Read Online Slow Moon Rising by Eva Marie Everson - Free Book Online Page B

window. Custom designed like the Mercedes itself. So I knew it was hers, and any time I saw this woman, I’d think of Mom—not that I didn’t think of her all the time anyway.
    When Anise moved to the house, she insisted I keep my car in the garage with Dad’s. She had no problem whatsoever leaving hers in the driveway to suffer in Florida’s torturous heat. “It’s just a car,” she said. “Not even special.”
    I made it to the dance studio—Straight to Broadway—in record time. I sped, but I didn’t get caught, so it was okay. The winter showcase was coming up in two weeks, and there was much to be done. I had been asked to work with the three-year-olds this year. The same age I’d been when Mom first brought me to this very studio.
    I went into the ladies’ locker room and changed from my jeans and long-sleeved tee into a leotard, tights, and ballet shoes. I slipped on a pair of black shorts with “Straight to Broadway” embroidered on the right leg before darting out the door and to Studio A, where the little ones were already practicing.
    An hour later, I left Studio A for Studio D, also known as “the big one.” The one where my class met. It was a little after five o’clock, and I was running behind. But I stopped at my locker to check my cell phone anyway, to see if anyone had called or texted.
    Only Heather. A voice message saying, “We need to talk. Call me.”
    I thought not.
    I texted Anise instead: Everything okay at home? I put my phone back into my bag, shut the locker, and went into my studio where, already, most of my class had their feet up on the barres. I looked to Letya, my instructor, mouthed, “Sorry,” and got in place, facing the barre. We had at least three hours of work ahead of us; our class was performing four numbers in the showcase.
    I needed to stretch, which I’d not had time to do before working with the tots. I placed my feet in first position, bent my knees for a grand plié. My stomach growled loud enough to draw the attention of Avery, my best friend, who stretched beside me.
    It was then I remembered: I hadn’t eaten yet today.

    I sat in a corner booth, my head bent over a copy of Tess of the d’Urbervilles , when I heard the bells chime at the front door. The hostess said, “Welcome to Denny’s.” Footsteps came toward me, but I didn’t bother to look up.
    â€œThere you are.”
    I raised my eyes. My older sister Jayme-Leigh—born between Kimberly and Heather—stood near my table. Her long copper hair was tied back with a scrunchie at the base of her neck and pulled over one shoulder. She wore tight jeans, ankle boots, and an oversized sweater with a tank top underneath. A shoulder-strap purse dangled at her hip. She looked anything but pleased.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” I asked, feeling miffed but not knowing why I should.
    She slid into the booth opposite me. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” A waitress approached the table. Jayme-Leigh gave her an exasperated look and said, “Cup of coffee. Decaf.”
    â€œCream and sugar?”
    â€œBlack.”
    The waitress turned her attention to me. “Would you like a refill on your Coke?”
    I grabbed the glass and tilted it toward me. “Ah . . . yes. Please.” After the waitress walked away, I said, “What do you mean ‘what time it is.’ It shouldn’t be too late.”
    â€œTry eleven-thirty, Ami.” Jayme-Leigh used her best “I’m so aggravated” voice. “Dad is going stark mad. I’ve been driving all over looking.”
    I looked at my watch. “Oh my goodness.” I started digging in the ballet bag resting on the booth seat next to me. “Dad and Anise. I need to call them.” I found the phone and flipped it open, realizing then that, somehow, it had been turned off, probably after my earlier