Interestingly, there’s almost nothing on her before she turned eighteen. She was included in all the pictures and articles about her family over the years, but there’s nothing personal about her except being listed as the middle child. At first, I figured her family was one of those wealthy families that don’t like bringing any attention to their children, but that isn’t the case. Genevieve’s older brother is featured in all kinds of places—local newspapers, TV, and all the big media spots. He was the star quarterback at Hillcrest and led their high school to back-to-back state championships. Alabama drafted him, and he became their golden boy until he tore his ACL sophomore year. There’s nothing about Genevieve’s younger sister, either, so maybe their family didn’t like putting the girls on display but didn’t worry about it with the boys.
All that changed once Genevieve turned eighteen and entered the Miss Alabama beauty contest, though. She hit the public scene full throttle and didn’t let up. I play the clips from the final competition and watch as she gives all the standard responses about ending world hunger and building orphanages in Africa as her goals for changing the world and how she’ll use her influence if she wins the crown. The only difference between her and the rest of the girls who made similar proclamations is that she went on to try to do just that. I don’t know anyone else who made those promises and went on to follow them up, but she did. She didn’t just follow up on them—she ran with them.
After her stint on the Miss USA tour, she signed up for a mission trip with Love Africa and spent the next year traveling throughout Uganda, helping build schools. Her fans adored her, and cameras followed her most of the time she was there. The pictures of her playing soccer with the kids are so good that they still use them on their website. Her trip was cut short when she was attacked by a wild boar while taking a small group of children to get water. Boars are extremely aggressive and unpredictable, especially when they have a litter of babies close like that one did. The children startled the boar, and it came at them. Genevieve stepped in between the boar and the little girl it was about to attack, beating it away with a large stick. Her fight landed her in the hospital with thirty-seven stiches in her calf that grew so infected they had to fly her back to the United States for emergency surgery. I replay the video over and over again, watching her disembark the plane in her wheelchair.
She gave a traditional beauty pageant wave to all the fans and media that had gathered to watch along with her family. It was the same wave she’d used when she’d sat atop her pink-and-white float made out of roses at her Miss Alabama celebration parade. Her smile was just as wide as it had been that day. Her eyes shone as bright as her grin.
She met her husband, John, while recovering in the hospital. He was in the hospital at the same time with a broken hip and two busted ribs after a Jet Ski accident in Gulf Shores. They nursed each other back to health, and she wrote a tell-all memoir about her time in Africa and coming back from the attack. It ended with an epilogue announcing her marriage to John. The book didn’t do so hot at the national level, but she was a local celebrity. Still is. It’s why people like her never leave their small towns.
Her story only grows more compelling, even though it’s filled with finding out Mason has autism and the tragic loss of John. I try watching the clips from the funeral, but they’re too emotional with all the sobbing and gut-wrenching speeches. Genevieve didn’t let any of it get her down, though, and she became the biggest advocate for the issues that impacted her family. So much so that she has community service awards and excellency certificates spanning almost a decade. She’s been featured by Today’s and HuffPost’s parenting sections as well as Babble numerous times. All of them singing her praises.
Nothing hints at any kind of violence or trouble in her history. It’s like she takes every bad thing that’s happened to her and turns it into something positive. She’s definitely one of those glass-half-full kinds of people, and she makes the “when life gives you lemons” reference more than once in her speeches.
Savannah suggested a deeper dig, but all I’m finding is a woman who looks like she’s dedicated her entire life to serving and helping others. That’s pretty unusual for a woman who comes from such privilege and position. It’s hard not to be impressed by it. Genevieve looks really good on paper, but there’s something about all of it that doesn’t sit right with me. It’s just all so perfect. I never trust perfect.
FIFTEEN
GENEVIEVE HILL
“Ma. Ma. Ma,” Mason calls from the back seat of the car.
“Just a couple more minutes, honey. Just a couple more minutes,” I say without turning around. We’ve been parked in front of the police station for almost an hour. He’s been bored since we pulled up and spent half the time making annoying sounds, trying to get me irritated enough to leave. The boy knows how to push my buttons.
“Ma. Ma,” he says, his voice getting louder and stronger, grating on my last nerve.
“I said just a second,” I snap.
“MA! MA!”
“Ughh, can’t you just be still for a few more minutes?” I yell back at him, but he doesn’t listen. Just starts kicking my seat. He insists on sitting in the back. I’m two seconds away from losing it. “Stop it!”
My seat jerks with another kick. Then another. This one harder.
“Oh my gosh, you’re driving me crazy!” I shriek, grabbing my purse from the passenger seat. I frantically dig through it until I find my phone and thrust it at him. “Here, take this and be quiet.” I bite my lip to keep all the swears I want to say inside. He snatches the phone from me, and his eyes light up as he brings the screen to life. I’m not one of those parents who use screens as babysitters. In fact, I pride myself on not doing it, but sometimes it’s necessary. Today qualifies as one of those days.
My pulse throbs in my temples. Leftover panic still hammers in my chest. I keep going back and forth about whether I should go inside and give the notes to Detective Layne. I’m waiting for a sign. I’ve already asked God three times to give me one, but so far nothing has shown up.
I didn’t sleep at all last night. I took an Ambien, but it did nothing except give me a huge headache that I still can’t get rid of. That was after I did ten thousand steps. That’s almost five miles. I walked five miles in my own house. That’s how scared I was after finding the note slipped through the mail slot. Every sound made me jump out of my skin. I kept racing back and forth to look out all the windows on the lower level, then dashing upstairs to watch the live footage from the security cameras. I couldn’t bring myself to stay in one place for more than a couple of minutes. It was torturous.
Sometime around four, I made myself lie in my bed with my eyes closed to rest my body. People say resting your body is the same as sleeping, but that’s a lie. My eyes feel like they’re going to bleed the same as if I’ve been up all night.
I did my best to carry on like everything was normal this morning for Mason. I have to find a way to keep his routines. Things can’t get off with him, or we’re in trouble. He loses skills so quickly. I don’t even want to think about what happened last time. That’s why I made sure his breakfast—oatmeal with cinnamon toast because it’s Tuesday—was on time and arranged on the red plate exactly how he likes it. He took his morning poop like clockwork, and we headed out the door for a walk before eight.