by Ines Saint
“Oh.” Paige looked down at the listing. A children’s hospital. Working with kids had once been her dream. But during her first two weeks at her first job, trouble back home had taken its toll. And then life had offered a new direction. She looked away. Seeing the ad confused her. “Um, I’ve actually been looking into fund-raising for private schools and civic groups, It matches my current skill set, and I have a plan.” She leaned in, hoping to generate excitement about her idea. “I’m going to offer my fund-raising services for a commission.” She began ticking off reasons with her fingers. “There are over one hundred private schools and civic groups and associations in Dayton, Cincinnati, and Columbus. I know how to coordinate major fund-raising events. I negotiate extremely well with vendors and service providers, and I’ll be more motivated than an eight-to-five staff member on a fixed salary can be because of the commission incentive. I’ll deduct a ten percent commission for services rendered, and the amount left over will make board members and patrons more than happy. I did the math, and I’m ready to work hard.” She didn’t want to hear her grandmother’s protests, but it also wouldn’t be a good idea to get used to her grandmother’s help with the kids. She hated the thought of interrupting the older woman’s life.
The three women looked at each other, communicating the way she, Gracie, and Hope did. It was obvious they were having a silent conversation, but there was no way of knowing what the subtle eye, head, hand, and mouth movements meant. Ruby got up first, saying, “You need a blueberry tart.”
Sherry signaled to Rosa. “She needs some extra-strong coffee, too.”
Paige narrowed her eyes. “And why do you think I need a blueberry tart and extra-strong coffee?” The Gypsy Fortune Café was famous for the “meaning” and “purpose” attached to each dessert they baked. What people desired, or what the three women suggested, had an odd way of being predictive of what the person needed in their lives. They were famous for it. Rosa took great pride in having come up with the idea as a marketing ploy, while Ruby insisted her gypsy powers of deduction were what made the idea a success.
Her grandmother usually stuck to listening. “Hold on a moment,” she said. They were silent for a minute, the time it took Rosa and Ruby to come back with the tart and coffee. “Take a bite and a sip,” her grandmother instructed as soon as Rosa and Ruby pretended to leave and go about other business.
Paige sent her grandmother an impatient look, but did as she was told, so she could get on with her day. There was much to do. She shook her head and puckered her mouth at the alarmingly bitter combination of blueberry tart and espresso. “Blah,” she let out, unable to stop herself.
“Good. You need a reality check, stat.”
Paige stared. “Excuse me?”
“Facing reality is important. My own dreamy, easygoing nature did more harm than good when it caused me to have my head in the sand about your grandfather’s alcohol dependence when Laura was growing up. When I look back, living in a dream world was the most destructive thing I did to my child.” Her voice cracked and Paige tried to interrupt, so she could remind her not to blame herself. They’d learned in Al-Anon that it didn’t do anybody any good. But her grandmother held her hand up and continued to talk.
“The point is, dreams alone will do you no good. Reality is that there is a critical shortage of nurses in our region—just look at how many job postings there are! All your life, you’ve been a natural, passionate caretaker, and there’s a need for people like you. And a good nursing job can pay forty to fifty grand a year, plus benefits, for someone with your educational background—even more once you have experience under your belt. Reality is also that Glenn’s on unpaid leave, but he still has medical insurance. As soon as Glenn testifies about his misdeeds, he’ll lose all that, plus his half of the savings will go to restitution. You two barely have equity in your house—once you sell it and pay the Realtor, you’ll barely have anything left over, you said so yourself. The only assets you have are your car and the kids’ college accounts. Do you know how much a decent family health insurance plan costs nowadays? Nearly fifteen thousand. As a business owner, you’d also have to pay toward your social security and other taxes. You would need to raise over one million dollars for your private schools and civic groups in order for you to cover the same pay and benefits of a nursing job.”
Paige sat back. “Does everyone think I’ve turned into an idiot?” she asked. “I know all of that, and I took it all into consideration. I can do it. You started your own business forty years ago, and you covered your needs, so what makes you think I can’t?”
Her grandmother closed her eyes a long moment. When she opened them, she looked apologetic. “I’m sorry. It’s just—I think there’s more to all this, and it’s hard to know where to start.” She reached across the table and took Paige’s hand. “You never want to talk about why you quit your first nursing job. It’s not like you said you hated it, or that it wasn’t what you’d thought it would be. You just quit and clammed up about it, and it’s something I worry about. And your fund-raising idea is a good one. But you don’t mention fund-raising for causes you used to be so passionate about. Like kids’ mental health and addiction. I know passions change, and there are some great schools and civic groups that need funds . . . but I can’t help but think something happened to make you give up on your old dreams. Something you need to face.” Grandma Sherry then made sure to look into her eyes. “And, yes, Paige, I built a business, and I have no doubt you can, too. But it takes time and money, and right now, you are short on both. All I’m saying is, it’s great to make big plans for the future, but that usually means clearing out a few cobwebs, and taking care of the right here and right now, first. I’m more than willing to help you out—”
“No.” Paige interrupted
Sherry pursed her lips. “Just like your mother and your grandfather. You all think accepting help is a weakness, when learning to swallow your pride is actually one of the bravest things you can do, and it requires strength. It’s also the kindest thing you can do for those around you at times. What good is false pride when the people you love, and who love you, suffer over it? What good did it do you and your sisters to have your mother accept my love, groceries, and visits, but never allow me to pay for a top-notch rehab center? The one time I forced things, by calling social services, she didn’t speak to me or allow me to see you for a year. Tell me, what good did all that pride do for you? Please, let me in now. Let me help. Somehow.”
