Page 33 of The Amendment

“Alright, fine. Well, that was Jim. Like I said, we work together and he’s been going through some stuff at home. I—”

I folded my arms across my chest, cutting him off. “Like what?”

“It’s personal,” he lied. “But he’d asked me for some advice awhile back, and he came to tell me how it went. He’s really struggling.”

“He didn’t seem like he was struggling with anything. And why couldn’t he just text you? Did that really warrant a visit?” He took another drink, buying himself time, so I went on. “And why couldn’t I introduce myself to him? You practically raised your leg and marked me as your territory. You were uncomfortable with him… Why?”

At that, there was an unmistakable hint of a grin on his lips, but he fought it down. “I just didn’t want him to think I’d been telling you everything. I was trying tosneak out without you noticing. He’s told me a lot in confidence, and I want to hold his trust. That’s it.”

I raised a brow, staring at him. Sometimes, I just didn’t understand him. He chose to lie over the most inconsequential things. Why, when I’d made a point to prove how loyal I was to him—no matter what—did he insist on lying to me?

But there was no point in pressuring him. He’d just shut down further.

No, I needed to find out the truth and then confront him.

It was the only way to do things with Peter. Though for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why.

For now, there were more pressing issues. “Fine. So, which one of us is going to talk to Maisy?”

“About what?”

I scoffed, a hand on my hip. Had he truly already forgotten? “About her quitting dance, Peter. What do you mean,about what?”

“I thought we’d already moved past that. She said she didn’t want to do it anymore, so what’s the problem?”

I wanted to throttle him.

“The problem is that she’s eleven years old and suddenly she doesn’t want to do the thing she’s loved doing since she was four. And this change is completely out of nowhere, without even a mention to us about what caused her to come to such a rash decision. It’s not normal. It’s not like her.”

“Who says it’s a rash decision? Maybe she thought it through.”

“Without talking to us? Not a single time? That doesn’tseem likely.”

“Her friends aren’t dancing, so she doesn’t want to. It’s not the end of the world. Why are you so upset about it?” He stared at the last of the wine in the bottle, holding it out to me. I shook my head, holding up a hand to say I’d pass, so he poured the remainder into his glass.

“Because this isn’t about dance, Peter,” I said. “Don’t you see that?” No, he didn’t see it. I could read that in his expression. He thought I was being irrational. Maybe I was.

What I knew was that our daughter didn’t make huge decisions without talking to us. If she’d quit dance, I had to believe there was a reason that went deeper than what she was admitting to us.

Was it peer pressure from her friends?

Had she begun to feel uncomfortable with her body?

Was she struggling with the more advanced routines?

I just didn’t know.

“Then what is it about?” he asked, puckering his lips from his last sip of wine.

I folded my arms across my chest, trembling from my own agitation. “She said she didn’t tell us because she doesn’t feel like she can talk to us anymore.”

“She said that?” He appeared skeptical.

“In not so many words,” I insisted. “The boys agreed with her, too. They said we seem stressed and busy all the time lately.”

“Yeah, well, understatement of the year.” He tipped the glass toward me.

“Our kids still need us,” I snipped. “No matter what we have going on, we have to keep them a priority—”

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