Chapter 2: The Instructor's Warning
For several seconds, I couldn't make myself answer.
Ms. Alvarez was watching me carefully, her clipboard pressed against her chest.
The question hung between us.
Had Derek been driving Audrey to the studio?
Of course he had.
Three afternoons a week.
Sometimes four, when the schedule changed.
He picked her up, drove her to Fernwick, and brought her home after class.
We'd trusted him with our daughter's transportation because we'd known him for thirty years.
"Yes," I finally said.
"Derek has been taking her. Why?""
Ms. Alvarez closed her eyes briefly.
It was such a small gesture, but it frightened me more than if she'd started shouting.
"How long has he been doing that?""
"Since last fall. Since Audrey joined the advanced teen program.""
"And you haven't noticed anything unusual?""
I stared at her.
"What kind of unusual?""
She hesitated.
"I need to be careful about what I tell you. Audrey is sixteen, and she's been very clear that she's afraid of making things worse.""
My heart began pounding.
"Making what worse?""
Ms. Alvarez glanced toward the classroom door.
"Could we speak somewhere private?""
I followed her down the hallway into a small office lined with binders, dance photographs, and framed certificates.
The room smelled faintly of paper and floor polish.
She closed the door and gestured toward a chair.
I remained standing.
"Please," I said.
"Tell me what's happening.""
Ms. Alvarez set her clipboard on the desk.
"Audrey was one of our most dedicated students. She rarely missed class, and she was making excellent progress. When she first joined the advanced program, she was nervous, but she worked incredibly hard.""
I nodded.
I knew all of that.
I'd watched my daughter practice until her muscles trembled.
I'd watched her cry over mistakes, then return to the same movement until she got it right.
"About two months ago," Ms. Alvarez continued, "she began arriving late. Sometimes she would come in looking upset. Other times, she would ask to sit out certain exercises.""
"Why didn't anyone call me?""
"We tried.""
I frowned.
"What?""
"We sent messages about her attendance and her progress. We left a voicemail when she missed two consecutive classes.""
I felt a strange, sinking sensation.
"I never received any of that.""
Ms. Alvarez opened a folder.
She turned her computer monitor toward me and showed me a list of messages sent to the email address on Audrey's enrollment form.
I recognized the address.
It was mine.
"These were sent to me?""
"Yes.""
I stared at the screen.
There were messages from the previous several weeks.
One asked whether Audrey was experiencing difficulties that might require an adjustment to her schedule.
Another requested a conversation about her sudden reluctance to participate in rehearsals.
A third noted that she had missed an important assessment.
I hadn't seen any of them.
"Maybe they went to spam," I whispered.
"That's possible. But we also tried calling.""
She showed me a record of the calls.
I recognized the dates.
I remembered being at work on some of those afternoons, my phone silenced during meetings.
But I didn't remember any missed calls from the studio.
"Did you leave messages?""
"Yes.""
I felt sick.
"Why didn't you call again?""
"We did, Mrs. Bennett. But after the second attempt, Audrey asked us to stop contacting home until she could explain things herself.""
"Why would she do that?""
Ms. Alvarez's expression softened.
"She seemed frightened.""
The room became unbearably quiet.
I sat down.
For weeks, I'd been wondering why my daughter had stopped talking to me.
I'd assumed she was embarrassed about something at school, struggling with the pressure of advanced training, or simply entering a difficult stage of adolescence.
I'd told myself to give her space.
Meanwhile, she'd been trying to manage something so serious that she'd asked her instructor not to contact her family.
"What did she tell you?"" I asked.
"Not everything.""
"Please.""
Ms. Alvarez folded her hands.
"Audrey told me that the drive to the studio had become uncomfortable for her.""
My fingers tightened around the edge of the chair.
"Uncomfortable how?""
"She said Derek had started asking her personal questions. Questions about you and Scott. About your marriage.
About whether you argued. About whether you trusted him.""
I stared at her.
Derek had eaten dinner at our table countless times.
He knew about our financial worries, our work schedules, our family disagreements.
He knew more about our lives than most people outside the family.
But why would he be asking Audrey those questions?
"Maybe he was just making conversation," I said, although the words sounded weak even to me.
Ms. Alvarez didn't argue.
"Perhaps. But Audrey said the questions became more persistent. She also said she began dreading the drives.""
I remembered Audrey's expression beside Derek's car.
Her fingers wrapped around his sleeve.
The urgency in her voice.
But you promised you'd talk to her.
My stomach twisted.
"Did she say he threatened her?""
Ms. Alvarez paused.
"She said she felt she couldn't tell anyone what was happening without causing a serious problem in your family.""
I pressed my hands together to stop them from shaking.
"Did he hurt her?""
"I don't want to make assumptions. I can only tell you what Audrey told me and what I've observed.""
"Then tell me everything.""
Ms. Alvarez took a breath.
"She began asking to leave early. Sometimes she said she felt sick before class. Once, she came into the studio bathroom and stayed there until I went to check on her.""
I covered my mouth.
"She told me she was afraid of the car ride home," Ms. Alvarez continued.
"She said she wanted to find another way to get to class, but she didn't know how to ask you without explaining why.""
The words struck harder than anything else.
My daughter had been afraid of going home.
And I'd been thanking Derek at the front door for bringing her safely back.
"Why didn't she tell me?"" I whispered.
Ms. Alvarez leaned forward.
"I think she was trying to protect you.""
"Protect me from what?""
"From the consequences of speaking up. She knows how close you and your husband are to Derek. She said you trusted him completely.""
I felt as though someone had reached into my chest and squeezed my heart.
Audrey had seen our trust as something she couldn't challenge.
She'd watched us welcome Derek into our home.
She'd heard us praise him for helping our family.
