“If Jackson really is out there somewhere, we’re not waiting on the police—or anyone else—to find him. If this were Baxter…” Her voice fades. “Suffice it to say I’m here to help, okay? You’re not alone.”

Her words loosen the gigantic weight in my chest. Tears spring to my eyes, but I clear my throat.

Stay focused.

“I just wish there was something I could actually do.”

“There is.” Jess slides my computer toward her, and her fingers expertly traverse over the keys. “We’re going to make up a missing-person flyer. I know, I know—super old-school. But this community talks. If someone local is behind this, we’ll figure this out. Do you have a photos folder? We need a clear shot of Jackson, preferably in the last week or two.”

I direct Jess to the proper folder and trust her judgment. Even if we don’t do anything with the flyers, it will make me feel better. It’s proactive.

An hour later, we’ve printed fifty copies. I’ve woken the baby, strapped him in the carrier, and he instantly settles—already used to me. I make a call before we head to the parade—not to Jake, but to Officer Toby.

“Toby.” His voice is clipped.

“Hi, this is Rebecca Gray. I’m just checking in.”

He sighs. “Mrs.—Rebecca,” he corrects himself. “Like I said, we’ll call you once we have further information.”

I know Jess has already given her statement, but who else have they talked to? I fill him in on the scan.

“Keep me posted,” he says noncommittally.

“Can you issue the Amber Alert?”

He’s silent. “Not yet.” He doesn’t elaborate.

“What more do you need?”

“Look, Rebecca. I’m under strict orders from the chief. We’re doing our best. Once we have something concrete, I’ll let you know. Keep your phone on.” He ends the call and I grip the cell in my hand, shocked.

“I bet even if I had the footprint, he still wouldn’t believe me.”

“He’s just doing his job,” Jess says. “You know how many whack jobs they probably see every day? They have to go by the book. But”—she straightens the stack of flyers—“we don’t. Not yet anyway. Ready?”

I nod, lock up, and reset the alarm. She’s right. We can’t rely on the police. Finding Jackson is up to me.

Silently, we walk to the parade.

22

BEC

Downtown Elmhurst is manic. Jess ushers me to the edge of a sidewalk. “Sure you don’t want to use the cane?”

I shake my head. “It will just slow us both down.”

We stand on the precipice of the action while she scans the crowd. “I’m pretty sure all of Elmhurst might be here,” she says. She takes a deep breath. “Sure you’re up for this?”