by Rick Mofina
“You folks should put your baby in the car seat before you drive off,” the officer said.
“Yes, sir.” Remy smiled and secured Caleb Cooper.
43
Lancaster, Texas
I was so close to Caleb at that motel.
Jenna could almost feel her baby boy, almost smell him and taste the sweetness of his cheek. How she ached to hold him in her arms again. She’d been awake most of the night in their room at the Embassy Suites, watching over Cassie and Blake and staring out the window into the night.
Caleb’s out there. Please keep him safe. I need him back. Please.
Yesterday, they’d come so close to catching that sick, scheming red-haired woman and her boyfriend at the motel. Now, in the hour before dawn, Jenna prayed with each passing minute for her phone to ring with news from the FBI, Kate or Frank. From anybody.
She’d lost her mind at the motel to fear, to anger and panic before FBI Agents Grogan and Quinn took her and Blake inside and told them all that they could.
Grogan said that the motel manager had called 911 because he was certain a man and woman with a baby, fitting the descriptions reported in the press, were guests. The Dallas SWAT team took action, but the people remained at large. The FBI’s crime-scene experts were processing the room, which would take time. It was challenging because a motel staffer had cleaned it thoroughly. The FBI was continuing its investigation.
“We know this is difficult for you, but I give you my word we’ll keep you updated,” Grogan said. “But our primary focus is taking immediate action on valid leads in order to find Caleb and return him home safe to you.”
Not long after the sun rose, Jenna was oblivious to the sounds of Holly and Garrett rising in the next room. She barely noticed Blake and Cassie getting up and dressing, then the smell of coffee and scrambled eggs.
“Jen, we got you some breakfast from downstairs,” Holly said.
“You’re not sleeping and you’re not eating,” Blake said. “Come on, hon. Have something.”
“I can’t,” she said. “I can’t.”
“I’m sad, too, Mommy. Just take one bite,” Cassie said, using a line Jenna had used on her when she fussed over food.
“Please, Jen,” Blake said before his cell phone rang and he answered. “Hey, Doug,. Yeah...thanks. We’re doin’ our best. Thanks... No, go ahead... Really? Now, today? Okay, thanks.”
Blake hung up then turned to Jenna as Holly and Garrett joined them.
“What is it?” Jenna asked.
“That was Doug Carlin, our neighbor. We have to go to our house.”
Since the storm and Caleb’s disappearance, Jenna had not been to their home. It was gone, and her attention was on Caleb.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why? Why do we need to go now?
“Doug said there are officials in our neighborhood and there are deadlines this morning for permits and insurance.”
“No,” Jenna said. “I don’t care. Without Caleb we don’t have a home. Our home is here.” Jenna jabbed her thumb to her heart. “Where we are. And we’ll put it back together when we have him.”
“Jen.” Blake got down on one knee before her. “I know. We all want Caleb back more than anything. But we have to go. They need both our signatures and there are things there we’ll want to keep, things belonging to Caleb.”
Tears streamed down Jenna’s face, then she felt the small strong warmth of Cassie’s arms around her.
“Don’t cry, Mommy.”
* * *
Garrett and Blake sat up front in the rented SUV.
Jenna and Holly sat in the back holding Cassie’s hands as they drove to the south end of the Metroplex and into Lancaster.
They lived in One Mile River estates, a family neighborhood of modest bungalows on curving kid-friendly streets sheltered by tall green ash and cottonwoods. But Jenna’s first thought when they neared One Mile was that they’d taken a wrong turn.
This isn’t it.
She couldn’t recognize the community. Everything was flattened.
A Lancaster police car and a couple of city emergency vehicles were posted at a barricade blocking the entrance to the street where Jenna and Blake lived. Beyond it, nothing but a wasteland of rubble.
“Sorry,” a police officer said. “Access is restricted. Only residents with permits can enter, or emergency people or press.”
“My wife and I are residents,” Blake said.
“Okay, then this is what you’ll have to do.”
Blake had to show acceptable proof of residency, such as his driver’s license, to a city official in a truck nearby. The official issued the Coopers a temporary permit for access to their address and advised them to assess and record the damage. Other officials in fluorescent vests emerged and directed them on recovery, noting that most insurance companies had adjusters on-site. There was talk about inspections, the replacement process, applying for living expenses, insurance forms, requirements, deadlines and all available services from groups like the Red Cross and the Salvation Army.
“There’s no gas, no water and no electricity, so make sure you have flashlights and your cell phones are charged,” one official said. “And as you see on the permit, there’s a curfew.”
Garrett had thought to bring a flashlight if they needed it. Blake had ensured they charged phones at night at the hotel. Once they were set, they began walking in but had trouble locating their home.
Their neighborhood was obliterated, street signs and landmarks were gone. The trees had been shredded, stripped, uprooted, leaving jagged pronglike branches spearing the sky, reminiscent of images found in footage of a war zone.
