Those things look like medieval torture devices.
Audrey had rolled her eyes. They’re pointe shoes.
Whatever. Don’t kick my dashboard with them.
That evening Audrey had returned quiet.
Rachel had assumed she was tired.
“What happened that night?” Rachel murmured.
Mara shook her head. “I don’t know. She simply never walked through the door.”
Rachel stared at the screen.
A memory surfaced without invitation: Derek’s SUV at the curb three weeks ago, Audrey climbing out with a paper cup in one hand.
Got her fed, Derek had said.
Another evening: Audrey coming in carrying a small fries container she barely touched.
She talked me into the drive-thru, Derek had joked.
Another: Scott calling from the living room, You two eat again? We’ve got leftovers.
Derek answering, Growing ballerina. What do you expect?
Rachel looked more closely at the dates.
Her fingers went cold.
“Can you print this?”