Paige let go of her grandmother’s hand and stared at the table, emotionally unable to call up those memories. They were in the past. She’d left them there for good, and it had taken a lot of time, effort, and therapy. And she’d done it all for the kids. If her grandmother wanted her to focus on the here and now, then that’s what she’d talk about. “I have learned to swallow my pride, Grandma, trust me, to the point where I feel I have almost nothing left to swallow. This past year—I’ve been Glenn’s emotional punching bag, and I feel both shamed and drained.” She played with a packet of sugar lying on the table. “It started so subtly, I didn’t even know I was doing it. And then every minute of my life started to feel like I was keeping up with something, only I didn’t know what it was I was keeping up with. And then it all fell apart, and the punches started leaving me hollow. Like I could only feel pain where I used to feel myself breathing.” She looked into her grandmother’s sad, pale eyes. “But I’m done feeling sorry for myself. I’m also done with false pride, which is why I am accepting your help; the kids and I are living in your apartment, aren’t we? And right now, I need a new dream to follow and to give my all to, for my sake and for the kids’ sake. They now need a financially successful, emotionally available mom, who has plenty of time and energy for them, and I’m going to deliver her.”
“Deliver her? As if a new you is something you just order up and serve?”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous.” Paige folded her arms across her chest.
“No.
I’m trying to be real. But I feel like I’m lost in Oz with the three of you! Hope is the Tin Man, Gracie is the Lion, and you’re the Scarecrow.”
“You’re saying I’m missing a brain!” Paige almost got up and left, but it would worry and pain her grandmother, who seemed like she was holding on to enough old pain as it was.
“No. Nobody was missing anything, remember? Each of them already possessed their heart’s desire. It was always within. That was the lesson.” She looked away and took a breath, as if she needed to regroup, before looking back and offering Paige a sad, but conciliatory smile. “It happens to everyone at some point, you know. That’s why we’ve got so many ghostly tenants in town. They’re still searching.”
Paige smiled, too, as eager as her grandmother to lighten the mood. Ghostly Tenants of Spinning Hills.... It was the name of her grandmother’s ghost tour. But something else about the words rang familiar, and Paige turned it around in her head a few times, while she and her grandmother remained quiet, both knowing they were at odds, but neither wanting to continue their messy argument.
Finally, her grandmother got up and went to the kitchen to help Rosa. Paige went back to her research, copying and pasting contact information for decision-makers of private schools and civic groups onto a spreadsheet. One website in particular proved to be invaluable. It listed employment opportunities for nonprofits in the region, and it allowed her to prioritize her list by starting with those organizations that needed fund-raising coordinators, directors, or managers.
As she scanned, she came across an organization that raised funds for an adolescent addiction rehabilitation center, and a familiar pang stabbed her heart. It used to be that memories of her first and only nursing job made her feel nauseous. With time, the nausea had subsided into shame. Lately, it felt more like regret. Usually, she pushed it aside, because she was too busy figuring out what came next to sit and think about things that happened so long ago. But at that moment, her grandmother’s provoking words were still fresh in her mind.
“Do you have a pen or pencil I can borrow?” she asked Ruby. It made no sense, but she didn’t want to include the information on her spreadsheet. She wanted to write it down, stick it in her purse, and revisit it later. A voice inside her head—one that sounded remarkably like her grandmother’s—was telling her that sooner or later, she’d have to revisit old dreams and examine what had really happened to them.
“Of course, dear.” Ruby’s eyes lit up. “I’m so glad to see you moving forward.” She opened the drawer under the cash register, took out a pen, and walked over. “Here you go.”
Paige opened her palm and Ruby dropped the pen in it, saying, “Oh, will you look at that.”
“Look at what?”
Ruby pointed to her palm. “Your head line is short.”
Paige eyed Ruby with her sternest look. She was done taking abuse, and she could feel her demonic voice coming on. “I hope you’re not among those implying that I’m short on brains.”
“Settle down. A short line means you think well on your feet, and you reach conclusions and make decisions without difficulty.”
Paige nodded once. “Good. That’s more like it.”
“As long as you remember that doesn’t mean your decisions will always be the right ones. You need to train yourself to reach deeper.” Before Paige could say what was on her short, straight mind, Ruby took a closer look at her palm. “Oh, but look. That shouldn’t be a problem for you, once you put your mind to it. Your emotional line is unusually long, and it curves at the end, which means you have deep emotions, but you also consider the emotions of others.” She closed Paige’s hand around the pen and patted it. “You have deep and considerate emotions, you think well on your feet, and you’re decisive. I’d say those are the qualities of a good nurse, wouldn’t you?”