Cars had been flipped and crumpled, like emptied soda cans, roofs had been torn from houses; some homes were severed, exposing bedrooms, living rooms, bathrooms. Furniture had been tossed to lawns that resembled landfill sites with debris everywhere. The air smelled of damp earth, garbage, backed-up sewers and loss.
Jenna, Blake, Cassie, Holly and Garrett walked in silence, reverently observing neighbors picking through the aftermath to the rip-crack of plywood being smashed or moved, punctuated with soft weeping, then the subdued joy as someone recovered a treasure. “I found the box with Mom and Dad’s wedding rings!” or “I found the picture album!”
They came to their address.
Jenna and Blake stared at the heap that had been their home.
Jenna’s chin trembled. Blake pulled her and Cassie close as together they confronted the fact that their home was gone.
Garrett and Holly touched their shoulders in consolation. There was nothing to say and the small group stood in mourning for a long moment until a neighbor greeted them.
“I’m so damn sorry,” Doug Carlin, a seventy-year-old retired U.S. Marine Sergeant, said. “About Caleb, about your house. Bev and I have been asking the good Lord to step up to the plate for you, Blake.”
“Thanks, Doug,” he said, “and thanks for calling me.”
“We lost our place, too, and down the way—” Carlin pointed his wooden walking stick “—the McKinley’s and the Franklins didn’t make it. They were killed in the storm. We found Del and Sam in each other’s arms in the kitchen. The roof came down on them. This place got hit bad, no doubt about it.” Carlin glanced around. “I’ll let you get to it. You got my cell, I got yours. I’ll keep you posted on things here while you do what you gotta do to find your baby. God bless you, now.”
Jenna hugged him, and after Carlin left, Garrett asked Blake the name of their insurance company.
“I’ll head down the street and ask around to get an adjuster to come over and talk to you,” Garrett said.
“I got a card.” Blake reached for his wallet. “We just updated the policy last year, when we knew we— Well, when we knew we wer
e having another child.”
Blake gave the card to Garrett then, after cautioning Cassie to be careful around the debris, Blake and Holly started sifting through it for valuables.
“KAY-leb!” Cassie crouched down and called into the wreckage for her baby brother. “Are you in there, KAY-leb!”
Jenna didn’t move.
This is our old life, she thought, the old life that I lived. The life I loved is gone—it’s never coming back. This life has stopped. It stopped the moment Caleb was taken from me. Our new life won’t start; it can’t start until I’m holding my baby again. I don’t care about the old house, about things. Finding Caleb and putting our family back together is what we have to do.
At that moment, Jenna’s heart skipped for she heard the familiar soft sound of Caleb’s rattle and turned.
“Look, Mommy!” Cassie held up the small yellow plastic ball by its handle. “I found Caleb’s rattle.”
Hearing it was balm for Jenna’s broken heart, and she swept Cassie up in her arms and kissed her. “Good work, sweetheart!”
“I think we should keep it for him for when we fix our home better.”
“I think so, too.”
Jenna turned to see Kate Page standing at the edge of the property.
44
Lancaster, Texas
Holding Cassie in her arms, Jenna remained subdued and took a few steps toward Kate.
“Do you have news about Caleb?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“How did you know we were here?”
“We didn’t.” Kate turned toward Mark Danson, the photographer who was approaching from shooting pictures across the street. “We came this morning for a feature on your neighborhood. You’d told me that you hadn’t been back here since everything happened.”
Blake’s face hardened at Kate’s presence, then he glanced at Jenna.
Danson arrived and upon reading the situation stood behind Kate, saying and doing nothing as the tension mounted.
It became unbearable until Kate spoke to break it. “We were down the street when I saw you here. Jenna, I’m so sorry about everything, about Caleb, your home, about what you said to me at the motel yesterday—it all went down so fast.”
Blake shook his head in slow disappointment.
“She’s just like the FBI, Jen.” Blake resumed picking through what remained of their house. “They’re not your friends. You can’t expect them to call you with information about our baby because it’s all a one-way street with them. They’re just doing their jobs. It’s what they get paid for.”
“It’s not like that, Blake,” Kate said. “Yes, I’m a reporter but I’m a parent, too. And I’ve lost—I lost someone close to me. I care more than you think, and I’m doing all I can to make sure everyone cares, so you can find Caleb. I don’t expect you to believe it, but it’s true and I want you to know that.”
Jenna stared at her, then set Cassie down. A strand of Jenna’s hair curtained over her face and she pushed it back.
“I know you care,” Jenna said. “I knew it when you found Caleb’s romper at the shelter. Because if you hadn’t done that—” her voice weakened “—we wouldn’t know anything. But I have a right to be angry. You let me down.”
“I’m sorry,” Kate said softly.
Jenna nodded.
After letting a moment pass, Kate said, “Will you talk to me a little bit for a story today?”
Blake looked at Kate then at his wife, who’d mournfully scanned the devastation while holding Caleb’s rattle in her hand.
“I keep thinking how I had his stroller. I was holding him but I let go.”
Blake went to her, took her shoulders. “Don’t do this, Jen. Don’t beat yourself up.” Blake shot an accusatory glance at Kate.
