Read Online Almost a Family by Donna Alward - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Donna Alward
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and she’d spent her time picking up toys, soothing hurts and doing laundry. Now she was trying to play catch-up on a Saturday.
She cocked an ear. Sara was being awfully quiet. Too quiet. Frowning, she wondered what sort of trouble the toddler could be into. She glanced at her watch, realizing with surprise that it had been over an hour since she’d opened her briefcase. Where had the time gone?
She headed for the stairs as a strange feeling of unease began to pulse through her. Perhaps Sara had grown tired and fallen asleep.
When she opened Sara’s door, she knew immediately the girl was not there. It was silent, too quiet. Animals were scattered on the frilly pink spread and a handful arranged around the play table with cups and saucers before them, but there was no sign of any other occupation in the room. The unease grew to a frantic pounding of her heart as she opened the closet and checked under the bed, in case Sara was hiding. But she found nothing beyond a few missing Barbie clothes and an unmated sock.
“Sara?” she called out, but her voice echoed throughout the house. She felt, rather than knew, that something was not right. Still, she rationalized as she hurried out of the room. Sara was only three. She couldn’t be far. She was probably just hiding, looking for some attention. It was Molly’s fault for trying to focus on work.
She checked the other bedrooms—nothing. She ran down the stairs, checked the living room, the laundry room, even the pantry. No Sara.
“Sara, if you’re hiding, come out. This isn’t funny.” Her voice cracked on the last word and she felt anger war with the fear running through her body. I should have watched Sara more closely , she berated herself. That was the whole reason she was here. She skidded to a halt in the entry. How could she explain to her sister that she’d lost her daughter? In her own home?
That was ridiculous, she rationalized. Sara had to be here somewhere. Molly took a deep calming breath, trying to think logically.
Her eye caught Sara’s pink peg where she normally hung her jacket. The peg was empty and the boots that usually sat so precisely beneath it were gone, too. One pink mitten lay orphaned on the floor. Her stomach hit her feet. In what seemed like slow motion, she looked at the front door. The deadbolt was unlocked.
Disregarding her own coat, she threw open the door and called, “Sara? Sara, answer me!”
Nothing. The snowman they’d made earlier that week was leaning lonely to one side, one rock eyeball laying on the ground. The only sound was the soft shush of thick snowflakes fluttering to the ground.
Oh God. How could this have happened? The thought skidded through her brain as she pulled on her jacket and shoved her feet into Kim’s winter boots, leaving them unlaced. Sara wasn’t in the house. Her coat and boots were gone and she was somewhere in a snow flurry with only one mitten. What if she’d decided to try to see her mother?
Visions of Sara walking along the busy road by herself nearly stopped Molly’s breath. Anything could happen. She could be hit by a car; no one would see her in this visibility. Or someone could stop and take her. She could get lost and be out in subzero temperatures before they found her. Tears of terror pricked Molly’s eyes and burned the top of her nose. Sara was gone and it was all her fault.
Don’t panic, she commanded herself and told herself to breathe. After she inhaled, then exhaled, she knew there was only one person she could call for help: Jason. Jason would know what to do.
She ran through the ankle deep snow to his house and pounded on the door. “Jason? Jason, open up! It’s Molly!”
He threw open the door, looking harassed with his mouth set in a firm line and his eyebrows pulled together in the middle, making a crease in his forehead. “Keep your shirt on!” he ordered, frowning down at her.
At the sight of him, she started to cry without explanation. It didn’t
She cocked an ear. Sara was being awfully quiet. Too quiet. Frowning, she wondered what sort of trouble the toddler could be into. She glanced at her watch, realizing with surprise that it had been over an hour since she’d opened her briefcase. Where had the time gone?
She headed for the stairs as a strange feeling of unease began to pulse through her. Perhaps Sara had grown tired and fallen asleep.
When she opened Sara’s door, she knew immediately the girl was not there. It was silent, too quiet. Animals were scattered on the frilly pink spread and a handful arranged around the play table with cups and saucers before them, but there was no sign of any other occupation in the room. The unease grew to a frantic pounding of her heart as she opened the closet and checked under the bed, in case Sara was hiding. But she found nothing beyond a few missing Barbie clothes and an unmated sock.
“Sara?” she called out, but her voice echoed throughout the house. She felt, rather than knew, that something was not right. Still, she rationalized as she hurried out of the room. Sara was only three. She couldn’t be far. She was probably just hiding, looking for some attention. It was Molly’s fault for trying to focus on work.
She checked the other bedrooms—nothing. She ran down the stairs, checked the living room, the laundry room, even the pantry. No Sara.
“Sara, if you’re hiding, come out. This isn’t funny.” Her voice cracked on the last word and she felt anger war with the fear running through her body. I should have watched Sara more closely , she berated herself. That was the whole reason she was here. She skidded to a halt in the entry. How could she explain to her sister that she’d lost her daughter? In her own home?
That was ridiculous, she rationalized. Sara had to be here somewhere. Molly took a deep calming breath, trying to think logically.
Her eye caught Sara’s pink peg where she normally hung her jacket. The peg was empty and the boots that usually sat so precisely beneath it were gone, too. One pink mitten lay orphaned on the floor. Her stomach hit her feet. In what seemed like slow motion, she looked at the front door. The deadbolt was unlocked.
Disregarding her own coat, she threw open the door and called, “Sara? Sara, answer me!”
Nothing. The snowman they’d made earlier that week was leaning lonely to one side, one rock eyeball laying on the ground. The only sound was the soft shush of thick snowflakes fluttering to the ground.
Oh God. How could this have happened? The thought skidded through her brain as she pulled on her jacket and shoved her feet into Kim’s winter boots, leaving them unlaced. Sara wasn’t in the house. Her coat and boots were gone and she was somewhere in a snow flurry with only one mitten. What if she’d decided to try to see her mother?
Visions of Sara walking along the busy road by herself nearly stopped Molly’s breath. Anything could happen. She could be hit by a car; no one would see her in this visibility. Or someone could stop and take her. She could get lost and be out in subzero temperatures before they found her. Tears of terror pricked Molly’s eyes and burned the top of her nose. Sara was gone and it was all her fault.
Don’t panic, she commanded herself and told herself to breathe. After she inhaled, then exhaled, she knew there was only one person she could call for help: Jason. Jason would know what to do.
She ran through the ankle deep snow to his house and pounded on the door. “Jason? Jason, open up! It’s Molly!”
He threw open the door, looking harassed with his mouth set in a firm line and his eyebrows pulled together in the middle, making a crease in his forehead. “Keep your shirt on!” he ordered, frowning down at her.
At the sight of him, she started to cry without explanation. It didn’t
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