The renovation! In all of this, I’d completely forgotten that they were supposed to start tomorrow. I rewind back just a few weeks, when the hardest thing I had to contend with was sleeplessness and nightmares about Jackson.

I listen to Crystal talk to the contractor about pushing the dates back. I’d taken such joy in picking out cabinets, countertops, and hardware—as if having a nice kitchen would somehow make my life better. But isn’t that a start? And now, all of it is irrelevant. My son is what matters. Not this house or the memories in it. I need to take action. I need to act now.

“Rebecca?” There’s another knock.

I walk to the front hallway. “Jess?”

“Hey.” She lets herself in. “I was worried when I didn’t hear from you. Are you okay?” She pulls me into a hug, and my edges soften a bit.

“Sorry about that.” Crystal walks to join us. “I told him we’d need to push out a bit. Hi, Jess.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say to Crystal. “You’ve worked so hard.”

“Don’t apologize.” Her keys jingle in her hand. “Listen, you and Jess stay here. I’m going to Cornerstone, okay? I’ll report back.”

I shake my head. “No, I really want to come.”

“What’s Cornerstone?” Jess asks.

I fill Jess in and show her the onesie.

She examines it. “I feel like I’ve seen these before. Wait, I’ve been to this shop. The owner, what’s her name?” She snaps. “Patty? Betsy? She’s the best. I’ve been in there a few times.”

“Can you come with us?”

Crystal is silent as Jess contemplates. “I guess, if you think it will help.”

I nod. “I do. I’ll go get the baby.” I’m already heading for the stairs. I feel bad about putting him in the car yet again, but movement seems to placate him. I want Crystal to look at the baby, but she doesn’t offer, and I don’t force it. I buckle him in and sit in the second row of her car, while Jess takes the passenger seat.

“Hello, Suburban.” Jess whistles. “This is huge.”

“It’s for business,” Crystal explains. “When you’re a designer, you transport a lot of stuff.” She puts in the address on her GPS and the automated voice guides us out of the neighborhood.

Though I’m one of Crystal’s clients, I’d almost decided not to work with her because I didn’t want a stranger in my home. Since Jackson, I feel fiercely protective in a world that shares its children on social media as if they are shiny objects for sale. But because of that need for privacy, now no one can positively identify my son, and I’m left chasing ridiculous leads to get closer to him.

Crystal finds a playlist. “Music okay?”

“Fine with me,” I say.