A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

It’s a media circus when we get home. That’s what Dad says as he
steers the car through a crowd of reporters. A media circus. It makes
me think of the reporters as clowns, as circus freaks, which they are.
They step back so Dad doesn’t run them over. Still, they take
pictures through the car window; they shout questions at you. Those
farther back crane their necks for a measly look at you. There are a
butt load of them. They fight each other for a square foot of our lawn,
which Dad says they aren’t supposed to be on, anyway, because
that’s trespassing. He lays on the horn and they step farther back
from the car. At the sound of Dad’s horn, you spaz out, getting all
twitchy. I feel sorry for you. But I don’t know what to say to make it
better, so I say nothing.
I ask Dad how they know you’re here. Dad says some shyster at
the station or the hospital probably leaked to the media that you
were back. Otherwise how would they know? Your miraculous return
is supposed to be kept on the down-low.
Dad’s angry about it because if what you told the lady cop is true,
then there’s still someone out there looking for you. And if that’s the
case, these reporters will lead them right to our door.