Page 129 of The Good Girl Effect
Marguerite has offered to let me stay with her. She’s going to her granddaughter’s house for Christmas, and she invited me to join, but I don’t think I will. I intend to use the day to make a new plan for my life. I can’t be a nanny forever. I have to move on eventually. But I’d like to stay in Paris, which won’t be cheap or easy, so it better be a very good plan.
Before the sun rises, I climb out of bed. Walking out to the living room, I start a fire in the fireplace and brew myself acup of coffee. Sitting on the couch, I listen to the crackle of the flames. The Christmas tree in the corner illuminates the room in a warm, white glow.
It’s relaxing and quiet until I hear a creak on the stairs. Tensing, I wait.
Jack and I haven’t been in a room alone together since the fight in October. He made it quite clear that things between us were over when he retreated to his room, cutting off all communication between us.
I should be glad he at least let me keep my job.
But in the moments we have seen each other, speaking only about Bea while in her company, I’ve noticed a change in him. There’s something raw and sincere in his eyes now. I want to believe he’s healing, but I don’t make it a habit to hope for things anymore.
He walks into the living room, and I watch in my periphery as he sits on the other end of the couch. In a pair of black joggers and a plain white T-shirt, he looks so familiar to me it hurts.
Two months ago, I would have crawled into his lap. I would have pressed my face against the soft cotton of his shirt and felt his arms wrap protectively around me. He would have stroked my hair and kissed the top of my head.
Now, we sit in silence.
And when I can’t stand another second of it, I speak. “I’ll be on the ten o’clock train, and I’ll be back in two days. I’ve prepared a soup. It’s in the icebox. You’ll have to warm it up?—”
“Camille,” he says, staring at me, but I won’t turn toward him.
“I wrapped a few gifts for her. They’re under the tree. And a couple for Elizabeth and Phoenix too.”
“Don’t go,” he pleads, and it cuts deep in my heart.
I can’t utter another word without the threat of tears, but I do eventually turn my head and look into his eyes, which is a mistake.
I forgot how comfortable his gaze is, how peaceful and warm it feels to stare into the abyss of those haunting green orbs. It makes my loneliness ache that much harder.
“Beatrice should spend the holiday with her family,” I say with moisture in my eyes.
“You are her family,” he replies, and I have to look away. It hurts too much.
“No, I’m not,” I argue. “I’m her nanny.” Standing from the couch, I try to walk to the kitchen, but Jack takes my hand to stop me.
“Camille, please.”
Turning toward him, my anger boils. “Please what, Jack? We tried and it failed, just like we were afraid it would. Luckily, Bea wasn’t hurt, and we can make this work. I’ll keep my job for now, but I think we need to just accept that we can never go back down that road again.”
I tear my hand from his grip and walk toward the kitchen. I hear him stand from the couch and follow me.
“Please don’t say that,” he begs.
“You called me a fraud,” I argue, turning toward him.
“I was wrong,” he says, taking another step toward me.
My back hits the kitchen counter, and a panic rises inside me. If he gets too close, I won’t be able to resist. I’ll fall right back into his arms and forgive everything without either of us learning or accepting a thing.
“It’s too late, Jack,” I say, hearing my voice crack.
As he takes the last step in my direction, standing so close his body is flush with mine, I let out a quiet sob.
“It’s not too late,” he begs.
But before he can utter another word, I press my hand over his mouth to stop him. “Please,” I whisper. “Don’t.” The last thing I want in this moment is hope. Hope can be cruel. It can make you believe things that will never come true, torturously making you feel that loss all over again.
His eyes bore down on me, desperation and pain in them. I feel it too. But I see the moment he surrenders.