She'd probably imagined what would happen if she told us something that contradicted everything we believed about him.
Would we believe her?
Would Scott defend his friend?
Would our family fall apart?
I had no idea what Audrey had experienced during those drives.
I didn't know exactly what Derek had said or done.
But I knew my daughter was frightened, and that was enough to change everything.
"Where is she now?"" I asked.
"She's not here today.""
"Why?""
"She stopped attending regularly. Her last scheduled class was several days ago.""
I stood abruptly.
"Where is she?""
"I don't know. I haven't seen her since then.""
My knees felt weak.
I'd come here expecting to surprise Audrey with a hug and a promise to take her for ice cream after class.
Now I was trying to understand how she'd disappeared from the place she loved.
"Did she say anything else?""
Ms. Alvarez looked down at the folder.
"She asked me to keep something for her.""
She opened a desk drawer and removed a small white envelope.
My name was written on the front.
Not my first name.
Not a nickname.
Just two words in Audrey's familiar handwriting.
MOM. PLEASE.
I reached for it, but Ms. Alvarez held it for another second.
"She left this with me several days ago," she said.
"She told me that if you came looking for her, I should give it to you.""
My hands were trembling so badly that I nearly dropped the envelope.
"Why didn't you call me?""
"She asked me not to. She said she needed to be the one to tell you.""
I swallowed hard.
"Did she say where she was going?""
"No.""
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a folded sheet of paper.
The handwriting was unmistakably Audrey's, but the letters were uneven, as though she'd written them in a hurry.
Mom,
I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.
I know you trust Derek.
I know Dad trusts him, too.
I tried to handle it myself because I didn't want to ruin everything.
But I can't keep pretending I'm okay.
Please don't let him know I told you.
Please don't ask him about this until you understand.
I read the note twice.
Then a third time.
There was no detailed accusation.
No explanation of what had happened.
Only fear.
And a desperate request that I not confront him before I understood.
I looked up at Ms. Alvarez.
"Did she say what she was afraid of?""
The instructor shook her head.
"Not specifically.""
I folded the paper carefully and slipped it into my purse.
"Did you ever see Derek here?""
"Once or twice, from a distance. He usually waited outside.""
"Did he come into the building?""
"Not while I was present.""
"Did Audrey ever ask you to help her avoid him?""
Ms. Alvarez hesitated.
"She asked whether another parent might be able to drive her. She also asked about taking classes on different days.""
"Why didn't she arrange that?""
"She said she couldn't explain the change to her family without making things worse.""
I closed my eyes.
My daughter had been searching for a way out.
And she'd been doing it alone.
I thought about the scholarship.
The recital auditions.
The way she'd once filled our cramped kitchen with turns and laughter.
Now she was avoiding the studio altogether because the drive had become something she dreaded.
"Could she have been afraid of losing her place in the program?"" I asked.
"Perhaps. But I don't think that was the main issue.""
Ms. Alvarez lowered her voice.
"Mrs. Bennett, I'm going to say something difficult. I think Audrey needs you to listen without immediately trying to fix things or explain them away.""
I felt tears burning behind my eyes.
"I would never dismiss her.""
"I believe you. But sometimes children stay silent because they're afraid the truth will hurt the people they love.""
I couldn't answer.
Because suddenly I understood that my daughter might not have been hiding something from me because she didn't trust me.
She might have been hiding it because she trusted me to love Derek.
And she didn't know what would happen if that trust shattered.
I thanked Ms. Alvarez and walked out of the studio.
The sunlight outside seemed too bright.
Cars moved through the street.
People carried coffee cups and shopping bags.
Ordinary life continued as though nothing had changed.
But everything had.
I sat in my car and called Audrey.
It rang several times before going to voicemail.
I didn't leave a message.
I tried again.
Nothing.
I sent a text.
Sweetheart, I'm at the studio. I'm worried about you. Please call me when you can. I love you.
Then I sat there staring at my phone.
I wanted to call Scott.
I wanted to tell him what Ms. Alvarez had said and ask whether he'd ever noticed anything unusual about Derek.
But Audrey's note kept repeating itself in my mind.
Please don't let him know I told you.
I didn't know whether she meant Derek or someone else.
I didn't know what she was afraid would happen if he found out.
I only knew I couldn't ignore her request.
So I drove home.
When I arrived, Scott's car wasn't in the driveway.
The house was quiet.
I went upstairs and stood outside Audrey's bedroom.
Her door was closed.
I knocked.
"Audrey?""
No answer.
I opened it slowly.
Her room was empty.
Her bed was made.
Her desk was tidy.
But her ballet bag was gone.
So was the small suitcase she kept in the closet.
My heart lurched.
I checked the bathroom.
The laundry room.
The spare bedroom.
Nothing.
Then I noticed a sheet of paper lying on her desk.
It was a printed copy of the studio's recital audition schedule.
Someone had circled the date in red.
Beneath it, Audrey had written a single sentence.
I wish I could go back to when dancing was the only thing I was afraid of.
I sank into her desk chair.
For the first time, I allowed myself to consider the possibility that whatever had happened was worse than I'd imagined.
And then my phone rang.
Scott.
"Hey," he said casually.
"Have you heard from Derek today?""
My entire body went cold.
"Why?""
There was a pause.
"He called me earlier. Said he needed to talk about something involving Audrey.""
I gripped the phone.
"What did he say?""
"Nothing specific. He sounded strange, actually.""
I stared at the empty bed.
"What kind of strange?""
Scott exhaled.
"He asked whether Audrey had told us anything about their drives to Fernwick.""
I stopped breathing for a moment.
May you like
Then Scott added the words that made me realize Derek might already know we were beginning to ask questions.
"He seemed really worried about what she might have said.""
