Page 75 of The Good Girl Effect

He pulls out his phone and steps away to make a phone call, and I’m pacing in place, nervous and dreading what he’ll do when he finds out the truth.

It’s nothing, I tell myself. She was just dancing. Why would he be mad about that?

I don’t know, maybe because I signed her up for lessons against his wishes.

“He’ll be here in five minutes,” he says. When he notices me gnawing at my bottom lip, he comes up to me and places his hands on my arms. “Relax.”

Just when I finally have Jack opening up to me and showing me kindness, I lie to him and get his daughter hurt. At the very least, I owe him the truth.

“I have to tell you something,” I say, looking up at him.

His brows furrow, pinching together in concern. “What? That Bea asked for you, not me?” he asks with a shrug. “I’m not worried about that. I figured that?—”

“Not that,” I reply.

He tilts his head in question.

Swallowing my guilt, I just come out with it. “I asked Elizabeth to give Bea ballet lessons at her studio.”

“You did?” he asks, looking confused. “But why wouldn’t you ask me?”

“Bea said you already said no,” I reply nervously. “So we went behind your back. I’m so sorry.”

At first, he doesn’t look angry. He just appears confused. As he releases my arms and backs away, I see the anger start to form on his face like a slowly evolving expression. His jaw clicks as he grinds his molars. His eyes focus on nothing at all. And he never looks my way.

When the car arrives, he ushers me inside. On the entire ride over to the studio, he’s quiet, and it’s honestly worse than if he just yelled or argued with me. I hate that he’s just stewing painfully in the seat next to me.

By the time we arrive at the dance studio, I’m so anxious I could jump out of the moving vehicle just to escape the tension. We rush inside and find Bea sitting on a bench outside the dance room with a bag full of ice pressed against her lip. She’s in a pink leotard, tights, and soft ballet slippers.

“Camille!” she squeals when she sees me coming.

Internally, I wince, but I don’t let it show. I open my arms with a grateful smile as she sprints down the hall and runs into my tight embrace.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

She whimpers against my side. “My lip was bleeding!” she wails. Her cheeks are splotchy, a sign that she’s been crying. It breaks my heart.

“Let me see,” I reply, pulling away to look at the damage. She sticks out her bottom lip in a pout, and there is a definite split, blue and swollen. “Does it hurt?”

She nods with tears in her eyes.

Jack is standing a couple of feet away, and I can practically feel how stressed and uncomfortable he is. I wish he’d come closer to her, show her some attention.

Just then, Elizabeth walks out of the dance room. I notice immediately the way she won’t look at her brother. “Feeling better, little Bea?” she asks.

Bea nods before leaning her head on my arm.

“Ready to go home?” I say.

She nods again.

“Get your things then.”

She runs down the hallway toward a room where her bag must be stored. I’m left alone with Elizabeth and Jack, and the air is so thick I’m choking on it. I could tell that the relationship between the siblings was strained, but I had no idea it was this bad.

A moment later, Bea comes sprinting down the hall toward us. She practically leaps into my arms, and although she’s five years old, I find myself holding her so she can rest her head on my shoulder.

At the moment, I don’t care that she seems to seek comfort in me instead of her own family. I don’t care that I’m not her mother or aunt. I’m her caretaker, and I’m going to do just that. I’m going to show her comfort and love her and do everything she needs, regardless of whatever these adults have going on.