Until I Find You - Rea Frey Page 0,84

I can’t believe you think…”

I don’t even ask to come inside or explain why Crystal is with me. I ask her the single question I need the answer to: “Do you have Jackson?”

She sighs and opens the door wider. “No, I don’t.” Her cold fingers clamp around my wrist. She walks me to her sitting room that smells like freshly cut flowers.

“Then where’s Trevor? He wasn’t with you at the parade.”

“I know. He wasn’t.” She sits beside me, and I twist my body to face her. I’m not sure where Crystal is in the room, but she’s silent. “I felt guilty.”

“Guilty about what?” I ask.

“Guilty that I couldn’t handle the whole attachment parenting thing. I needed a break.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I hired a babysitter and went out and enjoyed myself.” Her voice cracks, and I marvel over people’s thresholds—what will break some people and not others. “I know that’s terrible, but it’s what I needed.”

“Where’s Trevor now?” I ask.

“Upstairs. Finally asleep, thank God.”

“Did Jake confirm that?”

“He did, Bec.” Her fingers find my knee. “I’m so sorry. I would never do anything like that to you. You have to know that.”

“I don’t know anything anymore.” Hysteria creeps into my voice, but I steel myself. “Do you mind if I go up?”

“I’ll go with her,” Crystal says.

“How about we all ago?” Beth slaps her thighs and follows us upstairs. The wood doesn’t groan under my feet as it does in my own house. Instead, a plush runner silences all of our footsteps as we reach the landing.

“Which way?”

“Left. First door to your right.”

I hesitate outside the nursery. Part of me wants to go in and part of me doesn’t. Beth breezes past. “So much for just getting him down,” she mumbles.

I almost roll my eyes at her self-centeredness, but I also understand that she’s just a mom going through her own rough spell too. And she’s indulging me—I have to give her that, at least.

“Hey, little guy. Hey.” She scoops him up and shushes him before he’s even crying. “He likes to be bounced constantly. So unless you want a pierced eardrum…”

She hands him over, and I catch my breath as his weight lands in my arms. A tiny chasm of hope widens inside of me: he’s the same weight as Jackson. I lower a hand over his face. My fingers skitter over his eyes, nose, and mouth as if singing him a lullaby. The hope eviscerates. His nose isn’t the same. Neither is his chin. I search his collarbone: smooth.

He opens his mouth and begins to cry. Now I remember its exact sound, how it scratches and hunts for whoever’s listening. It’s why Beth is always so tired. For the second time, I know for certain: that’s not Jackson’s cry. I hand him back over to Beth, who starts shushing and bouncing him so loudly, I fear she’ll pass out from lack of breath. Miraculously, he settles, and we tiptoe out the door.

“That’s the only thing that puts him back down lately,” she whispers. “I literally shushed so hard the other night, I almost fainted.”

A raging disappointment overtakes my body on the bottom stair.

The three of us stand awkwardly near the front door. “I’m sorry, Beth.”

“Don’t be. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” She touches my arm. “Do you want a cup of tea or something?”

Beth isn’t British, but she’s watched enough BBC to think that a cup of tea really is the answer to all of life’s problems, and that by continuously offering, all of her Midwestern friends will eventually convert. I shake my head and hesitate with my hand on the doorknob. “Wait.” I turn back. “The onesie.”

“The what?”

“The white onesie from Cornerstone. You bought one, right?”

“I did. I picked one up a while ago, but couldn’t believe the price for a plain white onesie. But I loved that it wasn’t just another generic find. I found the artist on Etsy and placed an order in bulk for the summer festival this June.”

I shake my head. “You sold them?”

“I did some letter-printing. But I also sold some plain white ones.”

“How many did you sell?”

“I don’t know. Maybe thirty?”

“Would there be a way to get the receipts for who bought them?” I know I’m plucking at straws, but it’s all I’ve got.

“I handed them over to the festival manager for their seasonal write-offs. I can look into it though.”

“That would be great.” Crystal finally speaks up and snakes an arm around my shoulder. “Thanks for your