An Anxious Wait, Then a Kiss for a Little Girl

They said the injured children are all boys, but Jessica has short hair, Terrie Berger kept thinking to herself. But they would know. They wouldn’t say it was a boy if it was a girl. Would they?

Berger tugged on her short red hair with trembling hands as she stood outside the North Valley Jewish Community Center in Granada Hills on Tuesday. She tried to calm herself down. Jessica is OK, she thought. She has to be.

Berger had been in a meeting at the nearby aerospace company where she works, trying to negotiate a sale of landing gear, when her cellular phone rang. It was her friend Susie, who was always joking.

“Terrie, I heard there was a shooting at the school!”

“Susie, stop it. That’s not funny.”

“Terrie, I swear to you.”

Berger rushed out of the room.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” her boss called after her. She didn’t answer.

Outside, she heard the buzz of helicopters, like angry dragonflies circling in the sky. Oh God. She jumped in her car.

In 10 minutes, she was at the community center where she had dropped off 6-year-old Jessica for camp just before 8 a.m. The little girl had bounded in, excited for another day of swimming, Israeli folk dancing and learning Hebrew.

Now the street was packed with television cameras and frantic parents with phones pressed to their ears, standing on their toes and straining to see past the yellow police tape.

Berger tried to get through the crush of people, but was ordered back.

“Where’s my daughter?” she demanded. Wait on the other side of the police line, police officials told her. We’ll call parents by name when we have information.

Berger quickly pulled out her phone and dialed her office, where her husband also works.

“Tell Gary to get over here,” she said tearfully. “Tell him there’s been a shooting and they won’t let me in to get Jessica.”

All around her, parents wept and worried. Some sat on the curb, rocking back and forth. Others pressed up against the police tape, begging officers for information.

Berger stood in the middle of the confusion, wrapped her arms around herself and shook in her blue suit. “My baby,” she said softly, her eyes filling with tears. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

A few minutes later, her husband arrived, and they quickly rushed over to a nearby park where police said some children had been taken. Jessica was his pride and joy, Berger thought as she watched her worried husband leave.

Please let her be all right.

Suddenly, a bullhorn crackled as a firefighter addressed the crowd.

“Folks, all the kids who are here are OK. They’re in a room and they’re secure. We can’t let them out yet because we’re making sure the area is safe. But they’re OK.”

But was Jessica in there? No one could tell her.

That morning, her daughter had been running late, as usual. She wouldn’t stop watching cartoons and brushing her short brown hair.

“Hurry up,” Berger had admonished. “We’re late!”

She’ll never yell at her again, she promised herself. If only Jessica hadn’t been near the shooting. If only she hadn’t gone to camp today. If only she was OK.

Berger turned, and suddenly let out a cry.

There was Jessica, holding on to her father’s hand, calmly walking down the street toward her.

“Oh!” Berger moaned. She rushed to the little girl and scooped her up, crying and planting kisses all over her face. Her husband stood by and smiled, looking exhausted and relieved.

Jessica hugged her mother tightly and looked around in wonder at all the cameras and fire trucks and police cars.

“What happened?” the little girl asked, puzzled.

“Mommy will tell you later,” Berger said, squeezing her tightly. “Let’s just go home. Let’s go home.”