The drive over was silent. No radio, no small talk, just the whine of the minivan’s worn brakes and everyone trying not to breathe too loudly.
Fourteen days without Jake.
Michelle stared straight ahead the entire ride, her hands locked together in her lap. The lines on her forehead hadn’t eased one time since Jake was taken. Behind us, the kids shifted occasionally, but no one spoke. Even Grace, usually our chatterbox, rested her head on Keith’s arm without a word.
We’d done this drive too many times in the past two weeks. Another press conference. Another performance none of us had the strength for. But we did it anyway. Because the stakes were Jake. We were there to remind the world he wasn’t just a headline or a case number, he was our son and their brother. And we needed him home.
That wasn’t to say it was an easy decision to make. It meant exposing our other children to the cameras and making them vulnerable. But Michelle and I reluctantly agreed when the victim specialist said it would help keep the case in the public eye—showing the whole family, showing what was at stake. “People respond to faces,” she’d said. “They stay invested when they can see who’s hurting.”
It was also about unity; about projecting something solid when everything inside us was splitting apart. And, though I didn’t say it out loud, there was a part of me that hoped if Jake was watching somehow, he’d see all of us there together and know we weren’t giving up on him.
Kyle was the only one not in the car. He had stayed behind at the house with Melanie. With his arm in a sling and the concussion cleared after a few tense days, physically Kyle was healing, but mentally, he was still hanging by a thread. Putting him in front of cameras felt cruel. Even though the media had been told the kids were off-limits, we didn’t trust they’d stick to that. Not when Kyle had been the last person to see Jake.
I pulled into the parking lot of the Community Center and immediately glanced over to Michelle, both of us reacting to the same thing. Where was everybody? In the days after the kidnapping, the auditorium had been packed with reporters, and those who couldn’t get inside spilled out into the parking lot. We’d needed a police escort just to get into the building.
Today we were met by a single officer and no one else.
“Have they moved the press briefing somewhere else?” I asked the officer when we parked, hoping this was a mistake and not the world forgetting.
“No, there are reporters inside,” he said.
Michelle closed her eyes, shaking her head. I gripped her arm, trying to give her whatever hope I could spare, but my tank was emptying too.
“All right,” I said quietly. “Let’s go.”
No one groaned. No one resisted. They just moved in a slow, mechanical way. Michelle stepped out first, shoulders squared, face tight. She looked tired. Checked out. The kids climbed out behind her, keeping close. Keith lifted Grace into his arms.Quinn slipped his hand into Emma’s without being asked. We walked along the empty sidewalk with our heads down and without talking. Only once inside were we met by reporters calling out questions.
“Any updates today?”
“Is the search being scaled back?”
“Michelle, will you speak?”
“Scott, do you still believe Jake is alive?”
I kept my eyes forward, no longer answering the questions asked of me. I’d done that the first time and had regretted it instantly. The more you gave, the more they took. Up ahead was the podium, with Jake’s missing child poster behind it. I flinched. It was the most current picture we had. My boy, frozen in his thirteen-year-old smile. Jake hated this school photo because “My hair’s doing that stupid swoopy thing, Dad.” God forbid Michelle had him comb it on picture day. I wanted to smile at the memory, to honor his light, but it was too raw. Too soon.
We took our places on the stage, Michelle by my side, her face hollow but composed. Reporters hated her for that look. They called her cold, emotionless, and “oddly detached for a grieving mother.” Her silence had been dissected, judged, and picked apart. They wanted tears, shaking hands, a mother on the brink—and she was all those things, only behind closed doors.
Behind us, the kids were lined up like they had rehearsed this. They hadn’t. They just knew the expectations by now. Emma was stiff and expressionless. Quinn fidgeted by her side. Keith held Grace, his jaw clenched.
This was the first press conference without Mitch. He’d flown in from Arizona the second he’d heard and had been a huge comfort—not just to me but to Kyle. In those first days after the kidnapping, he slept in Jake’s bed and talked Kyle downfrom every nightmare. But it was Mitch’s senior year of college, and eventually he had to go back.
The briefing started the way they all did now. A senior FBI agent stepped to the podium and ran through the updates of new searches, old leads, and tips being vetted. The words were meant to sound reassuring, but they landed flat after fourteen days. Most of it washed over me in a dull, repetitive hum. Even in the private briefings, fewer and farther between now, there was never anything solid. No real urgency. And whenever I raised my voice, demanding answers, I got the same stock phrases:We’re turning over every stone.Jake is our top priority.
“At this time, we’ll turn it over to the family for a statement.” The agent stepped back.
Every camera in the room pivoted toward us, and I moved to the podium because that was my job now—the spokesperson, the dad America had pinned their hope on. People seemed to trust me, for whatever reason. Maybe it was the blue-collar thing, or the hope I refused to let go of, or the simple fact that I could’ve been their neighbor.
I stepped up to the microphones, camera lights cutting across my face in a spotlight I never asked for. My hands gripped the podium—partly to steady myself, partly so I didn’t put my fist through something.
“We don’t have any new information today,” I began, my voice holding steady by the thinnest thread. “And that’s been one of the hardest parts of this—the waiting and not knowing. But we’ve been assured the case is being worked around the clock, and we’re asking the public to stay alert. If you saw anything that might help—even something you’re not sure matters—please come forward.”
I paused. Not by choice; I just… needed to breathe. “To the person who has our son… please. Let him go. We’re not looking for explanations. We just want Jake home.” My jaw tightened, butI pushed the last part out because I had to. If he could hear me somehow, he needed to know. “Jake… if you’re listening, we love you. Your guitar’s still tuned. That riff you were working on? It’s waiting for you to finish it. We’re gonna find you, kid. Hold on.”
The room went silent, and the reporters lowered their microphones. I stepped back, tears in my eyes, and the FBI agent moved in immediately, cutting off any questions before they could start. “No questions at this time. Further updates will come through our office.”
A few low murmurs started… and then Michelle’s voice cut through all of it.
