October's Light

Jenna Wakefield was eight, when her mother disappeared from her life. And though the memory of it had faded over time, the emotions connected to mothers passing remained locked deep and impenetrable in a place of darkness, where the lava of it consumed her better nature. It was a place she had less occasion to visit now that she was older. Still, Jenna knew the path, and the door there was never locked. 

     It had been her father, of course, who had broken the news. Jenna took it hard, sitting in her mother’s favorite chair by the television, refusing to do anything, go anywhere, until mama returned. She did not. Her father, for his part, sat with her, and they talked, and Jenna cried, and slowly, eventually, life returned to normal. Normal though, is not a young girl being raised by her dad. 

     The years between then and now, were filled with school exams, dance classes, friends, and a father who—in one way or another, made it all work. Even so, Jenna survived high school, graduated from Buffalo State with a degree in accounting, bought her first home, an affordable cape in the older section of Fredonia, New York, and was now deep in her third year with a small accounting firm located in town. Everything in her life was moving forward. Her youth, now in the rear view mirror, seemed smaller, more distant.

In her new life, Jenna lived alone; another of her dads cautionary lessons aimed at not depending too heavily on friends or partners. “Always be ready for the letdown”, he’d say, or his other favorite, “One day you will need to make a stand in the world, and I need to know you’ll be strong, and confident, when I am no longer there.” To his credit, Jenna admitted, it made her more serious and focused than her peers, and helped her to realize that in reality, she had always been on her own.

     Now, at twenty five, Jenna Wakefield stood in her kitchen, knife in hand, chopping vegetables for dinner, while a glint of October sun danced along the countertop. Jenna raised her head following the beam to its source. An old weeping willow to the left of the bay window with its long array of finger-like branches, swaying in the breeze, contorting the rays of the sun. The football game playing in the background caught her ear when a touchdown, and ensuing revelry, reverberated against the sparsely decorated walls of her house. Jenna noted the chicken soaking in an herb and salt brine to her left, and returned to chopping vegetables on the cutting board.  

     When the doorbell rang, Jenna pressed mute on the tv remote, and crossed the living room to answer the door. A young girl, seventeen at most, stood outside the screen door. Thin, with post-pubescent curves and chestnut eyes; she had flowing auburn hair, and what Jenna considered to be pouty lips—which she imagined drove the boys crazy. A contemporary sports car, presumably her fathers, sat parked at the curb. Designer jeans, and a fall sweater topped her off.  

     Amy Shepard part of the “in'' crowd at school, considered her keen interest in friends and family, a skill to be cultivated and used for profit. Being on the cusp of all social happenings, Amy used the secrets she gleaned from others to cement her status as a social influencer. It was one such secret that brought Jenna into Amy’s sphere.. The yearbook deadline for all senior page submissions snuck up on Amy. So, with her parents out for the night, she decided to dig through the box of old photos by herself. 

 Amy grabbed the pantry stool, and set it up in her mothers bedroom closet. Stepping up, she easily grasped and slid the photo box from the shelf, lifting it as she went to avoid any catching on the surrounding boxes. Directly behind it, she noticed an ornate, hand carved, wooden box. It was beautiful and worthy, she imagined, of a secret treasure. There was no hesitation of thought as set aside the photo box, and carefully, with both hands, slid the ornate wooden box forward towards the front of the shelf, recording in her mind its exact placement. 

Stepping down, Amy sat on the stool admiring its design. Rectangular with a rounded top, hinged from the rear, with hand carved designs on the top, front and sides. Some type of ancient symbol, she thought to herself. She took a moment to trace a finger along the carvings. Five stars lined the front, while each side was adorned with two pyramids, one partially inside the other. It was a familiar design, which she imagined she’d probably seen in some action adventure movie on Netflix. In the middle of the box, along the center just under the lid, she found the small divot, slid her thumb gently under it and peered into the box. “Letters!”, she exclaimed. “Nothing but letters!" She stood to replace the box when a new thought struck her. 

     “Love letters!” She squealed with excitement. ”They’re love letters!” Sitting again; the box open in her lap, Amy ran a finger along the edge of the envelopes. They stood above the lower sides of the box, where she noted their address, return address, and chronological order by post date—the last one being June of this year. Nothing after that. 

