Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“It’s all right, sweetheart.” My tone is confident, though I’m unsure if I am aiming to reassure her or myself. The strange sensation I mentioned earlier is back, stronger than ever, but it isn’t thudding solely in my heart this time. It thumps several inches lower as well. “We’ll find someone to help us soon.”
I pick up the pace as the small group of onlookers turns into a crowd. We quickly move past a group more interested in online validation than the safety of our children, but no matter how fast we walk or how risky our moves are, the dark-haired stranger is never more than a step or two behind.
The crowd parts when they see him approaching, giving him a clear view of our escape.
He doesn’t utter a word while shadowing us, but his silence speaks louder than any protest. I sense the frustration radiating off him, but I don’t stop. Even as my mind races with worst-case scenarios, I stay positioned between him and the little girl, as if my body is a bulletproof shield.
My heart gallops when I see a police officer standing by the crowd. Even though he’s watching the scene unfold and doing nothing to help, he’s ethically obligated to assist. Isn’t he?
“Excuse me,” I say, almost marching. “This little girl needs help. She’s scared and doesn’t feel safe.”
The officer scarcely glances at me before his eyes dart up to the man I thought would have vanished as soon as he saw the officer’s impressive weapon collection. He’s carrying two guns, a taser, and a baton, but you wouldn’t believe that with how hard his Adam’s apple bobs when recognition dawns on his face.
His pupils dilate to the size of saucers before he shifts his focus back to me. “What do you require my help with?”
I stare at him, incredulous. “I just told you. She’s scared.”
He shrugs, his indifference maddening. “Being scared isn’t a crime. You need to be more specific.”
As I thrust my hand at the brute, whose shadow blocks the low-hanging sun haloing my hair, the dental hygienist from the clinic suddenly appears out of nowhere.
“Camille, is everything okay?” My throat constricts when she bobs down to the little girl’s level before she brushes away a lone tear from her cheek. “A visit to the dentist can be scary, but remember what Daddy and I told you last time you came to visit me?” The world falls in on me when she drifts her eyes to the stranger and smiles fondly during the “daddy” part of her reply. “Dr. Baglio won’t hurt you. But she needs to fix a tiny cavity before it causes you any discomfort.”
Oh, shit.
Heat creeps up my neck as my high shoulders sink. Camille is here for a dental visit. The only thing she fears is the cold, sterile chair inside, not the man I accused of something terrible.
My cheeks flush with embarrassment as I force myself to look up. Camille’s father, with his arms crossed over his broad chest, watches me with his full lips quirked at one side. His expression is a strange mix of relief, annoyance, and something else I can’t identify. It could be pride, but what would I know? No one has ever looked at me that way before.
Well, except for that one time.
“I’m so sorry.” My voice barely rises above a whisper. “I thought…” This is why I shouldn’t get involved. You can’t have a childhood like mine without seeing the negative in every situation. “I thought I was helping. Truly, I did.”
He exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing. As the awkwardness diminishes slightly, he uncrosses his arms and lets them fall to his sides.
While I should leave it there, my humiliation won’t let me. “I thought she was scared of you. I didn’t realize she was afraid of the dentist.”
I glance down at Camille. She seems calmer now, but her fingers still grip my hand firmly enough that her nails indent my skin. She’s still scared, and it pulls at the strings inside me I thought had fallen apart a long time ago.
As before, I kneel before her, but this time I try to understand her fear rather than erase it. “I used to hate the dentist, too. But Dr. Baglio is super nice. She fixed my tooth.” I smile broadly, then arch my head toward the sun, hoping she will notice a small sliver of the crack the dentist fixed. “Although it was scary, it didn’t hurt at all.”
When her eyes search mine for reassurance, I smile, hoping to convey safety. Her hand becomes less clammy the longer she stares, but even as her father gently reaches for her, she refuses to let go of my hand.
Though he doesn’t seem annoyed by our immediate bond, he sounds a little perplexed while saying, “Come on, Camille. Let’s head inside. Dr. Baglio is waiting.”