A sense of peace washed over her. Bill was right. Lauren was grounded. Before getting pregnant, she'd been a standout student, a kid who always told them where she was; one who preferred staying home and playing Scrabble and Hearts with her parents and Shane rather than hitting a high school party.

Of course she wouldn't just take Emily and leave.

Still, just to be sure, she needed to check her room one more time. She hurried up the stairs, a sick feeling in her heart. She pulled Lauren's door open and scanned the bed. This time she saw something she hadn't before. Lauren's photo of herself and Shane, which always sat on her bedside table, was gone. Angela looked at the crib again. The bedding was gone too. The first time she'd checked Lauren's room she'd assumed the baby's sheets and blankets were being washed. Her heart beat hard in her throat. What if the bedding was missing for another reason? She moved in closer, her steps slow and fearful.

On the mattress lay a piece of paper, something else she hadn't seen her first time up.

Angela's heart screamed at her to leave the room, run back downstairs and convince herself that Lauren and Emily were only at the store, that they hadn't gone farther away than that. But the note demanded her attention. She forced her feet to take her to the edge of the crib, and then without drawing another breath she lifted the note and read it.

Gone to meet Shane. I'll call when I find him. Love, Lauren.

A burning sensation flooded her veins, a mix of adrenaline and fear all wrapped up in a shock that wouldn't let her believe her own eyes. "No . . . " Even as she spoke, she read the words again, then one more time. "No, Lauren. No!" Her hand shook so hard she could barely make out the words.

What was Lauren thinking? She and Emily wouldn't last on a trip across the country by themselves. Lauren had never driven more than an hour or two at any one time. She was only seventeen! How would she know which freeways to take or how to make it from Chicago to Los Angeles?

Angela wasn't sure whom to call first. The note clutched in her hand, she raced down the stairs. Bill. He had to know before anyone else. She had to dial his number three times before getting it right. She had him on the line in less than a minute.

"So - " Angela heard the nervous tension in his voice - "is she home?"

Angela dropped to the nearest chair and grabbed a handful of her hair. Think! Say something. She squeezed the receiver and found her voice. "She's gone. She and Emily. I found a note."

"A note?" She had his attention now. She heard a door shut in the background. "What did it say?"

"She's gone to California to find Shane. She'll call when she gets hold of him."

He made a disbelieving sound. "That's ridiculous, Angela. She's just a child. She doesn't have any idea how to drive across the country."

"Or how to care for little Emily."

"I'll be right home. You call the police, and tell them what happened." He was in a hurry now, anxious to fix the problem. "And pray, Angela. I can't have anything happen to her." A catch sounded in his voice. "I can't have it."

She told him she'd do her best, then she hung up and called the local police office. "Our daughter ran away. We need your help."

"Okay, hold on." He connected her to another officer.

"I'm Officer Rayson. Your daughter ran away?"

"Yes." Angela put her hand against her chest. Her heart was racing so fast she could barely feel the beat. "Just today."

"Okay, let's start with her age." His voice held compassion, but still she had the sense this was a routine call for him.

"She's seventeen. She . . . she just had a baby."

The officer hesitated. "A baby? Is the baby with her?"

"Yes. She's four weeks old. My daughter packed a few suitcases, best I can tell, and the two of them set off today. Probably this morning."

"Ma'am, you're asking me to make a report on a seventeen-year-old runaway with a newborn baby?"

"Yes." Angela clenched her fists. The man wasn't going to help her. She forced her next words. "Is . . . is that a problem?"

"Sort of." The sound of rustling papers came across the phone line. "Ma'am, she's almost an adult, and since she has a four-week-old baby, we can assume she left on her own without any foul play, is that right?"

"Definitely. She left a note." Angela gripped the counter in front of her and stared at the piece of paper. "She said she was going to California to find the baby's father."

"Okay, then." Resignation rang in his tone. "If she doesn't call in a few weeks, let us know. Maybe we can get someone in California on the case."

"What?" It was a shriek. "Sir, we need your help! She's only seventeen. She hasn't had a driver's license for a full year yet!"

"I'm afraid we look at things a little differently." He waited a beat. "She may not be an adult, but because of the baby we see her as one. At that age, they have a pretty good idea of what they want. It's a family issue."

"What about - " She gave a series of light taps to her forehead. Think, Angela. Come on. "What about a missing person's report. Couldn't I file one of those even if she's almost an adult?"