     Speaking aloud to herself said, “I’ll just read this one”, and slipped the first letter from the box. She read it, skimmed through several more, and that was enough for her. Each letter contained a general greeting, one or two paragraphs, updates on one Jenna Wakefield, and genial regards. Amy slipped the letters neatly back to their original placements, and inspected her clean up. Speaking aloud to herself, she carefully replaced the box. “Definitely not love letters, and who is this boring Jenna? And, why is this guy writing letters to my mom?” The questions kept coming as she grabbed a coke from the fridge and went out to the back deck to think. 

     Amy rang the doorbell. Her arrival at Jenna’s house set her on edge and when Jenna answered the door, her nerves gave way to a slight stutter. “Hello… I’m Amy Janelle, you are, Jenna Wakefield?” 

     It seemed to come out as both a statement and a question, which Jenna put down to teenage awkwardness and lack of experience talking to people outside her age group.

     Amy paused, took a deep breath, and continued. “I know this is gonna sound strange, but I need to talk to you. Do you have a few minutes to spare?”

     The late afternoon light against the screen door between them, partially veiled Jenna from sight. Behind it Jenna remained silent, arms at her side.

     Amy’s eyes searched the porch, “Perhaps we could sit out here?”

     Jenna waited another moment, then swung open the screen door, and stepping through it, gestured to one of the two porch chairs with a small table in between. 

     It was then that Amy took a moment to assess her mark. From behind the screen door she had observed Jenna’s cool demeanor and self control. Now, on the porch, she noted an inner self-confidence and natural beauty, which made Jenna easy to talk to—A point of envy for most girls. She seemed to be in her Mid twenties, had dark blonde hair, was a cool five foot seven, which she felt added a lot to her mature looks. Most striking were her serious eyes, which made her seem dressed up, though she wore only jeans and a Buffalo Bills t-shirt. 

     “Do you know who I am?” Amy asked, as she crossed to sit. 

     “No, should I?” replied Jenna.

     “No, I don’t know you either, or at least, I didn’t, till I read these.” Amy held out the letter box. 

     “And, what exactly are these?” 

     “Letters from your dad to my mom.” 

     Jenna raised an eye. “Why would that be a big deal?” 

     “It's all there in the letters.” Amy leaned forward holding the box out for Jenna to take, “Here read them.”

     “I don’t think I'm interested.”

     “How could you not be interested?” “They’re from your dad.” 

     “Exactly, so they’re none of my business or yours. Listen, Amy, what’s your game plan here?” Jenna gave another raised eye. “Do you think they are having an affair or something? I mean, if they are, well, then that's between them and not you and me.” 

     Amy dropped back in her chair. “No, not an affair. They’re not love letters. They’re letters about you.” Amy watched as the revelation registered in Jenna's eyes, Again she leaned forward in her chair. “Each letter marks an occasion in your life. Dance recitals, school plays, graduation...”

     Jenna’s gaze drifted to the box as Amy placed it on her lap, lid open, with the first letter partially lifted. Jenna noted her fathers name on the return address.

     “Read the first one. That’s where I started.”

     Jenna set the box on the table next to her. “I need to get back to preparing dinner.” Perhaps some…

“No, please,” Amy interjected. “Here, I’ll read one,” and swiftly pulled the first letter from the box, slid it from its envelope, and gave the folds a short quick snap, she read, "Dear Amanda,”

     Jenna's head and hand leapt into action, “Let me see that!” she demanded, and snapped the letter from Amy's hands, cutting her off.

     “Careful with that. I’ve got to put these back so my Mom doesn’t find out I took them.”

     Jenna studied the name. “Who’s Amanda?” 

     “My Mom.” 

      Jenna read the letter to herself,

“Dear Amanda,

I hope this letter finds you well. You’ll be happy to know that Jenna had her first dance recital last week and she was a real peach. I never saw her more excited about anything. I think she’s finally on the road to recovery…”

Jenna continued reading, then, thrusting the letter on the table,

pulled out two more. When she had finished those, she threw her body back into her chair in what appeared to Amy to be a fit of exhaustion. Jenna sat in silence staring at the porch ceiling.

     “Well?” “What do you think?”

     “Damn it!”, pain emanated from her voice as she spoke, “and damn you too!” Jenna felt the light fading as she slipped into the dark place, “lava!”, she exclaimed!.

     “Don’t attack me!” demanded Amy. “I just want to know what these letters mean!” . 

     The darkness, as it invaded Jenna’s voice, took on a murderous edge. “My mother is dead!, and these letters…are lies!” She sat up, leaned into Amy and said, “Who put you up to this! Why are you here?”, then just as suddenly, shrugged it all off. “Nevermind, don’t answer that.” Jenna gave the box a shove. “Just take your stupid box and get out of here!” 

