Audrey let go of his sleeve and hurried toward the front door.
I watched her disappear inside.
Then I looked at Derek.
“What was that about?”
He laughed.
“Oh, nothing serious. She’s upset because we didn’t stop at the drive-through.”
I frowned.
“She has dinner waiting inside.”
“Exactly. I told her we’d be home soon enough.”
He gave me another smile.
“Teenagers, right?”
Before I could ask anything else, he drove away.
I went inside.
Audrey wasn’t in the kitchen.
Then I heard her crying in the downstairs bathroom.
I knocked gently.
“Sweetheart?”
“Go away.”
***NEXT PAGE
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Audrey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Did something happen with Derek?”
“No!”
“Then please talk to me.”
She opened the door.
Her face was wet with tears.
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
I stepped back.
She had never spoken to me that way.
I wasn’t angry.
I was frightened.
Something was clearly wrong, and my daughter seemed convinced I was part of the problem.
That night, I asked Scott to speak with Derek.
He looked puzzled.
“About what?”
“About whatever happened in the car.”
“Derek said she was upset about stopping for food.”
“Scott, I heard her asking him to talk to me about something.”
He sighed.
“They’ve probably had some little disagreement.”
“But why was she crying?”
“Claire, I’ve
known Derek almost thirty years. He wouldn’t deliberately upset Audrey.”
I understood why my husband trusted him.
I had trusted him too.
But I couldn’t ignore the feeling that something important was being kept from me.
The next afternoon, I decided to visit the studio myself.
******NEXT PAGE
I arranged to leave work early.
I didn’t tell Scott or Audrey.
I wasn’t trying to embarrass my daughter.
I simply wanted to speak to her in a place where she might feel comfortable discussing ballet again.
When I arrived, classes were ending.
Students were coming out of the studio carrying their bags.
Through the glass, I could see several dancers near the barre.
But Audrey wasn’t among them.
I waited.
More students came out.
Still no Audrey.
A woman holding a clipboard approached me.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for my daughter, Audrey Bennett. She’s in the advanced teen program.”
The woman introduced herself as Ms. Alvarez.
Audrey’s instructor.
I smiled politely.
