The Ballerina's Stand (26 page)

“Oh, honey.” Meg covered the short distance and gathered her daughter into her arms. Emily grabbed hold and sobbed. She would hardly ever consent to a hug anymore. Even hating to see her grieve, Meg was relieved that she would turn to her.

She pressed her cheek to wavy, bobbed hair the same color as hers. They looked so much alike, people sometimes stared. In the past year, Emily had inched up enough that they were now close to the same height, too, which still disconcerted Meg. Emily had her father's brown eyes, though, and was slimmer.

Instinct had Meg rocking slightly on her feet as she said softly, “We'll find her. She's impulsive. She probably went off with someone today and will be back tomorrow. Or one of her other friends will hear from her.”

Sniffling and wiping her wet face with her shirtsleeve, Emily backed away. “It's just...doesn't she know we'll be scared?”

“You'd think.” Meg hesitated, unsure how Emily would react to anything that edged toward criticism of her friend, but decided to say this anyway. “Sabra is pretty self-centered these days.” Meg held up a hand when she saw the outrage forming on her daughter's face. “It's normal, to some extent, for a pregnant woman to be that way. She turns inward. In Sabra's case, well, she must have a lot of fears.”

“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.

Copyright © 2016 by Janice Kay Johnson