     Amy stood, snapped up the box, and crossed the porch to the steps, where she looked back at Jenna, sitting, head down, hands cupping her face. For Amy, coming this far took careful planning, an alibis, and a good deal of time. Something in those letters had struck a nerve with Jenna, and in that moment, Amy decided she was not leaving until she got the answers she came for. The fresh rush of adrenaline helped renew her determination. 

     “You know something!” Her voice rose in her throat as she crossed to the porch,

“You found something in those letters that I didn't see! I want to know what that is,

and I’m not leaving here until you tell me!”

     Jenna shot up into Amy’s face, her rage exploding from within. “AMANDA—WAS, MY MOTHER!”, she shouted, “AND SHE’S DEAD!” Jenna quickly paced the porch, attempting to flush out her feelings of anger.

     The impact of Jenna's outburst had catapulted Amy backward into the chair behind her. She immediately pulled her knees to her chest and covered her face with her hands. 

     For her part, Jenna could see the effect her outburst had on the teen, but did not let up. “MY, mothers name was Amanda!”, she exclaimed. “She died eighteen years ago. Do you understand that?”

     “Yes,” came the squeamish voice from beneath the hands. 

     “These letters, addressed to your mother, Amanda, were written by my father! Do you understand that?”

     Again, the trembling voice replied. “Yes.” 

     Then, looking directly at Amy as she sat, fetal-positioned in the chair, continued.

“They began eighteen years ago, around the same time my ‘Mother’ died.'' Jenna

marked the word “mother” in air quotes for effect, though she knew Amy wasn’t watching, then paused to see the girl work it out in her head.

     Amy's hands slowly dropped from her face, bullseye, her heart, already on high alert, began to pound in her chest. “Oh... My GOD! Oh-My-God, Oh-My-God Oh-my…”

     “Shut it!” Jenna demanded.

     “But, that would mean,” Amy's face lit up at the sudden realization, “that we’re stepsisters!”

     “Congratulations, you must be the God Damn Valedictorian at that school of yours! Now, Take those damn letters," Jenna gestured to the box, “and get lost.”

     “No, wait,” Amy leapt from her seat advancing on Jenna as she paced the floor. “I have questions…” 

     Jenna swung around and met her with a raised finger. ”I don’t have answers. Not for you!”

     “Why not?”, she protested. “My mother’s hidden you from me for eighteen years and I want to know why. I have a right to know why!”

     “You just don’t get it!”, she exclaimed, and she felt herself falling deeper in that dark place, into the lava. “My mother, my REAL mother, died eighteen years ago, and that’s the way it's going to stay. Got it!” Jenna brushed her aside and crossed the porch again. 

      Amy followed. “You can’t leave it like this, we’ve got to confront her, she can’t keep this a secret!” It’s not fair, and—it’s not right!” Amy paused, softening her tone. "I have a sister, I’m not about to let that go!”

     “Go back to your preppy little life and leave me alone!” Jenna remarked.

     “Leave you alone. I just found you, I drove out here from Buffalo—discovered you, that’s gotta mean something, right?”

     “Yeah! It does! It means that my mother is dead, understand?”

     Amy scoffed, “Why do you keep saying that when you know it’s not true?”

     “Cause—if she isn’t dead, then she left me, left my dad. And, if that were true, well—then that means she chose you over me, and I just can’t square that. Because, that would mean she chose to read to you at bedtime instead of me, and chose to take you shopping instead of me, and buy you birthday gifts and chaperone your school dance, and hold your hand when a boy broke your heart. 

     What that would mean, if it were true, is—for the last eighteen years you had this whole relationship with my mother while I…”, Jenna gasped for air as she choked on the lava pushing its way up from the darkness. “There is no way on ‘God’s Green Earth’ that that stupid box of letters could ‘EVER’ fill the hole she left in My life, in Our lives? So, take them, and get out!”

     Amy could feel the tears coming fast. Jenna’s pain had struck her dead in the heart. She thrust her hand into her jeans pocket and pulled out the tissues she’d brought—just in case.

     Jenna slowly crossed to the porch table, picked up the box of letters, and carrying them back, gave them to Amy. Her rage was spent, and a calmness returned as she spoke. “Nothing left to say, nothing left to do!” 

     Amy took the letters, managed a tearful smile, and turned to leave. 

Jenna followed her down the walk to her car. Once out of sight Jenna turned back toward the house, looked up, and noticed a glint of October sun, as it danced among the willows, Then thought to herself, my mother’s not dead!