“No.”
“Then why do you think that?”
Her jaw tightened.
“Can you not do this?”
“Do what?”
“Turn everything into a discussion.”
Then she carried her dinner upstairs.
I told Graham that something was wrong.
He wasn’t convinced.
“She’s sixteen,” he said. “Sixteen-year-olds stop telling their parents everything.”
“This isn’t everything. It’s ballet.”
“She might just be under pressure.”
I wanted to believe that.
A few evenings later, Colin pulled into our driveway while I was outside bringing in a package.
Tessa was still sitting in the passenger seat.
As I walked closer, I saw her leaning across the center console with one hand wrapped around Colin’s sleeve.
“But you promised you would talk to her,” she said.
Colin noticed me first.
His expression changed immediately.
