Chapter 3: The Question My Husband Couldn't Answer
I didn't tell Scott about the envelope.
Not immediately.
I stood in Audrey's empty bedroom, listening to my husband's voice through the phone, trying to decide how much I could say without risking the one thing that mattered most.
Audrey had asked me not to let Derek know she'd spoken.
I didn't know whether Scott had already talked to him.
I didn't know whether Derek had guessed that I'd gone to the studio.
And I didn't know what my husband would do if I told him his oldest friend might be the reason our daughter had stopped dancing.
"Why would Derek ask that?"" I said.
Scott was quiet for a moment.
"I don't know. He said Audrey had been acting differently lately. He wondered if she was having trouble with school or the ballet program.""
I looked at the audition schedule on her desk.
"Did he say anything else?""
"He asked whether she'd been talking to us.""
My grip tightened around the phone.
"What exactly did he ask?""
"Whether she'd mentioned anything about him.""
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
Not whether Audrey was happy.
Not whether she was struggling.
Not whether she needed help.
Whether she'd said anything about him.
"Scott," I said carefully, "have you noticed that Audrey isn't herself anymore?""
"Of course I have.""
"Then why haven't we done anything?""
The words came out sharper than I'd intended.
He went silent.
I immediately felt guilty, but I couldn't take them back.
Finally, he said, "I thought she was having a hard time with the advanced classes. You said she might be stressed.""
"I thought she might be stressed.""
"Then what are you saying?""
I looked around Audrey's room.
The framed photographs.
The stack of dance magazines.
The ribbons from performances she'd attended as a little girl.
All the evidence of a passion that had once filled every corner of her life.
"I'm saying I don't think this is just about ballet.""
Scott exhaled.
"Did something happen today?""
I hesitated.
I'd promised Audrey I wouldn't let Derek know she'd told me.
But I hadn't promised to keep Scott in the dark forever.
He was her father.
He deserved to know if our daughter was in trouble.
"I went to the studio," I said.
"What?""
"I went to Fernwick. I wanted to surprise her.""
"Why didn't you tell me?""
"Because I wanted to see how she was doing without making her feel watched.""
I swallowed.
"Scott, Audrey wasn't there.""
"What do you mean, she wasn't there?""
"She hasn't been attending regularly. Ms. Alvarez tried contacting us, but I never saw the messages.""
"That doesn't make sense. Derek has been taking her.""
"That's what I thought.""
I heard him moving around, followed by the sound of a door closing.
"Did Ms. Alvarez tell you why Audrey stopped going?""
"She said Audrey had been frightened.""
The silence that followed was so complete that I checked whether the call had disconnected.
Then Scott spoke.
"Frightened of what?""
"I don't know everything yet.""
"What does that mean?""
I pressed my free hand against my forehead.
"It means our daughter has been dealing with something she doesn't feel safe telling us.""
"Did she say Derek did something?""
The question came quickly.
Too quickly.
I didn't know what to make of it.
"I haven't accused anyone of anything," I said.
"But I think we need to find Audrey and listen to her.""
"Of course we do.""
His voice had changed.
The easy warmth was gone.
"Where is she now?""
"I don't know.""
"How can you not know where our daughter is?""
The anger in his voice made me flinch.
"Scott, I'm trying to find her.""
"Well, we need to call Derek. He might know where she went.""
"No.""
The word came out before I could stop it.
Scott fell silent.
"Why not?""
I thought about Audrey gripping Derek's sleeve.
I thought about her note.
Please don't let him know I told you.
"I don't think we should contact him yet.""
"He's the one who drives her.""
"Exactly.""
Scott didn't answer.
I could hear his breathing.
Then he said, "You're making it sound like Derek has done something wrong.""
"I'm saying we don't know what's happened, and our daughter is afraid.""
"He's my best friend.""
"I know.""
"Thirty years, Claire.""
I closed my eyes.
My name sounded strange in his voice, as though he were reminding me of something I had forgotten.
"I know how long you've known him, Scott. I know what he means to you.""
"Then you know he wouldn't deliberately hurt Audrey.""
I looked at the photograph on her desk.
Audrey at thirteen, grinning beside a Christmas tree with one foot lifted behind her in an improvised ballet pose.
"I don't know what he would or wouldn't do anymore," I whispered.
Scott said nothing.
For several seconds, I thought he'd hung up.
Then he spoke again.