"You can file one on a person of any age, Ma'am. But they need to be missing for twenty-four hours." He sounded doubtful. "I have to be honest with you, though. We can't put manpower behind every missing person's report."

She couldn't make sense of what was happening. The room felt like it was shaking beneath her feet, and all the colors seemed to melt together. The police couldn't help her? What good was a police force, then? Her daughter was gone, headed one of a dozen different ways toward California. Los Angeles. But LA was a huge city, gigantic. How would Lauren find Shane?

More important, how would she and Bill find their daughter?

Bill came home while she was still sitting there, still poring through the yellow pages looking for someone who could help. She contacted three private investigators, but all of them said it was too soon to do anything. Lauren would be driving for the next week. If she wanted to call, she would. If not, there wasn't much any of them could do. She would need to arrive in Los Angeles and set up residency before they could be of much help.

Bill walked in, set his things on the kitchen counter, and put his hand on her shoulder. "Are the police on their way?"

She looked at him, and for just a moment hatred gripped her. He had done this to them. He and the Galanters. She'd gone along with it because they were convincing. They made her believe the kids really would be better off apart. But hadn't she doubted the decision all along? Watching the two of them say good-bye that night in the city, hadn't she known this could happen?

She blinked, letting the rage go. She could hate him later. Right now they had to find Lauren and Emily. "The police aren't going to help." She explained the situation. "I've tried a few private investigators, but they all say it's too soon."

He hesitated, but only for a handful of seconds. "Then we have no choice." He turned and went to the kitchen cupboard. It was his routine when he came home from work, and now he went ahead with it as if this were nothing more serious than a traffic ticket. He took a glass and filled it with ice water. "We'll have to wait till she gets there." He sipped the water. "I'm sure she'll call."

"Bill!" She stood, slamming the chair back in against the counter. "Do you hear yourself? Your daughter has run away. She's taken her newborn daughter, our grandchild, and you - " she gestured at him - "calmly pour a glass of water and tell me she'll call?" She was trembling, her voice loud and shrill. "I can't believe who you've become. Sometimes I think I hate you for what you've done to her."

The water was still in his hand, but he set it down. His eyes found hers and a layer of remorse colored his expression. "Angela, calm down." He went to her, but as he tried to touch her shoulder, she jerked away.

"Don't touch me." She pushed her finger at his chest. "I didn't want this, Bill. We pushed her out, don't you see that?" Tears flooded her eyes and her throat felt scratchy. "All that mattered to any of you, to any of us, was how things looked. The kids needed to be apart, but why? So we could pretend this never happened, so we could pretend Lauren didn't get pregnant and everything was perfectly normal, right?"

"Lower your voice, please." Though his tone was kind, Angela knew he still didn't understand what she was feeling. "Everything will work out. You'll see."

"No, it won't. We let this happen, and now . . . now we might never see her again."

She spun away from him and hurried around the corner to their bedroom. How had life become so crazy? And where were Lauren and Emily? She wasn't sure she could survive without them. Suddenly she realized her daughter held a piece of her heart, the part that understood life and the purpose and meaning of getting up in the morning. And now that Lauren was gone, that part of Angela was dead.

The part capable of loving.

Even loving the man she had married.

Emily was sick. There was no denying that now. They'd been on the road for two full days, and the baby was burning up. Lauren drove aimlessly through the streets of Oklahoma City trying to decide what to do. She'd already stopped at a drugstore and bought pain reliever, something to lower Emily's fever. That was half an hour ago, and it seemed to be working, but her baby still sounded terrible. She was sneezing and coughing and now she was wheezing every time she breathed in.

A rush of fear and desperation worked its way through Lauren's veins. Where should she take Emily? She had money, enough to see a doctor, but then what? Would they put the baby in the hospital? Would they find out that Lauren was a seventeen-year-old runaway? And what then? Maybe she would lose her daughter forever.

In the backseat, Emily started to cry, and the sound of it made her wheezing worse.

"Okay, honey, it's okay. Mommy's here."

The words hung in the small, stuffy car and mocked her. Mommy was here? So what? She didn't have a clue how to be a mother, otherwise her baby wouldn't be sick. She was about to get back on the freeway, head for the next town, when she spotted a sign that read, Hospital.

