needed that from him now. I nod, afraid of what he’s going to say but also somehow knowing.
“I’m not sure if I believe you.”
The words hurt more than I’d anticipated. My eyes water, and I adjust my sunglasses and clear my throat to keep the tears at bay.
“I want to believe you. And the ex-boyfriend in me does believe you. You know that. I’d follow you to the ends of the earth—would have followed you,” he quickly corrects. “But the cop in me says that the evidence just isn’t there. There’s too much that doesn’t add up. There are so many things mounted against you, Bec, and it’s not your fault. It’s just fact. And I’m trained to look at facts.”
“And the facts don’t look good,” I murmur. “I get it. I do.” I form my next words carefully. “While I appreciate you agreeing to help, I’m not going to waste any more of your time, Jake. You have real cases to solve. I’ve pulled you away from your life enough.” What I really mean is: I will find another way. What I can’t do is spend one more minute with someone who doesn’t really believe me. I don’t want any favors. I don’t want anyone’s sympathy or pity. I want to find my son.
“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Bec.”
“Watch me.” I open the door of the idling car and remove the baby from the back seat.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to go see Dr. Gibbons for an emergency therapy session,” I say. “Maybe she can help.” To confirm, I ramble off a manic voice text to see if she’s free.
“And how will you get home?”
“Train.”
“Rebecca.” Jake kills the engine and gets out of the car. “You’re not going anywhere without me.” He grips my elbow and I yank it free.
“I want to be alone right now. I just need space.”
He’s confused. I can feel it. Last night, I begged him to help. I had him lie to a police officer. I almost kissed him and then pretended it was all fine. And now, I’m insisting I’m going to do it on my own. But in this case, my stubbornness—easily one of my worst traits—will lead me to my son. I’m sure of it.
Rather than argue, Jake knows me well enough not to push. “At least let me drop you there.”
“Fine.” I put the baby back in the car and recite the address. We drive wordlessly to her office. I tune in to the smashing of horns, distant ambulances, and the fiery scream of fire trucks.
“I’ll be waiting.” Jake hits his flashers in front of the building, and I give him a look. “Don’t challenge me, Rebecca. You’ll lose.” He crosses his arms—I can tell by the squeak of leather and the self-satisfied smirk he must wear on his face. “Meanwhile, leave the onesie here. I’m going to see what I can find out.”
I nod and gesture to the back seat. “Should I…”
“Leave him. He’s fine.”
I know he is probably fine with Jake, but I can’t let this baby out of my sight on principle. “No, I’ll take him.” I unstrap him and grab the diaper bag. “See you soon.”
“Yep.”
I shut the door and head inside. I’m not sure if Dr. Gibbons is even here yet or if she will be able to squeeze me in. But I decide right then and there to tell her everything that’s going on. I want a professional opinion about what I should do. Not from a cop. Not from my friends, but from someone who is trained to give me the benefit of the doubt.
“May I help you?”
The front desk person—different than the last time—speaks up.
“Is Dr. Gibbons in?”
They press a few buttons. “Go on up.”
I’m not offered help this time, but I remember my route to the elevator and that she’s on the eleventh floor. My fingers glide over the buttons, adjusting for error, until I land on eleven. I count my steps to the door and approach the receptionist’s desk. I’m told she’s with a client.
“Dr. Gibbons has back-to-back clients today. It’s not a drop-in situation,” her receptionist explains.
“This is an emergency.”
“I understand that, but she’s booked.”
“Is it okay if I wait until she’s done?”
The woman must nod or shake her head, but I take a seat anyway, clumsily fumbling with the chairs. A few minutes later, the door opens.
I stand and bounce the baby on my chest. Someone shuffles past and says good-bye to Dr. Gibbons.