Until I Find You - Rea Frey Page 0,81

she’s kept.

A moment later, Savi bounds back down the stairs and holds up her hands. “All clean. Want to smell?”

Crystal shakes her head. “I believe you.”

“What’s that?” Pam interrupts her train of thought and her eyes travel down to the flyer still clutched in Crystal’s fist. Savi snatches it before she can say anything. Her daughter’s eyes grow large and fearful.

“This is for Jackson?” She looks between Pam and Crystal. “Are we going?”

“I am.” Crystal wants to be there for her friend, of course, but it’s more complicated than that.

Pam moves closer. “Can I see?” She peeks at the flyer, her full lips moving as she reads the words. “Is her son missing? Oh my God, how awful.” Her hand clasps over her mouth. “Come on, Savi. Let’s get you a snack.” Pam steers Savi away distractedly and moves around comfortably in their kitchen. Has Crystal been too accommodating with her? Have the lines blurred between who’s in charge and who isn’t?

Before she knows what she’s doing, she crumples the flyer and tosses it into the trash. “I’m going out.”

“But we just got back!” Savi stomps back into the hallway. “Why do you always leave?”

Pam mindlessly bites into a carrot as she prepares lunch.

The statement smacks her in the chest. “Honey, I’m not always leaving.”

“Yes, you are!” Savi balls her fists. “You never want to be where I am.” Savi throws a carrot onto the ground. Pam picks it up and tosses it into the trash.

“Hey, Savi. That’s not true.” Crystal crosses to where she’s standing and kneels in front of her. “Look at me. I always want to be where you are. I’m still just juggling work and home, okay? It’s a lot. That’s why we have Pam. She’s our special helper.” Crystal crushes her daughter in a hug and releases her.

She looks at Pam. “Can I talk to you outside for a second?” Crystal jerks her head toward the front door.

“Sure.” Pam wipes her hands on a dish towel and smiles at Savi. “You’ve got to help me make a bunny rabbit when I get back.”

“I’ll get the dates and the cashews!”

Pam laughs as she steps outside. “We found the cutest recipes to make little bunny rabbits from this kid’s cookbook. She’s really enjoying cooking lately.”

“What’s going on?” Crystal interrupts.

“What’s going on with what?”

“With you? With Savi? With…” She motions toward the house. Crystal folds her arms and glances toward the street to wave to Parker, an eighty-five-year-old who walks five miles per day, rain or shine. A sprinkler hisses next door. Crystal eyes their own lawn, desperately in need of watering, and drags her gaze back to Pam.

“Something’s different with Savi.” Pam verbalizes what she’s been thinking. Something is different.

“What?”

Pam gathers her unruly hair in a bun then releases it. A few ginger strands flutter toward the front porch. “I need to tell you something.” She takes a shaky breath.

Crystal holds her own breath, expecting her to confess something terrible.

“When you mentioned Paul’s things had gone missing, I felt terrible.” She lowers her voice and eyes the front door. “I didn’t want to upset Savi, but I was putting her magic kit away, and I found them hidden in one of the compartments. The stuff you mentioned. There was a journal too. And a business book. I didn’t want to get her in more trouble with everything going on, so I left them there.” She stares at her feet like a child. “I can show you.”

The truth lands like a fist. Not that Savi took Paul’s items, but that her own daughter lied straight to her face. Before she can respond, the front door opens.

“Your phone.” Savi wags Crystal’s cell. She fingers her back pocket. Savi must have swiped it. She bites back a scream. “You have a text from Ms. Rebecca.”

She shoves down Pam’s confession and reads the text. “I’ve got to go.” She dashes inside to grab her keys and brushes past Pam.

“Is everything okay?” Pam asks.

“Can I come too, Mom?”

“No, stay here,” Crystal says. “I’ll be back soon.” She looks at Pam. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

She stabs her keys in the ignition and hurries to Bec’s house.

She hopes she’s not too late.

37

BEC

I’m sure I haven’t heard him right. “Beth bought that onesie? For Trevor?”

“Trevor is her son, correct?” Jake asks.

I nod. “Yes, and he’s the same age as Jackson.” I catalogue all of our recent conversations: Beth, constantly complaining about her child, wishing for a little space, making comments about Jackson never fussing. I