than conversing about her missing son. As if she was somehow seeing some kind of sign. Sacred. Unquestionable.
The whole thing was scaring the hell out of him. For her sake. And his, too, in that he had no idea what to do about any of it.
If she’d been Angel, he’d have asked the tough questions. He’d have pushed. And she’d have told him what was in her deepest heart. Together they’d have figured out a Plan B. Because there was always a chance that Plan A wouldn’t work out...
Tabitha’s Plan B had always been the next photo. The next daycare. She’d never before indicated that she’d found her end point.
“He’s happy because of Mallory Harris... She’s, I don’t know. I felt confident in her ability to not only watch over the children in her care, but to truly love them. That’s why Jackson looked so happy. He’s being loved.”
Tabitha had once told him she was sure she’d been born to be in the pediatric medical profession. She’d known, even as a young kid playing with her dolls, that she was going to grow up to help sick children.
They hadn’t been baring their souls or anything. The topic had come up when he’d been telling her about the reason for his sabbatical. About Angel’s passion to own and run her own food truck and his quest to live it for her, since she couldn’t. It was a way of preserving her dream, of honoring her life, far more than hanging onto the restaurant she’d owned and run. He’d sold that, used some of the money for the food truck start-up, and donated the rest.
He’d been expecting Tabitha’s reaction to it all to be more of the pat on the head his father had given him.
Instead, she’d understood completely. Hadn’t just encouraged him, but offered to help in any way she could. Because she had a passion of her own—her yearning to help children in need. Separate and apart from her own immediate and completely pressing determination to find her son.
Leaving him to wonder if he was the only one who didn’t seem to have been given that one talent, one thing, that ignited passion within him. Or maybe it was just the passion he lacked.
“And I think it means that Mark is loving him, too,” Tabitha’s words broke into his thoughts. “As long as Jackson is little, Mark will get what he needs from him,” she said as he rounded the last corner and could see the professional building ahead. “Right now, with Jackson completely dependent on him, the whole codependency thing works. But when Jackson starts to assert his own independence—which the terrible twos will certainly bring on...” Her voice drifted off and he was pretty sure she’d just shuddered.
Was that why she was suddenly changing, seeming almost desperate? Not because of this one photo, but because Jackson had turned two and she was getting scared? Worried about her son’s safety when he clashed wills against an emotionally unbalanced father?
“Kids learn about their world by challenging their boundaries,” she was saying as he pulled into the parking lot. “Of course, Mark’s never shown a single violent tendency to me or any of the others who knew him at the hospital. Or, at least, not that any of us ever heard of. There’s no reason to assume he’d physically hurt Jackson...but there’d been no reason to suspect he’d kidnap him, either...”
Which could be why the police weren’t finding them. Not only were there fewer resources being allocated on a case gone cold, but Mark wasn’t a man who raised any alarms, or drew attention. Johnny parked at the daycare but left the engine running. Tabitha’s son’s father had been a nuclear medicine technician at the children’s hospital where she worked. He’d been wonderful with the kids, she’d told him months ago. The guy had quit shortly after Tabitha had broken up with him. His ailing mother had needed full-time care.
He’d still lived with her, apparently, although Tabitha hadn’t actually known that until after their breakup.
Those golden eyes with the flecks of green turned on him and Johnny had to draw a long breath. “What’s Mark going to do when Jackson challenges their mutual dependency? When Jackson wants independence?” she asked, meeting his gaze head-on. “Taking Jackson makes Mark a criminal, but it doesn’t make him violent,” he said, drawing on case studies from law school. “A man who made his living helping sick children... I assume he’d have to have a decent bedside manner to keep his job.”
She nodded and he continued. “And a guy who nursed his mother so she could die with dignity as she wanted to, at home...”
Tabitha had given him those details months ago. Thankfully he’d remembered enough to be able to repeat them back to her now, when she needed to hear them.
She nodded again. “You’re right. He’s gentle and nurturing...” She grabbed the handle of her door.
She was ready to go in. His job was done. For another few minutes, at least.
* * *
The Bouncing Ball could have been any number of other daycares she and Johnny had toured over the past six months in various southern California cities. Still wearing the jeans and matching purple polo shirts they’d worn all day on the truck, they’d seen the two rooms designated for two-year-olds. They also saw a larger three-year-olds’ room, for next year when “Chrissy” was ready to move up. They’d toured the walled-in outdoor playground, accessible only from inside the daycare and outfitted with top-rated equipment, including swings and slides geared for younger children. The lunchroom, was furnished with plastic tables and chairs suited to toddlers.
They’d seen a multipurpose room, complete with a small stage, and heard the sound equipment in use. They’d even been invited to take turns at the musical instruments in a soundproof room intended for early music lessons. While the orchestral instruments were only used by instructors, there was a keyboard, a drum set and a plastic guitar with real strings made for little fingers. And there were various other noisemakers, from maracas to bells and tambourines, that the kids could use with supervision.
From room to room, as she saw the high-quality accommodations, Tabitha couldn’t help gushing about how much “Chrissy” would love it there, how happy she, herself, would be as a parent to know that her child was spending her time away from home in such a safe and nurturing place.
Inside she was shaking—with relief, gratitude and fear—as she looked at the surroundings she was certain had housed her baby boy for the past year. Picturing Jackson there, believing that he’d been in this wonderful place, believing that Mark had at least found the best care for their son, brought the relief. The gratitude. Seeing what she supposed her son must have seen for the past year kept her tears close to the surface.
And the thought of being there, possibly tipping Mark off that he was soon to be caught, struck fear in her.
Twice she’d been on the verge of exposing too much of the emotion raging insider her, and both times she’d felt Johnny’s hand on the small of her back. Both times he happened to ask Mallory Harris a question pertinent to their tour. Both times she was grateful he was there.
And grateful that they’d be going back to their hotel together that night, to share a glass of wine in the living area of the suite Johnny always insisted on getting for them, before parting to go to their separate rooms. As with all the other tours, he’d sit with her, discuss what they’d seen and heard. He’d ask if she’d felt anything, if her mother’s instinct had alerted her to anything. And he’d be supportive. Helping her maintain hope. He was giving her wonderful memories in the midst of the absolute worst time of her life.
No
