“The deadbolt is locked from the outside, Jackson,” I said, my finger tracing the torn arm of the doll. “The car is here. If they walked, they left Mia’s doll on the steps.”
“You are overreacting, Emily,” Jackson said, his voice dropping into that defensive tone he used whenever I questioned his mother. “She probably just went out the back door and took the stroller.”
“The stroller is in my trunk,” I said.
“Then she carried her,” Jackson said. “Just wait on the porch. I will call her cell phone when I finish this car.”
“I already called her cell three times,” I said. “It goes straight to voicemail.”
“She is fifty-eight, Emily, she does not look at her screen every second,” Jackson said. “Do not start a project out of nothing. Just sit in your car and wait for her.”