Paige took her palm back and pressed her lips tightly together, before she said something she’d regret. Like that her grandmother, Rosa, and Ruby all probably had unusually long and deep nosy lines.
She went back to the table, wrote down the information, stuck it deep into her purse, and said good-bye with the excuse of needing to make some phone calls. In truth she was itching to get going. First, she really did need to request interviews for the jobs she’d seen that matched both her skill set and her new plan. Her plan was to turn the interview into a meeting, and offer her services. It would cost potential employers absolutely nothing to give her a shot. She’d make sure to emphasize she wouldn’t be handling money directly, that all fund-raising proceeds would go straight to them.
Only an Internet search of her name could derail her. Even if she formed an LLC, people could still look her up. Her name appeared alongside Glenn’s and others’ in newspaper articles about the investigation and its immediate aftermath. No, she wasn’t a suspect, but it didn’t look good. Would the FBI agree to completely clear her with potential clients before they found the journal? Would it matter? Maybe not even being cleared would erase a potential client’s doubts. She planned to go back to using her maiden name, but that took time, and it could still be linked to Glenn with anything more than a cursory search.
All she could do was take things one step at a time and deal with hurdles she couldn’t deal with now as they came.
“Your heart line is curved, too, by the way,” Ruby called after her. “That means you have a soul mate. You just need to find the person whose own curved line forms a heart when it’s matched with yours. I’ll help you!”
Paige stopped short. Now that really was the last thing she needed.
She spent the rest of that day and the next filling out paperwork to change her name back to Paige Piper, creating and tweaking a résumé, making increasingly discouraging phone calls, and cleaning her and her sisters’ temporary apartments. Both Hope and Gracie were out of town on business, and cleaning had always been her way of saying thank you.
By the end of the second morning, she’d gotten through the entire spreadsheet, and had only nabbed two interviews. Most everyone she’d spoken to instructed her to submit her résumé online first. In a fit of desperation, she’d grabbed the piece of paper she’d stuffed into her purse, and called. As luck would have it, they agreed to meet with her that very afternoon.
She was heading down to clear her doubts, fears, and frustrations out by power-cleaning Gracie’s apartment, when she ran into Agent Hooke at the top of the stairs. He frowned at her. “What are you doing?” he asked, eyeing the mop, bucket, duster, and broom she was carrying.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” she asked, peeved both at his prying and at the surprised look on his face.
The look cleared in an instant. She wondered if they took acting classes at the academy. “I’ll help you,” he said next, reaching for the bucket.
She pulled it away. “No, thank you. I can manage. I have experience.”
“I know.” It was said with that neutral tone and look that had unsettled her before because it was impossible to know what he was thinking when he kept his body language under such complete control. But it didn’t bother her that time. His admission meant that her plan had worked and he had looked her up. It also felt like an olive branch of sorts, that he was admitting it to her.
And it reminded her that she needed him on her side. If any of her interviews went well, and they decided to check up on her, she would need him to clear her name, under no uncertain terms.
He held his hand out. She looked at his palm and decided to put the bucket down and read his palm like Ruby had done to her, as a friendly peace offering of her own. Only she had to improvise, because she had no idea what she was talking about. Probably nobody did. “Hmm. According to Ruby, your head line is mid-length and straight, which means you take your time to think things through, but you do it quickly, and your emotional line is long and straight, which means you have feelings, but you don’t bend easily.”
She traced his heart line next, surprised that he was standing still and allowing it. She�
��d have thought he would have pulled away. “Your heart line is curved, which, according to Ruby, means you have a soul mate. Only . . . your curve ends right at the bottom of your middle finger.” She grinned. “I guess that’s pretty self-explanatory, isn’t it?”
He smiled only a faint smile, but it reached his eyes, and those eyes were looking into her own. Something in them had changed, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. It made her uncomfortable, which made her itch. “My exes would probably agree,” he said.
She handed him the broom. Her version of accepting the olive branch. He took it. “I’m cleaning my sisters’ apartments while they’re away. It’s my way of thanking them for their support,” she explained when they reached the bottom of the stairs.
He handed the broom back to her. They stared at each other. Gone was the ghost of a smile. His expression was blank once again. “Nice of you.”
Chapter 6
Alex felt stupid driving and parking the huge Suburban all over town when he could more easily walk, but he was in a suit and tie, and the Suburban usually lent him the authority he needed to get people to cooperate. The issue was that a town that prided and defined itself on all the things that set it apart was bound to have more than its fair share of people who either resisted, or were completely immune to, authority. For the most part, it added interest and flavor to otherwise plain old gumshoe-detective work.
Where Paige Galloway was concerned, the extra flavor was adding both unneeded and unwanted complications. Seeing her in a pair of faded, snug jeans and equally snug and faded T-shirt that morning had confirmed to him that he was attracted to her on a physical level. Nothing he couldn’t handle, but it was always preferable not to feel anything at all. But then she’d traced his palm, and the attraction had sparked to life, sending dozens of signals from his palm to everywhere else in his body. It had nearly fried his brain to keep his cool.
