“No,” Mara said quietly. “He doesn’t.”
Rachel stared at her.
Behind the door, someone counted, “Five, six, seven, eight,” and a dozen pairs of feet landed together.
Rachel heard herself say, “What do you mean?”
Mara released the door and folded her arms. She was younger than Rachel had expected when Audrey first started lessons, though she carried herself with the erect, economical posture of someone who had spent her life correcting bodies into straight lines. Even standing still, she looked balanced over the balls of her feet. Now she glanced down the hallway toward the lobby, then back at Rachel.
“I mean Audrey hasn’t taken class tonight. She didn’t take it Monday. She didn’t take it last Thursday.” Mara paused. “She has missed eleven classes in five weeks.”
For a moment Rachel thought she had misheard the number.
“Eleven?”
Mara nodded once.
“That isn’t possible.”
