from earlier. All of the other strollers were situated in a neat row right here—the smooth, curved hoods, the wide, open bassinets practically touching. I stop where Jackson’s was and then drop to my hands and knees. I swipe under the bench, cradling the baby in the carrier with one hand, and plunge my hand across the sticky turf. I don’t know what I’m searching for, but my hand closes on nothing. I sit back on my heels and think.
Even though I fainted, I was still aware of sounds … the sounds of the park. Children. Mothers. Bells.
That’s it. I brace a hand against the turf and re-extend my cane. I recall where I heard the sound—off to the left, toward the trees—and set off in that direction. I hunt for the bells, knowing what a longshot it would be to actually find them, but that would be proof. Proof that someone took him. Proof that my baby took off with a stranger and I’m not imagining that this child in my arms is different. To confirm, I feel this baby’s ankle, which is bare.
Or proof that the bells just fell off again before I made it to the park. I sigh, defeated at my own logical thinking, but I keep searching anyway. I walk around the playground in a tidy grid, tears dampening my cheeks. If I could just see, I’d know exactly what I was looking for. If I could just see, I could prove to the world this child isn’t Jackson.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I activate VoiceOver.
I’m here. Where are you?
“Oh shit.” I turn back toward the entrance of the park and rattle off a text.
Be right there.
The walk back is quick and hot. The baby is surprisingly quiet the faster I walk. I’m sweating when I reach the driveway.
“Bec?” Jake seems confused.
I lift my hands, drop them, and fumble with my keys. “I know you said to stay here, but I had to go to the park. I had to see if there was something I missed from earlier.” The tears aren’t even dry on my cheeks before a fresh round comes. “A clue. Something to explain what’s happened.”
He pulls me into his arms and shushes me, careful not to crush the baby. “Let’s go inside and we’ll figure this out, okay?” He removes the keys from my hands, but before he unlocks the door, he tilts my chin up to the porch light. “Did this happen when you fell?”
I self-consciously touch my eye. “It did.”
He turns and unlocks the door. All of the earlier adrenaline disappears as I haul myself up the steps and inside. I unlatch the baby and turn him toward Jake, also pulling a few photos of Jackson from my phone for comparison. I don’t take many photos, but I try and document as much as I can so he can see them someday.
He studies the photos and then the baby. “Bec, it’s hard to tell. We’ll have to get others to verify that this isn’t Jackson. We’ll file a report at the station. But, I’m just going to warn you. This isn’t a regular situation. It will be up to the chief to see how they handle this, and from what I know, he’s conservative. Doesn’t pull the trigger unless warranted.”
I pull the baby back into my arms. “What does that mean?”
“It means he’s not going to jump to issue an Amber Alert unless he has definitive proof.”
“Bullshit.” Anger tangles with my fears. Rather than argue, I excuse myself to put the baby back in Jackson’s vibrating swing in the nursery. Downstairs, Jake is filling the coffeepot. “Coffee?”
I shrug. I can’t think about coffee. I can’t think about anything other than my child.
He works silently in the kitchen, not making any comments about the house or how many times he’s been here for dinner with my mother or fixed things around the house after Dad died. Once the coffee is brewing, he extracts a small notepad, the pages crisp as he flips them. “I know you filled me in on the phone, but tell me again.”
I walk him through exactly what happened from the time I got up to the time I realized Jackson was missing.
He scribbles notes. The coffee gurgles its last drops into the pot. The air conditioner kicks on. Fear screams inside my skull.
He pauses writing. “I ran a check on the way,” he says. “No missing child reports for the area.”