She sped up and pulled into the parking lot. The least she could do was get someone to look at Emily. That shouldn't raise too many flags. She parked and lifted the car seat from the back. Once inside the emergency area, she stood there, shaking, mouth dry. Other people were waiting in the lobby, and most of them turned and looked at her. Could they tell she was on the run? Was it obvious? And what about the people who worked there? What would she say? How would she explain her situation, other than by telling the truth?

A blonde woman behind the counter smiled at her. "Can I help you?"

"Yes." She looked at Emily and back at the woman. "My baby's sick."

The woman handed Lauren a clipboard and a pen. "Fill out the information sheet, and we'll get your baby seen as soon as we have an empty room."

"Okay."

The form asked a dozen questions, some of which she couldn't answer. Address, for instance. And phone number. She also left blank the part about emergency contact information and next of kin. But she filled in Emily's birth date and the fact that they didn't have insurance. Then she signed the form and turned it in. They were called back five minutes later. The woman from the front office led her to a room. "Wait here. Dr. West will be in to see you in just a moment."

"Thank you." Lauren sat on a chair in the corner and slid Emily's car seat close to her feet. She felt her daughter's forehead and a shudder passed through her. The baby was hotter than before. There was a knock at the door.

"Yes?" Lauren gulped. What if they called the police or sent her back home? What if they could tell she was running?

The door opened and a pretty black woman walked in. "I'm Dr. West." She held her hand out to Lauren. "Let's take a look at your baby. Why don't you get her undressed, everything except her diaper."

Lauren lifted Emily from her car seat and laid her on the cold examination table. She started to cry, and as Lauren undressed her, she noticed that her baby's face was red. "I think she has a cold."

When Emily's hot body had nothing on but her diaper, the doctor held a stethoscope to her chest. She moved it three times before looking up, her face knit in concern. "Her lungs sound pretty full. Do you live nearby?"

"Is it a cold?"

"I'm not sure." The woman gave her a slight frown. "Where did you say you lived? We might have to admit her. I'd like to see her get an X-ray."

Panic coursed through Lauren. She put her hand on Emily's head and patted her hair. "I'm not from around here. I'm . . . I'm moving to California." She looked at her daughter. "The two of us are moving there."

The doctor waited until Lauren looked back up at her. Then she made a thoughtful sort of sound. "I tell you what. Wait here for a minute." She gave a last quick look at Emily and then she left the room.

Lauren couldn't draw a deep breath. Where was the woman going? Was she calling the police or maybe a social services department? Maybe she was doing a check on her name, and by now her parents would've called and reported her missing. That would bring the police for sure. Emily was crying, squirming on the table. Lauren studied her, the look in her eyes. She didn't look that sick. And with the pain reliever and maybe a cough syrup, they should be okay until she got help. There was only one place where she could turn now, and it would feel like utter defeat. But her medical insurance, her support system, everything was in Chicago. She had no choice but to go back.

Then, when Emily was well, they could head for California once more.

"It's all right, sweetie." She cooed at Emily as she slipped the baby's tiny arms into her little sleeper. After four weeks it no longer felt awkward dressing her, but here she felt anxious, like she was doing everything wrong. When her baby was dressed, Lauren picked her up and cradled her close, bouncing her slightly so that she would settle down.

After a minute Emily was quieter, her crying only in small bursts. Lauren checked the clock on the wall. No wonder her baby was upset. It had been four hours since she'd eaten; she was probably starving. The idea brought a memory back to her. She'd been maybe eleven years old, home with the flu, but she came downstairs and found her mother in the kitchen.

"I'm hungry, Mama. Can I eat something, please?"

"That's a great sign." Her mother pulled her close and stroked the back of her head. "Little girls get their appetite back when they're feeling better."

Her mother's words faded from her mind. Hunger meant that children weren't that sick, right? That was what her mother had told her that day. She sat down and adjusted her shirt so she could nurse her daughter. Sure enough. Emily was starving. She made precious little sounds as she ate.

Maybe that's all this was. A little cold, a fever, and a lot of hunger. She'd driven a long way that day. They probably should've stopped sooner.

The doctor walked in then. She was holding the form Lauren had filled out. "Lauren." Her voice was tender. "I see you've listed no emergency contact and no next of kin."

"No." She looked at Emily. The baby was much happier now, content to be eating. Her eyes lifted to the doctor's. "No, we don't have family at this point. We're making a new life for ourselves out in California."

