Curfew

“She’s always home by curfew,” I said, pacing in front of the front door.  “I don’t know what’s happening tonight.  Do you know who she was going out with?” 

“She’s eighteen.  She’s going to miss curfew a few times here and there.  I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” my husband said relaxing back into the couch. 

“But she knows how much I’ll worry about her.  And she’ll usually call even if she’s going to be a little late.  Even if it’s five minutes.”  I continued to pace and when thirty minutes went by, I tried calling Amber again.  When she didn’t answer again, I broke down in tears.  Something had to have happened for her not to answer her phone.  Bryan finally got off the couch and went to look out the front windows. 

“Let’s start calling around.  Calling her friends,” he said quietly.  He picked my phone up off the floor and starting searching for the numbers of my sister’s friends. 

Phone call after phone call was met with the same answer of “I don’t know where she is” and my confidence of taking in my sister was beginning to fade.  I thought everything had been going well.  Until tonight.  Three years had gone by since our parents had been killed and she was now finally acting out. 

Two hours later the police car pulled up with Amber in the back.  She looked scared, defiant and I knew by the look in her eyes, she was probably pregnant.