"Claire, I need you to be careful about what you're suggesting.""
I felt something inside me harden.
"I'm not suggesting anything. I'm trying to find our daughter.""
And I ended the call.
My hands were shaking.
I'd never hung up on Scott before.
Not once in our marriage.
But I couldn't spend another minute debating Derek's character while Audrey was missing from her own life.
I took the envelope from my purse and read the note again.
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 stared at the last two lines.
Until you understand.
Audrey believed there was something I needed to understand before confronting Derek.
Something that might explain why she'd been afraid.
Something she couldn't yet bring herself to say.
I wanted to respect that.
But I also needed to know where she was.
I called her again.
This time, she answered.
"Audrey?""
Silence.
Then I heard a faint breath.
"Sweetheart, where are you?""
"I'm okay.""
Her voice sounded thin and distant.
"Where are you?""
"I can't tell you.""
My chest tightened.
"Why not?""
"Because you might tell Dad.""
I sat down on the edge of her bed.
"Your father loves you.""
"I know.""
"Then why are you afraid of telling him?""
She didn't answer.
I forced myself to speak slowly.
"Audrey, I went to the studio today. I talked to Ms. Alvarez. She told me you've been having a hard time.""
A quiet sob came through the phone.
"Oh, Mom.""
The sound nearly broke me.
"I'm not angry with you," I said quickly.
"I'm not disappointed. I just want to help.""
"You don't understand.""
"Then help me understand.""
She sniffed.
"I can't.""
"Why?""
"Because if I tell you everything, you'll ask him about it.""
I gripped the phone tighter.
"Audrey, I won't do anything that puts you in danger.""
"You don't know that.""
Her words landed like a slap.
Not because they were cruel.
Because they were frightened.
She wasn't telling me that I was a bad mother.
She was telling me that she no longer believed I could protect her from the consequences of speaking.
And I had no idea how to convince her otherwise.
"You're right," I said quietly.
The line went silent.
"I don't know everything that's happened," I continued.
"I don't know what you're afraid of, and I won't pretend I do. But I can promise you that you don't have to handle this alone.""
I heard her crying.
"Can you tell me where you are?""
"No.""
"Are you somewhere safe?""
A pause.
"Yes.""
"Are you with someone you trust?""
Another pause.
"Yes.""
I wanted to ask a hundred questions.
Who was she with?
How long had she been gone?
Was she eating?
Was she sleeping?
Did she have enough money?
But I remembered Ms. Alvarez's warning.
Listen without trying to fix everything.
So I asked the only question I could think of.
"What do you need from me right now?""
Audrey breathed shakily.
"I need you not to believe him just because Dad does.""
I went completely still.
"Okay," I whispered.
"And I need you not to make me go back.""
"Back where, sweetheart?""
She didn't answer.
"Audrey?""
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone.
Then I called her back.
Voicemail.
I sent a text telling her I loved her and would wait until she was ready to talk.
I didn't mention Derek.
I didn't call Scott again.
Instead, I sat in Audrey's room until the light outside faded and the house grew dark.
For the first time since we'd welcomed Derek into our lives, I wondered whether our friendship with him had made us blind to something that should have been obvious.
Not because he'd suddenly become a stranger.
But because we'd never thought to question the person we'd known for so long.
Scott came home just after seven.
I heard his keys hit the counter.
He called my name from the kitchen.
When I didn't answer, he came upstairs and found me sitting on Audrey's bed.
"Have you found her?""
"No.""
He rubbed his face.
"Did she tell you where she is?""
"She said she's safe.""
"With whom?""
"She wouldn't tell me.""
Scott paced the room.
"This is ridiculous. She's sixteen, Claire. She can't just disappear without telling us where she is.""
I looked at him.
"She's not disappearing for fun.""
"You don't know that.""
"Neither do you.""
He stopped pacing.
For a moment, we stared at each other in silence.
Then he sat down beside me.
"I spoke to Derek.""
My stomach tightened.
"What did you tell him?""
"That Audrey hasn't been herself lately and that we're worried.""
"What did he say?""
Scott hesitated.
"He said he'd noticed the same thing.""
I waited.
"He said Audrey had become increasingly difficult during the drives. That she'd started refusing to talk to him and sometimes asked him to drop her off early.""
My heart began pounding.
"Did he explain why?""
"He said he didn't know. He thought she might be upset about school.""
