She’s just upset we didn’t stop at the drive-thru.
Rachel had accepted the sentence because it gave her something small enough to be irritated by.
Mara watched her carefully. “What do you think was happening during those hours?”
“I don’t know.”
“You have an idea.”
“No.” Rachel’s answer came too fast. “And I’m not going to invent one.”
Mara’s gaze held hers.
Rachel knew what she was hearing in her own voice: administrator Rachel, the woman who could sit in a conference room after a medication error and say facts first until everyone stopped guessing. It was a useful voice. It had gotten her through deaths, lawsuits, threats, screaming families, and doctors who thought authority was the same thing as infallibility.
It was less useful when the name on the problem was Audrey.
“The only fact I have,” Rachel said, forcing each word into place, “is that Audrey has been leaving home for ballet and not coming to ballet.”
