“She doesn’t act like she does,” Emily mumbled.
Now there was a surprise: an honest observation.
“No, I’ve noticed that,” Meg admitted. “It’s been worrying me. She doesn’t seem to realize what a tough road she has ahead.”
“The truth comes out.” In an abrupt reversion to war, Emily sneered. “You just say all that stuff about how glad you are you had me because you think you have to.”
The ground between truth and lies was tricky. Were there times I did wish I hadn’t gotten pregnant? Of course there were. The first few years had been terrifying, lonely and dangerous. But overall, the joy of having this perfect, formerly sunny child more than compensated for every challenge she had faced.
“It’s hard to take care of a baby when you’re only sixteen,” she said, refusing to let herself feel hurt by the attack. “Especially if you don’t have the support of parents.” She’d kept the uglier details about those first few years from Emily, who did know Meg had been on her own from the instant she’d admitted to her pregnancy. Emily had never met either set of grandparents. “But I have loved you every minute since you were born, and you know it.”
A flush spread on Emily’s cheeks, and she ducked her head.
“Why don’t you get ready for bed?” Meg suggested.
“How can I sleep?” Emily wailed, lifting her head again to expose a blotchy face.
“Staying awake won’t do any good.” Meg dared another swift hug. “And we both know the chances are that Sabra is with the father of her baby, safe and sound.”
“Do you think they got married today?”
“I don’t see how they could have,” she said honestly. “Sabra is too young.”
“She says her mom would probably give legal consent, because she doesn’t want her anyway.”
Meg winced. What sounded like typical teenage melodrama might, unfortunately, be true. Meg could imagine Sabra’s mother doing just that. Which, she reminded herself, might be for the best, depending on the age and maturity of the baby’s father.
Would I have married Carson if he’d asked? As scared as she’d been, the answer was probably yes, but it would have been a disaster. And...she’d survived and somehow protected Emily through everything.
“I’m pretty sure Mrs. Lee would have told me if she’d done something like that.” Until Meg had called her this evening, Sabra’s mom hadn’t even known Sabra was missing. All she knew about was the phone call from the school. Which she had ignored, having dramatically washed her hands of her child. Meg was seriously angry at the school administration, from the secretaries on up to the principal. They had all been amply informed about the change in Sabra’s home situation yet hadn’t set in place a mechanism to keep her informed.
Emily gave a forlorn snuffle. “Will you wake me up if you hear anything?”
Meg managed to smile. “Promise.”
“Do I have to go to school Monday?”
She hesitated, at war between her desire to somehow regain their closeness and her hard-won knowledge that she had to be a parent first, friend second to her daughter. “Yes, you do,” she said, sounding firmer than she felt.
“But—”
Meg raised her eyebrows.
“Fine,” her kid snapped. “I’m going to bed.” She rushed out of the living room and thundered up the stairs.
A moment later, Meg heard water running.
She should go to bed, too. The mantel clock had bonged the hour not long ago. With it after ten, she couldn’t imagine she’d hear anything about Sabra unless it was the police to let her know there had been an accident or—no, she wouldn’t let herself think about any other possibilities. And if there’d been a car accident, why wouldn’t she already have been informed?
Because they’d gone to her home of record?
If something awful had happened, Meg wanted to believe Andrea Lee would have let her know.
No, she had no doubt her foster daughter had rushed off joyously to be with the man who had promised her the moon. Somehow, Meg doubted she’d given a thought to the people who would be worrying about her.
And...why the secret in the first place? Why hadn’t the baby’s father come forward by now? Why would he sweep Sabra away without letting anyone know what they were doing?
Chilled, Meg nonetheless made herself begin her usual evening routine of checking door and window locks and turning out lights before she, too, headed upstairs to try to sleep.
THE DOORBELL PRODUCED a bong deep inside the house. Waiting on the wide front porch, Jack breathed in crisp air that tasted more of winter than spring as he checked out the front yard crowded with giant shrubs surrounding a lawn that really needed mowing. The lilacs he recognized, though they wouldn’t be blooming for a good while. March in eastern Washington could feel like spring one day and pound you with a snowstorm the next.
Then he focused on the handsome old door with an oval insert of beveled glass veiled with a lace curtain. He had to ask himself again why he was here. Yes, he had cleared his most urgent case Friday night, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t still follow-up he hadn’t finished this weekend, not to mention the reports he had to write. Plus other investigations that had been put on the back burner.
But damned if he hadn’t raised a hand this morning, feeling like a good little boy in a third-grade classroom, and said, “I heard the beginning of this drama. I’ll handle it.”
Nobody argued, and why would they? They all had too much to do and not enough time to do it. The lieutenant had written his name on the whiteboard where they tracked who was working on what, and Jack started gathering details not so different from what the woman had claimed Friday and in her second attempt to file a report on Sunday, but more worrisome.
The sound of footsteps was followed by a lock disengaging. The door opened a cautious crack, letting him see the woman within, every bit as hot as he’d remembered. The snug, faded jeans she wore gave him a better look at long legs and curvaceous hips. She had a redhead’s skin with a scattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks. Cinnamon and cream.
And, damn it, he needed to quit looking.
“Mrs. Harper?”
“It’s Ms.”
Which meant...what? She was divorced? Had never been married?
Irrelevant.
He pushed back his shirt to expose the badge hooked on his belt. “I’m Detective Jack Moore with Frenchman Lake Police Department. I’d like to talk to you about Sabra Lee.”
Meg Harper’s face lit with relief. “But I’ve been told twice—oh, never mind. Come in. Please.” She stepped back.
As was his habit, he scanned entry, stairs, the hall that led to the back of the house and what he could see of a room to the left that should have been a dining room but appeared to be in use as...some kind of sewing room? The living room was visible through a wide opening to the right. No other people, and he heard only quiet. The place was warm and homey. It took a second look for him to see how shabby it was, too. Scratched and scuffed floors, missing balusters on the staircase railing making him think of the gaps in a five-year-old’s smile. The ceilings had to be ten feet high, which must make the place a bitch to heat.
The