"Okay." She leaned against the examining table and took a slow breath. "But you're a minor, is that right?"

Lauren searched her mind for the right answer. She hadn't written her age on the form, so how did the doctor know? Had the woman contacted the police or found out that she'd been reported missing? Lauren gulped and just as she was about to shake her head and deny anything of the sort, she felt herself nodding. "Yes. I'm . . . seventeen. I'll be eighteen before Christmas."

"You know what I think?"

"What?" Lauren held Emily a little closer.

"I think you need help, Lauren. We have social workers here in Oklahoma City who can help you if we admit Emily. They can find somewhere for you to stay while your daughter's being treated."

Lauren shook her head and looked at her daughter. "Actually, I think she's doing much better. She's eating." She lifted her eyes to the doctor again. "I think maybe she was just hungry."

"I'm worried she could have pneumonia." The doctor winced. "I can't be sure without an X-ray, but I'm concerned."

"What happens if a social worker helps me? I mean, what happens next?" She hated the thought. It meant that there was a possibility someone would take Emily from her. That's what agencies did to mothers like her, right? Mothers too young to know how to care for a baby?

"We'd have to cross those bridges when we reached them." The doctor frowned again, but Lauren didn't sense any anger from her. Just a compassion she hadn't felt from either of her parents. "Everyone would do their best to keep you and Emily together. I'm sure about that. I think we'd want to run a missing persons check. Just to see if you've been reported missing."

A missing persons check? Lauren felt herself closing down. That wasn't going to happen. The police would come and they'd make sure Emily was admitted to the hospital, then they'd take Lauren to the station and call her parents. Social workers would get involved, and when Emily was better they wouldn't consider giving her back to a seventeen-year-old run away. Then Lauren would be shipped back to her parents. She might never see her daughter again.

She had to buy time. "Okay." Lauren licked her lips. "Well, first I need to get some things from the car. Then we can talk about it, okay?"

"All right." The doctor straightened and felt Emily's head. "She doesn't feel as warm as before."

She wasn't as warm! That was a good sign - a sign that Lauren could take Emily and race back home and still get her the care she needed without risking the possibility that social services or the police would get involved. Lauren slipped her daughter back into her car seat and thanked the doctor. "I'll be right back."

Dr. West turned a different direction as they left the examination room. Lauren wanted to race out the door. She only had a few minutes to get away without being noticed. But she wouldn't leave without paying. She took two twenty-dollar bills from her purse and set them on the counter since no one was behind the desk at that moment. Without looking back, she hurried out the door.

She drove as fast as she could and was on the freeway before she looked over her shoulder. When she did, Emily was sleeping. Then, for the first time since she'd left home, Lauren thought about God. In the days after she got pregnant, Shane had talked all the time about faith and the Lord and His plans for them. Lauren never quite understood how God could want anything to do with them.

Still, she'd told Him she was sorry for messing up, sorry for sleeping with Shane when this whole mess could've been avoided if they'd only done things the right way. She was forgiven, at least that's what the youth group leaders had told her. It was what Shane said too. But still she'd felt like a failure, a disappointment. If God was her heavenly Father, then she would be the last one He'd want to hear from.

But there, with Emily sick and a thousand miles between her and the help she needed, Lauren couldn't do anything but cry out for help.

"Lord, I'm here again," she whispered the words out loud. "Help me, please! I'll drive fast, I won't stop for food, just gas. But please get me home so Emily can get help. Don't let her die, God." Suddenly she realized there were tears on her cheeks. What was she doing, turning around from Oklahoma City and heading back to Chicago? She should never have left home in the first place. She should've let her mother take care of Emily. That way she could've gone after Shane on her own, without risking any harm to her daughter.

"God, I'm the worst mother of all. But you're our Father. For both of us. Please get us home safely, and please, please let Emily be okay."

She wanted an answer, a loud shout maybe from the dashboard speakers, something that would tell her everything was going to be all right. Instead, she felt only a sense of urgency. As if maybe God Himself was telling her that Emily was sicker than any of them knew. She pressed her foot on the gas pedal and picked up another ten miles per hour.

Then just as quickly she eased up. She couldn't get pulled over for speeding. That wouldn't do either of them any good. "God, help me!"

Daughter, my peace I give you . . . I am with you always.