Until I Find You - Rea Frey Page 0,65

might split. We are out of the station before I can change my mind about what I’ve just done.

“Jesus Christ,” Jake mumbles. He smacks the automatic door and it opens into the steamy night.

“Now what?” I grab Jake’s elbow in place of the cane.

“Now we get you home.” There’s a new tone in his voice—urgency, frustration, or fury—I can’t tell. The walk is brisk, the hour late. It seems all my insomnia has prepared me for this very situation. Being “on” when everyone else is asleep.

At my door, I hand Jake the keys. The baby sleeps snugly against my chest.

“I’m just going to put him to bed,” I whisper.

“Rebecca.” Jake stops me. “What you said in there about wanting attention.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say. “I would never pull a stunt like that for your attention. I’d hope you know me better than that.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t any truth to that. I mean, I’d understand it, but I need to know.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.” I take the stairs so he can’t see the flame of my cheeks. At the nursery, I pause at the door. Though Jackson isn’t here, his scent still fills the room. I unstrap the baby and gently lay him in the crib, sweeping my hands over his little body to make sure he’s comfortable. I flick on the noise machine and get lost in the staticky roar.

My motherly instinct has kicked in for this child. It’s been less than two days and already, I can’t imagine him not here. The questions start up again—who would do this? What’s wrong with this baby for someone to swap him?—but I stop myself. I fan my shirt and prepare to leave. My foot bumps into something. I reach down to retrieve a plush toy. “Eliot.” I run my fingers over the mouse’s nose and floppy feet.

I sink to the ground and come undone, this stuffed animal ripping me apart. Wherever Jackson is, he doesn’t have me and he doesn’t have his favorite toy. I place Eliot over my mouth and scream into his stuffed belly, my anguish muffled enough not to disturb the baby. How did Eliot get in the middle of the floor?

Once again, I retrace my steps the day of the swap. I got Jackson dressed. I put him in the stroller. I wheeled him to the park. But I’m missing something. I close my eyes and go over it again. I replay finding this baby upstairs, examining every inch of him to confirm he wasn’t Jackson. How shocking their similarities and differences. They were even both in onesies … I sit up straighter. That’s it. His onesie.

I move toward the hamper in Jackson’s closet. When I changed this baby, I remember thinking it odd that a onesie would have such a rough tag instead of one printed directly on the material, like Jackson’s. I’m overly sensitive about materials and am careful to always cut Jackson’s tags out. I rummage through the clothes until I’m sure I’ve found it. As if clutching a prize, my fingers find the tag. I stuff the entire onesie in my pocket and leave the door open as I hurry back downstairs.

“Jake!” I shake the dirty onesie in my fist. “The onesie this baby came home in. It’s different than Jackson’s.”

He doesn’t ask what I mean. He knows. “The tag. Jesus, could they make the print any smaller?” He mumbles to himself and strains to read.

“What does it say?” I ask impatiently.

“Have you ever heard of a store called Cornerstone?”

I try to remember all the shops in Elmhurst: Kie&Kate, Diana and Nicky Baby Clothing Boutique, Hazyl Boutique … but not Cornerstone. “I haven’t. Which is good, right? It means it’s not just a generic purchase from Target.”

“It’s something.”

I slide my computer over to him in the kitchen and get us something to drink.

“Okay, we’re going to have to narrow our search. That’s a popular name.” We try Cornerstone Kids, Cornerstone Clothing, Cornerstone Boutique, but there’s nothing. We case Elmhurst online, but only a church pops up.

I drum my fingers on the table, the same movement I avoided at the police station just an hour before. “It’s got to be somewhere close, right? What about Chicago?”

He types it in. “Just more churches and community centers. I’ll call Pat.” While he calls Pat, his go-to research guy, I obsessively check my phone again. Another text from Crystal. I hesitate. I