Until I Find You - Rea Frey Page 0,85
help, Beth.”
“Of course.” She opens the door for us. “I’d do the same thing if I thought … well, anyway. I’ll see you at the vigil?”
I turn. “You’re coming?”
“Friends show up for each other no matter what.” She sounds like she’s reciting something from a Hallmark card.
I don’t remind her that my supposed friends are the very reason I had to lie to the police in the first place.
“Bye, Bec.” Her door shuts, but I am still haunted by Trevor’s cry.
Crystal’s phone rings, and she drops her hand. “Hello?” She steps away and talks in hushed tones then hangs up. “That’s odd. That was Officer Toby. He wants me to come in.”
“Really?” If they’ve dropped any sort of investigation, why are they calling her in now? Suddenly, I feel horrible that all my friends are being subjected to questioning, but if it gets me even one step closer to finding my son, then it’s a price I hope they’re willing to pay. “I’m sorry, Crystal.”
“Don’t be. I’m happy to help.” Her voice is strained. “The station is just a few blocks away. Do you want me to walk back with you first?”
I shake my head. “I’m okay. Let me know how it goes.”
“I will.” She pulls me into a hug, and I grimace. “I’ll see you tonight.”
She jogs away in the opposite direction. I’m alone on the street. I don’t want to go home and face Jake or Jess—if she’s even still there. The baby! I hurry back toward my house and attempt to calm my nerves. Jessica would never leave a baby at home alone. Though she’s been leaving Baxter with the nanny to tend to my every beck and call.
Once again, I battle the guilt about taking my friends away from their children. I turn right, pick up my pace, but stop at the entrance to Wilder. Voices vibrate from the playground and prick my ears with curiosity. No matter how hard I try, this park keeps sucking me back like the scene of a crime.
Because it is, I remind myself. My clothes stick to my heated body, and I’m practically folded in half from how severely my back hurts. I go to ask Siri the time and remember I’ve forgotten my phone: such a stupid mistake. I finger my wrist, but I’m not wearing my watch either. When someone passes, I ask for the time: three.
I have four hours before the vigil. I wind through the path and stop at the bench. The same bench. What will I find this time? Life chirps around me, filling the lapses in thought. The baby. My chest feels naked without him.
Random conversation ebbs and flows. Moms so obliviously tired. Moms with their girlfriends. Moms with their children.
“I know, right?” A woman’s bright, happy voice laughs and then another sound cracks against my skull like a hammer. Such a large impact for such a small thing. I gasp and crank my body toward the sound. I slide closer to the edge of the bench. My tailbone screams.
One woman continues to talk about bedroom organization, the mess of books versus toys, what to feed her youngest daughter who’s just started solids. Hands plunge into a bag, fingers rummaging. I wait, but nothing.
Suddenly, something drops off the bench, and there it is again: the slightest tinkle. I lower to my hands and knees. “Let me help.” My fingers fuss around random objects—tampons, lipstick, wipes, keys, a compact.
“Thanks, but I’ve got it.” The woman scoops possessively at her belongings, but not before I find what I’m looking for. My fingers bump over the tiny bells, each of them as familiar to me as Jackson. I clutch them to my chest and almost weep. The tiny jingle is a welcome relief from all the uncertainty.
“Excuse me,” I interrupt. A few of the women stop talking at the urgency in my voice. I dangle the bells like a Christmas caroler. “Where did you get these?” My voice is clipped, and I rearrange my tone, soften it to get the answers I need.
“They’re my daughter’s. Can I have them, please?”
“Are you sure they’re hers?” I examine them again. “Did she find them somewhere, or…?”
“No.” The woman snatches them from my extended palm. “I bought them.”
“They’re so cute. They remind me of Christmas,” one of her friends says. “Though they can be a choking hazard. Does she know not to put them in her mouth?”
“Christmas will be here before we all know it; can you believe it?” another