But Jenna maintained her composure and continued. “There’s only one thing I’ll say. Our home can be rebuilt but our lives can’t, not until we find our baby. And I beg the people who have him to please give him back to me.”
Kate wrote it down and, noticing the baby’s rattle, asked, “Is that Caleb’s?”
“Yes. Cassie found it here.”
Jenna looked at it before pressing it to her lips.
At that moment Kate heard Danson’s camera and knew that he had a compelling news picture: Jenna Cooper cherishing her missing baby’s toy while standing among the ruins of her home.
45
Dallas, Texas
“That’s the one.”
Mark Danson was previewing his photos while he and Kate sat in his Jeep before leaving the Coopers’ flattened neighborhood in Lancaster. He angled his camera to show her his favorite frame.
“It’s an emotional image,” he said. “What do you think?”
There was Jenna Cooper standing among the ruins of her home cherishing her missing baby’s toy rattle.
“Yes, it’s strong,” Kate said.
Danson started the motor and, as they made their way to the expressway, he sensed Kate was still shaky from talking with Jenna Cooper.
“You were good back there,” he said.
“What d’you mean?”
“How you got the mother to talk when she was clearly pissed at you over the motel business. It was a good act.”
“‘A good act.’ What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know.”
“No, I don’t know.”
“Come on. In this business we gotta say or do whatever it takes to get what we need. Her husband was right, covering tragedies the way we do is part of our job.”
“Pretending to care isn’t how I do things.”
“It’s the name of the game, come on.”
“God, Mark. Do you really think I’m that callous?”
Danson shrugged and switched on the radio, tuning it to a country station. Kate turned to the window, retreated into her thoughts and confronted the truth.
Danson may be an oaf, but he was partly right. Covering tragedies involved invading and exploiting the privacy of people at the most painful times of their lives, and Kate hated doing it. She always reached inside herself to be as honest, compassionate and professional as possible.
But Jenna Cooper’s case was one of the most agonizing she’d ever reported on. Look at all Jenna had suffered: her baby’s missing, her home’s gone. How much more was that poor woman supposed to endure? And even more heartbreaking was Jenna’s belief that she was to blame.
As the city flowed by, her words echoed: I was holding him but I let him go. It’s my fault that I lost him.
That’s why for Kate this was more than a news story. Not because so much was riding on her internship with Newslead—it cut deeper, forcing her to face her own guilt over her little sister...pulling her back years to the accident when she’d gripped Vanessa’s hand....
...the cold numbing her fingers, felt them loosening, unable to hang on...until Vanessa slipped away...
I let her go.
It also forced Kate to face her guilt about her daughter.
She looked at her phone and traced her fingers over Grace’s sweet face on the screen. Oh God, how she missed her. She was horrible for leaving her. I’m so sorry. But there were no jobs for her in Ohio. They’d run out of money and options.
Kate didn’t know what the future held for them. She was giving this story all she had but it was taking a toll. She was exhausted and filled with remorse for thinking of herself. She accepted something she’d known since her first days as a reporter: when you covered tragedies, a piece of you died inside.
* * *
Not long after Kate had returned to the near-empty newsroom and started working on her story, Tommy Koop materialized at her desk.
“Hey, Tommy, where is everybody?”
&nbs
p; He glanced around. “Chuck’s out. Dorothea’s running things for today. Be very careful.”
“Why?”
Tommy leaned in and dropped his voice. “She’s taken a few extra spoons of bitch in her coffee today.”
As Kate nodded her thanks for the warning, Dorothea summoned her to her office.
The news editor was at her desk, eyes on her monitor, eyebrows raised as she stared at the updated news budget list.
“I’m reading your slug line regarding today’s story.” She turned to Kate. “Is this the best you’ve got?”
“Yes. They’ve just discovered they’ve lost their home while they continue to agonize about their missing baby.”
“It’s tragic but a bit soft.”
“It’s not soft. And it’s exclusive. Did you see Mark Danson’s photos? They’re good.”
“Not yet. Couldn’t you find anything newsier, harder?”
“I contacted every source and official connected to the story—there’s nothing new so far.”
“What about the FBI? Any leads after the motel, any more new tips in their search for their persons of interest?”
“Nothing, they’re still processing the motel room. They’ve told me nothing so far.”
Dorothea’s eyebrows climbed a little more and she turned back to her monitor.
“Fine, we’ll have to go with this,” she said. “I don’t really need to remind you that the time on the internship is winding down. In a few more days, Chuck and I will have to make a decision on the successful candidate.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Mandy and Roy will be assigned to help with coverage of the President’s visit. I’m sure we’ll find something for you.”
“But I thought Chuck wanted me to stay on this story to its conclusion?”
“Yes, that’s something I’ll discuss with him when he gets back from his meeting. That’ll be all, Kate, thanks.”
46
Shreveport, Louisiana
Ed Bascom sat on a bench in the park across the street from the Beau Soleil West Medical Center, as his subject had instructed him to do.