Until I Find You - Rea Frey Page 0,55

the last week or two.”

I direct Jess to the proper folder and trust her judgment. Even if we don’t do anything with the flyers, it will make me feel better. It’s proactive.

An hour later, we’ve printed fifty copies. I’ve woken the baby, strapped him in the carrier, and he instantly settles—already used to me. I make a call before we head to the parade—not to Jake, but to Officer Toby.

“Toby.” His voice is clipped.

“Hi, this is Rebecca Gray. I’m just checking in.”

He sighs. “Mrs.—Rebecca,” he corrects himself. “Like I said, we’ll call you once we have further information.”

I know Jess has already given her statement, but who else have they talked to? I fill him in on the scan.

“Keep me posted,” he says noncommittally.

“Can you issue the Amber Alert?”

He’s silent. “Not yet.” He doesn’t elaborate.

“What more do you need?”

“Look, Rebecca. I’m under strict orders from the chief. We’re doing our best. Once we have something concrete, I’ll let you know. Keep your phone on.” He ends the call and I grip the cell in my hand, shocked.

“I bet even if I had the footprint, he still wouldn’t believe me.”

“He’s just doing his job,” Jess says. “You know how many whack jobs they probably see every day? They have to go by the book. But”—she straightens the stack of flyers—“we don’t. Not yet anyway. Ready?”

I nod, lock up, and reset the alarm. She’s right. We can’t rely on the police. Finding Jackson is up to me.

Silently, we walk to the parade.

22

BEC

Downtown Elmhurst is manic. Jess ushers me to the edge of a sidewalk. “Sure you don’t want to use the cane?”

I shake my head. “It will just slow us both down.”

We stand on the precipice of the action while she scans the crowd. “I’m pretty sure all of Elmhurst might be here,” she says. She takes a deep breath. “Sure you’re up for this?”

I nod. In order for Jackson to be found, I have to spread the word.

Excited bodies consume every available inch of space. Expensive perfume, sizzling meat, and funnel cakes smack my senses, and despite the moment, I’m shuttled back to my own childhood. My parents lived for days like these, when the few city blocks jammed with bodies and booths, and children were free to roam without fear of street traffic. I cling to those memories—a girl in a dress with an ice cream cone—watching a parade from my father’s shoulders, or buying myself a beautiful necklace with allowance gained from raking leaves. Watching my mother and father hold hands or kiss. Emotion gathers in my chest—for my parents, for never being able to do this with Chris, for my sweet boy.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” I compose myself. Jess helps me step onto York Street. I anchor my cane in my fist, as though it can bring me protection. “Don’t let go,” I warn.

She hugs my elbow tighter to her rib cage. “No chance.”

I extend my free arm. “Give me some.”

She hands me a stack as we navigate to the center of the street. The papers shake in my hand, and I falter. Do I say something as I hand them out?

“Please keep your eye out,” I hear myself saying to strangers. “Have you seen this boy?” People bypass without taking any. I wave them in front of me as though I’m a panhandler shaking a cup for change. The baby fusses in his carrier, and I attempt to shush him, but he kicks into high gear and screams so loudly, the flyers slip from my fingers and flutter away in the wind.

“Oh!” I yell, but Jess grips my arm.

“I’ll get them. Come with me.” She leads me to a bench. “Just take care of him. I’ll hand them out.” She turns back, stops. “Stay here, okay?”

I unlatch the baby and rock him, then transition him to a football hold, his limbs draped and dangling around my forearm. He quiets marginally until I flip him over and he roots around my chest. My body responds, but I can’t feed a baby who’s not mine in public. I try and distract him, but he grows more desperate. I wick the sweat from my forehead, willing Jess to come back. I just need to get home. This is too much.

The happy cries of the neighborhood intensify around me until tears slip down my cheeks. What I wouldn’t give for a normal day—just one. A sob flies out of my mouth, and before I know it, I begin to cry louder than the