“He didn’t. And then I lied to him.” I glance toward the stroller and bite my lip. “I didn’t want this baby taken away too.”

“You did the right thing.” The table jolts as she scoots closer. “This is what we’re going to do. We’re not getting the police involved yet, because they’ll come around once the community demands it. Chief Holbrook does things by the book until the neighborhood says otherwise. Trust me. It’s just the way it goes. I’m going to hold a candlelight vigil for your little boy tonight, and we’re going to get every last person there.”

“But isn’t a vigil for someone who’s…?” I can’t bring myself to say the word dead.

She pats my hand. “No, no. This is just what we’re going to do to rally the troops. Someone knows something, I can assure you of that. People talk in this community. You have our support, Rebecca. I’m just so sorry you’ve gone this many days without it.”

I want to cry from her kindness, but I also don’t know what a vigil will really do. “How will this help?”

“Awareness. Awareness is the first step.”

“What’s the second step?”

“Catching the bastard who did this.” She finds my hand, pats it again. “Which we will.”

I nod, take a deep breath, and release it. With Caroline on my side and Jake looking into the receipts, I know we’re moving in the right direction.

“Now, let’s see. What time is it?” Her ring knocks against the wood. “I’ve got to get busy, my dear. Do you have any more of those flyers?”

“Of course.” I fish one from my diaper bag.

“Perfect. Seven tonight. Wilder.” She kisses my cheek. Her heavy perfume lingers long after she’s gone. I don’t even get to thank her for the coffee.

Wilder. I shudder to think we will be having the candlelight vigil at the place Jackson went missing. Even if I get him back, all of these memories—places I’ve grown up in, places I’ve come to know and love—will be tarnished. They will either remind me of my life before loss or my life after.

Anxiety presses in again until I’m suffocating from it. I extract my phone to call Jake, but he beats me to it.

“I was literally just calling you.”

“Rebecca.” He’s breathless. “Where are you?”

“I’m at a coffee shop near home. Why?”

“I found something. Rather tell you in person.”

“What is it, Jake?”

“Just get home. I’ll see you soon.”

I toss back the last of my coffee, maneuver the stroller and my cane, and thank someone who opens the door. I practically run home.