you can tell me all about it."

"That's all there was," Jenna spat, frustrated. "Besides, later tonight I'm going to be up to my chin in a tub of hot water. Then I'm going to bed. I'll see you on Monday."

"Monday? Don't you need my truck for hospice day? Don't tell me you've forgotten?"

Jenna groaned. "I did." She and Jim volunteered one Sunday a month at the hospice where Adam had spent his last weeks. Jim was a certified therapy dog and wagged his tail to spread joy. Jenna worked a little harder, reading aloud, relieving weary family members who needed a few hours to themselves, hugging them when the fatigue and grief became too much to bear. It was her way of turning Adam's death into something positive. But every hospice day she had to borrow

Casey's truck since Jim was a tight fit inside Adam's XK 150. "Can't you bring the truck by tomorrow?"

"Oh, I could, but then I'd miss hearing the rest of the story. I'll be by tonight."

" There is no more story . "

"I'll bring a pint of Rocky Road."

Jenna sighed. Casey never gave up. "I won't open the door for under a gallon."

"I've got a key."

"Dammit."

Casey chuckled. "See you later, Jen."

Jenna hung up the phone, settled back into the cushions when the phone rang again. Casey . "What did you forget?" Jenna asked sourly, then sat up straighter at the silence. "Um, hello?"

"Hello," a female voice said uneasily. "May I speak to Dr. Jenna Marshall?"

"This is she." Oh, crap . She'd been rude to a complete stranger.

"Dr. Marshall, this is Brad Thatcher's aunt. Great-aunt actually. I hope it's not too late to call."

"Of course not, Mrs.-I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

"It's Helen Barnett. I tried to call earlier, but kept getting your machine. I have your briefcase."

"My briefcase?" Jenna asked blankly, then it came flooding back. Steven putting her briefcase in the backseat, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, how sweet and supportive he was when he helped her file the police report. The way his arm had felt against her when he helped her up the stairs to her apartment.

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Barnett said, jerking Jenna from her reverie. "This is your briefcase, isn't it?"

"Oh… oh, yes, ma'am, it's mine. I'm sorry, it's just been a long day. I'd completely forgotten about leaving my briefcase in Mr. Thatcher's car. Can 1 come pick it up tomorrow?"

"Why, certainly, dear. Steven would have brought it to you himself, but he's in the middle of a major investigation and it's got him preoccupied, I'm afraid. He's been gone all weekend."

"I know he's a busy man, Mrs. Barnett. If you'll give me directions, I'll swing by and pick it up tomorrow afternoon." She and Jim could go by after they finished at the hospice.

"It's Miss Barnett, actually. Would you mind coming by between five and six?"

She'd be done at the hospice by four-thirty. "That'll work. Thank you. I'll be by tomorrow."

Jenna hung up and stared at the phone for a long minute, acutely aware of the disappointment she felt that one, Steven wasn't bringing her briefcase by himself and two, he'd be gone on his major investigation when she went to his house to pick it up tomorrow. Both were ridiculous, she knew.

But still she was disappointed. Why ever for, she had no clue.

You do so know, Jenna , the little voice inside her whispered. She hated that voice. It was so snide. But usually right.

Casey's teasing has me thinking things that just aren't true.

Whatever you say, Jenna.

"Shut up," she snapped aloud and Jim and Jean-Luc looked up, instantly aware. "Not you," she added and looked at her watch. It would be a good two hours before Casey arrived with the Rocky Road, but she was pretty sure she and Seth had left some in the carton from last night. It would have to do until Casey arrived with the reinforcements.

Saturday, October I, 10:45 P.M.

"Why didn't you ask her to dinner?" Matt asked when Helen hung up the phone.

"It didn't seem right," Helen answered. "I trust my intuition on this."

"I think you just chickened out," Matt taunted. "Aunt Bea."

"I don't chicken out," Helen maintained with hauteur. Then she scowled. "And stop calling me Aunt Bea. Leave me alone. I have potatoes to peel for tomorrow."

Matt dropped a kiss on her cheek. "Mash 'em so thick you can stand a knife in 'em."

"I know how you like your mashed potatoes, young man." Helen took her peeler from the drawer and shook it at his grinning face. "I've been doing it for four years. Four long years."

"I'll have to ask Brad's teacher if she can make really thick mashed potatoes," Matt said thoughtfully. "I think it's a critical criteria."

Helen swatted him with a hand towel. "Don't even think about it. You make one false move tomorrow and I'll take this potato peeler to your behind."

"You're a scary woman, Aunt Bea."

"'And don't you forget it, boy."

Sunday, October 2, 9:00 A.M.

Jenna stumbled out of her bedroom, the smell of freshly brewed coffee drawing her to the kitchen like a magical lode-stone. Casey must be awake, she thought. She'd arrived late the night before and stayed over, just like the old days in the Duke dorm.

Cradling the hot cup between her palms, she walked back to her spare bedroom where Casey lay in bed watching TV, Jim curled up at her feet and Jean-Luc with his head on her pillow.