Since She Went Away - Softcover

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David Bell is a bestselling and award-winning author whose work has been translated into six languages. He’s currently an associate professor of English at Western Kentucky University in Bowling Green, Kentucky. He received an MA in creative writing from Miami University in Oxford, Ohio, and a PhD in American literature and creative writing from the University of Cincinnati. His novels include Bring Her Home, Since She Went Away, Somebody I Used to Know, The Forgotten Girl, Never Come Back, The Hiding Place, and Cemetery Girl.

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***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof***

Copyright ©2016 David Bell

Chapter One

Five police cars. Three news vans. And one coroner’s wagon.

Jenna Barton saw them as she made the turn onto the last county lane. The vehicles were fanned out around the old weathered barn, one wall collapsing in and the others hanging on for dear life.

The fields around her on either side, stretching away for miles to the edges of the county, were empty and barren, still marked by patches of snow from an uncharacteristically heavy storm for that part of Kentucky. The soil was dark and lumpy, the remnants of cornstalks sticking out like spikes.

As she came closer, the dirt and gravel on the narrow road pinging against the underside of her car, she saw the people as well. County sheriffs in their pale green uniforms and Smokey Bear hats. News reporters in their nice clothes and perfect hair were being followed by cameramen in flannel shirts and heavy boots. And a scattering of onlookers, the curious good old boys who heard the call on their scanners or read about it on Twitter, standing around in their feed caps, hands thrust deep into pockets against the cold, hoping for a glimpse of something horrific. Something gory or gross, some story they could tell later that night in the Downtowner while they sipped beers or threw darts.

Yeah, they’d say, their bravado mostly covering their unease, I saw them bring the body out. Wasn’t hardly anything left. . . .

Jenna parked next to a sheriff’s cruiser, but she didn’t get out. She sat in the car, hands clenching the wheel, and took a few deep breaths. She told herself this was probably nothing, another false alarm, one of many she had experienced over the past three months. Every time an unidentified woman’s body was found in central Kentucky, along an interstate or in a culvert, an abandoned house or the woods, someone called her. Usually the media but sometimes the police, and Jenna would have to wait it out, wondering whether this would be the time they’d tell her they’d found Celia. As she sat in the car, her eyes closed, the heater making the cabin of her Civic feel even closer and more cramped than it already was, she wondered whether she wanted to know the truth or if she could she keep her eyes shut and hide forever. Would she finally feel relief when they found her best friend’s body?

The thoughts swirled through her brain like some twisted Zen koan:

I want to know.

I don’t want to know.

A light tapping against the window brought her eyes open. Jenna blinked a few times, turned her head. She saw a smiling face, one wearing a pound of makeup and a wide smile. Becky McGee from Local 40 News. Becky gave a short wave, her shoulders rising in anticipation of Jenna’s response.

Jenna turned the car off and stepped out. She’d been at work when Becky called and still wore her light blue scrubs. She’d rushed out of the office so fast she barely had time to grab her keys and purse. A damp winter chill hit Jenna as she straightened up, so she pulled her coat tighter, felt the light sting of the wind against her cheeks.

Becky placed her hand gently on Jenna’s upper arm. “How are you?” she asked, her voice cooing as if she were talking to an invalid or a frightened child. “Tough day, huh?”

“Is it her?” Jenna asked.

“They don’t know anything,” Becky said. “Or they won’t tell us anything. They’ve been poking around in there for the last thirty minutes. It’s a potential crime scene, so they have to take their time. . . .”

Becky’s voice trailed off as Jenna’s eyes wandered to the old barn. Some cops stood at the opening where a door once hung, staring inside. One of them said something and then smiled, looking to the man next to him for a laugh as well. They were close to fifty feet away from Jenna, so she couldn’t hear them, and she envied their ease at the scene, their lack of emotional involvement in the outcome of the search. She looked around. She was the only one truly invested, the only one who would buckle with pain if Celia’s body was discovered in the shitty, run-down barn.

Jenna turned back to Becky. The camera guy, Stan, loomed behind her, the equipment in his hand but not shooting. Jenna had learned over the past few months what the red light meant. “What did they find?” she asked. “You said on the phone it was a body.”

“Well, it’s—” The cheer and lilt quickly went out of Becky’s voice. She was a little older than Jenna, probably in her early forties, but her voice still sounded like the high school cheerleader she had once been. “Bones. I guess, a bone to be more specific.” Becky nodded, confirming the fact. “Yes, they found a bone. A surveying crew was out here, and they went looking inside the barn to get out of the cold or to take a smoke break, and they found a leg bone. Now they’re digging around in there, looking for more.” Becky made an exaggerated frown to show how awful she found the whole situation.

“Did someone call Ian?” Jenna asked.

“I did. He said he wasn’t going to come. You know he never makes it out to anything like this.” Becky lowered her voice. “I think he mistrusts any potential display of emotion. Plus, you know, a lot of people still think he’s guilty.”

“The police cleared him,” Jenna said.

“Mostly,” Becky said, her voice low.

Jenna wished she could be as strong as Ian, could so easily and readily draw lines and never cross them. It was easier for men. People accepted it if a man was cold and distant. “He’s smarter than me, I guess. It’s so cold out here.”

Jenna saw the other reporters and their cameramen moving her way. They recognized her, of course, after all the stories and interviews, after all the features and updates on Celia’s case. They knew she was good for a quote or two, knew the viewers loved to hear from her, even the ones who took to online forums and social media to criticize her. It was Jenna whom Celia was leaving the house to see that night back in November. It was Jenna who first called Ian when Celia didn’t arrive at their designated meeting place. It was Jenna, Celia’s best friend since high school, who could tell the viewers anything they wanted to know about Celia.

Jenna knew the reporters were using her, but she couldn’t help herself. She felt obligated to speak to them out of loyalty to Celia, even though she always received crank calls—at work and at home—and hateful comments on Twitter and Facebook. People offered support too, plenty of people, she reminded herself. But the nasty ones stuck with her.

Becky nodded to Stan, easing toward Jenna, reaching out with one hand to brush something off her coat. “You know what would be great? We’d love to be able to get your reaction now, you know, and have it as part of the story tonight. And I’ve already heard from New York. Reena wants to do a live remote tonight, put it all over CNN. Of course she’d love to have you again. She thinks you’re great.” Becky tilted her head to one side, studying Jenna. “This is so cool that you wore your work uniform. It’s so real. If you could slip your coat off and—”

“Please, Becky.” She didn’t want to be rude, didn’t want to snap at the reporter who Jenna knew was only doing her job and who had always been decent to her. Jenna tried to soften her words with a smile, but it felt forced, like...