Janice Kay - Because Of A Girl

Private it wasn’t, but Jack supposed it didn’t matter.

“Emily is such a nice girl,” Mrs. Lee burst out. “I thought her mother was trustworthy.”

Despite his own reservations concerning Ms. Harper, that irritated him. This woman had tossed her own kid out. Meg had taken her in.

He couldn’t resist saying, “I assume you visited the home where your daughter was living, to be sure it was suitable?”

“Well, of course I’ve met Emily’s mother,” she said sharply. “I was grateful when she offered to give us time to cool off, but now she’s lost my daughter.” She snatched up a napkin to pat at her cheeks.

“She didn’t say whether the two of you have been in counseling.”

Sabra’s mother gazed woefully at him. “Oh, what difference does it make now? I would give anything to go back!”

Jack found it interesting that Meg had said something similar.

He asked questions. Mrs. Lee evaded. It wasn’t her fault her precious daughter had gone MIA. Her woe-is-me shit rapidly became tiresome.

By the time he gave up, Jack had reached only two meaningful conclusions. The first was that, contrary to his suspicions, Ms. Harper had told the truth; Mrs. Lee hadn’t so much as spoken to her daughter since the grand fight, and very likely didn’t have any intentions of doing so in the foreseeable future. Second, Mr. Lee—if he existed at all—was also MIA. “He abandoned us!” she cried, but Jack couldn’t pin down when that was. Mrs. Lee claimed to have no idea where he was and insisted he’d never paid child support. Unfortunately, she had another child at home, a girl who was eleven. Bryony—she carefully spelled it for him—had a different father, who did pay child support, although his wife resented it and he hardly ever spent time with Bryony.

Poor kid.

Jack’s head was throbbing by the time he thanked the woman for her time, promised to keep her informed and left the beauty shop.

He sat behind the wheel of his SUV, doing battle with an inexplicable desire to return to the Harpers’ house. If Meg—no, he should stick to Ms. Harper—had learned anything new, she’d have called him. She had his number.

Home, he told himself. A beer, a Mariners game and a frozen pizza added up to the smart choice.

* * *

TUESDAY MORNING, MEG tensed when the doorbell rang. She could not believe that jerk Rivera had called Child Protective Services on her. No discussion with her about his concerns, no warning. He’d just done it.

As mad as she’d been and still was, it was nerve-racking to have a social worker standing on her doorstep, intent on assessing whether Meg had abused or neglected Sabra.

But she made herself take a deep breath and summon her anger. This was insulting. It was also a huge waste of resources. Instead of trying to blame her for some unstated sin, everyone should be looking for Sabra.

Squaring her shoulders, she opened the door. A middle-aged woman who reminded Meg of a favorite art teacher in high school looked back at her.

“Ms. Harper? I’m Kathryn Berry. Please, call me Kathryn. And thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

As if she had any more of a choice than she had when either of the two police officers had appeared on her doorstep in the last week. Meg managed a polite smile and let the social worker in.

Leading the way, she said, “Would you care for tea or coffee?”

“Oh!” Kathryn darted into the living room to stare at the shepherd rug. “This is amazing. Where did you...” Her voice trailed off as she spotted the pillows. “Oh, my. These are wonderful. Did you make them?”

This might be an attempt to disarm her, but Meg didn’t think so. Her walls started to crumble.

“Yes, that’s what I do for a living. I design and hook wool rugs, pillow covers, wall hangings. I also sell and occasionally license the patterns and am working on a book that teaches technique and has some new patterns.”

“Where do you sell?” She looked chagrined. “I suppose we should get business over before I drool on your rug.”

Meg laughed. “Tea or coffee?”

The social worker chose tea, and she wandered after Meg to the kitchen, pausing only briefly to peek in the former dining room, now Meg’s studio. In the kitchen, she set her briefcase on the table. “This house has such charm.”

Either she was laying it on thick or she and Meg could be friends. In case of the former, Meg reminded herself to be wary.

Once she’d poured the tea, they sat down, facing each other across the table. Kathryn Berry had her wavy, gray-streaked hair cut short. She wore little if any makeup and didn’t seem to care about crow’s feet. She opened her briefcase and removed a pair of reading glasses, a notepad and pen. “I’m still low-tech,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

“I’m so low-tech,” Meg admitted. “My daughter embarrasses me on a regular basis.”

“A five-year-old could embarrass me.” Kathryn smiled apologetically. “Okay, tell me about your daughter first.”

Meg did, relieved because, despite the recent outbreak of hormone-driven sullenness, Emily came across as successful. The social worker jotted down notes: daughter in honors English, stage-managed the high school’s fall musical, had a 4.0 GPA so far. Of course, none of that said anything about Emily’s real character, the qualities like kindness and generosity that Meg valued most.

But she heard herself continue talking. “Not a grain of artistic ability that I can see. Oddly enough, that’s Sabra’s strength. Her art teacher raved to me, and I had to agree that what she showed me was head and shoulders beyond what any of her peers are doing.”

She explained that Sabra and Emily had known each other since fifth grade, but had grown closer in middle school and become best friends the previous year. The past year, Meg had gotten an earful about Sabra’s tempestuous relationship with her mother.

“They’re both over the top emotionally. You know? Although at Sabra’s age, it’s a little hard to know whether she has a fiery personality or is just an average teenager. Plus, of course, there’s the pregnancy hormones.”

“And the very fact she is pregnant, which must alter how other kids perceive her.”

“Yes.”

Meg explained to this woman, as she had to Detective Moore, that she’d initially taken Sabra in on an emergency basis, not expecting her stay to extend the way it had.

“She’s proved a lot harder to deal with than I expected,” she confessed, making a face. “Right now, I’m voting for fiery.” Relieved by Kathryn’s laugh, she said, “I’ve just lately started to worry about what the next step should be for her. I can’t set everything aside to take care of her baby so she can stay in school.” And yet essentially abandoning Sabra the way her mother had wasn’t an option she could live with, either. “I suppose I would have called DSHS soon to ask for advice,” she said reluctantly, given a built-in wariness about institutions with more rules than heart.

Kathryn, she thought, had heart and might be willing to let some rules slide.

“Do you think Sabra imagined that she could stay long term?”

Meg shook her head immediately. “No. That’s been another worry. She acted as if she had a plan. She just wouldn’t say what it was. She told both Emily and me that she might get married, but she’s been adamant in not saying who the father of her baby is.”

“Hmm.”

“Have you spoken to Detective Moore who is investigating her disappearance?”

“I wasn’t aware anyone was yet,” Kathryn said, sounding surprised and possibly annoyed at having been kept in the dark. “Is there reason to believe she was abducted?”

“No,” Meg said, a little grimly. “There’s reason to believe she took off on her own.” She explained about the books, and that Emily had come up with a list last night of what she thought was missing, a list that included makeup and some of her favorite clothes. “Her toothbrush is here, but it’s possible she took a new one. Several were in the drawer.”