I looked down at my hands.
"Did he say anything about the studio?""
Scott nodded.
"He said he'd stopped taking her because she told him she didn't want to go anymore.""
I stared at him.
"When did she tell him that?""
"About a week ago, apparently.""
"Why didn't he tell us?""
"He said he assumed we'd already discussed it with her.""
I almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the explanation was so convenient.
Derek had driven our daughter to ballet for months.
He'd watched her fall silent, abandon her passion, and stop attending classes.
And somehow, he'd never thought to tell either of us.
"Did you believe him?"" I asked.
Scott looked offended.
"Why wouldn't I?""
I turned toward him.
"Because he asked you whether she'd told us anything about their drives before he asked whether she was okay.""
Scott's expression changed.
"What?""
I repeated the words he'd told me earlier.
"He wanted to know whether she'd mentioned anything about him.""
Scott looked away.
"He didn't say it like that.""
"Then how did he say it?""
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Finally, he stood.
"I think you're reading too much into this.""
I felt my eyes burn.
"Our daughter is afraid to tell us where she is.""
"She's a teenager.""
"She's terrified.""
"Claire—"
"She told me not to believe Derek just because you do.""
Scott went completely still.
The words seemed to hang in the room between us.
For the first time that evening, he looked genuinely shaken.
"What exactly did she say?""
I hesitated.
I hadn't told him about the envelope, and I wasn't sure whether revealing everything would help or make things worse.
But I couldn't let him continue pretending this was an ordinary disagreement between a mother and a teenage daughter.
"She said she needs me not to believe him automatically.""
Scott sat down again.
His face had gone pale.
"Why would she say that?""
"I don't know.""
"Did she accuse him of something?""
"She hasn't told me everything.""
He stared at the floor.
I watched him struggle with the possibility that the man he'd known since high school might not be the person he believed him to be.
I understood the struggle.
I was experiencing it myself.
Thirty years of memories don't vanish because someone behaves strangely.
You remember the laughter.
The favors.
The holidays.
The moments when they showed up for you.
You remember every reason you trusted them.
And sometimes those memories become the very thing that keeps you from seeing what's happening now.
Scott looked up.
"We need to talk to Derek together.""
"No.""
His eyebrows drew together.
"What do you mean, no?""
"I mean we need to find Audrey first.""
"And then what? We just let this hang over our family?""
"We listen to her.""
"Of course we listen to her.""
"Without defending him.""
Scott's jaw tightened.
"I wouldn't defend anyone over our daughter.""
I wanted to believe him.
I wanted to reach across the bed and hold his hand and tell him that we would figure this out together.
But I remembered the way he'd reacted when I questioned Derek.
He'd reminded me of thirty years of friendship before he'd asked whether our daughter was safe.
"Then promise me something," I said.
"What?""
"Until Audrey tells us what happened, don't call Derek again. Don't warn him that we're asking questions. And don't tell him where she is if you find out.""
Scott looked at me as if I'd asked him to betray his oldest friend.
"Claire, that's unreasonable.""
"Why?""
"Because Derek deserves a chance to explain himself.""
I felt something inside me break.
"Our daughter deserves to feel safe enough to speak.""
Scott looked away.
Neither of us spoke for a long time.
Then his phone buzzed.
He pulled it from his pocket.
I watched his expression change as he read the screen.
"Who is it?"" I asked.
He didn't answer.
"Scott?""
He turned the phone toward me.
A message from Derek.
I think Audrey may have told someone at the studio what happened during our drives.
We need to talk before this gets out of hand.
My blood ran cold.
Scott read it again.
Then he looked at me.
"What does he mean, what happened during their drives?""
I stared at the message.
For weeks, I'd been trying to convince myself there was an innocent explanation.
Now Derek had sent a message that sounded like a warning.
Not an explanation.
Not concern for Audrey.
A warning about what she might have told someone.
I reached for Scott's phone.
"Don't answer him.""
Scott pulled it back instinctively.
"Claire—"
"Please.""
He looked down at the screen again.
Another message appeared.
This time, it was shorter.
Whatever Audrey told them, she's not telling the whole story.
Scott's face drained of color.
And for the first time since I'd known Derek, my husband didn't immediately defend him.
He simply stared at the phone.
May you like
Because now we had a question neither of us could avoid.
If Derek truly believed he'd done nothing wrong, why was he so afraid of what our daughter might say?
