Perfect Paige

by Ines Saint

  “Well, I guess it’s better to have you here than Boyd. He’d keep ordering everyone about, and my grandmother and great-aunt would’ve ordered me to stop hurting.” He tried to get up again, gently, but noticed he was attached to an IV pump and pole and wouldn’t get far.

  Paige laughed. “I gotta say, I’ve never met anyone quite like them. But I like them.”

  “You do?” It was the second time she’d said something to that effect.

  “I do.” She got up. “But now that you’re awake, we can begin the discharge process.”

  “That’s all they were waiting for? Why didn’t you just shake me awake? This whole thing has been a waste of time I don’t have.”

  “Boyd and Jerome said they’ll fill you in when you’re up for it,” she said as she walked to the curtain. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’m up for it right now.” His head was banging, but a pill would surely take care of that. He closed his eyes a moment. When he got his head to stop spinning, he threw his legs over the side of the bed. When that went well, he stood up. Next he would roll his pole out to the hallway and demand that someone remove the IV.

  Giggling met his ears. He turned to see Paige covering her mouth.

  “What?”

  “Did you forget you’re wearing a hospital gown?”

  Alex felt the back of his gown. “Who the hell took off my boxers?”

  “You did. You said it was too damn hot and you flung them off. The effort nearly made you faint again.”

  “I did not faint.”

  * * *

  An hour later, he was back at the apartment. It was 8 p.m. Glenn had told Paige his father was going to bring the kids home that night at eight, and Ruby wouldn’t let him get up and go out to see how that went.

  She had the first “shift.” He wasn’t supposed to be alone for twelve more hours. They were supposed to watch him for unusual drowsiness, a worsening headache, confusion, dizziness, strange behavior, vomiting, and a host of other things he could very well observe for himself. If he fell asleep, they were supposed to rouse him now and then, to make sure he could be roused. It was ridiculous, and he had a sneaking suspicion the discharge instructions were overzealous because the doctors and nurses didn’t want trouble with Boyd.

  The only reason he was tolerating all the nonsense was because Paige had the fourth shift, from 3 a.m. to 7 a.m., before she had to get the kids ready for school. The plan was she’d stay in the living room the entire time, with both her and his doors open, so she could see straight into her apartment while the kids slept.

  He intended to stay in the living room, too. He had questions he needed to ask her. Something told him she’d had an ulterior reason for being at her old house on Saturday. Paige didn’t strike him as impulsive, and yet she’d borrowed Sherry’s car and had driven an hour and a half away without saying a word to anyone.

  So he worked, as much as his hurting head allowed, on the one thing he hated about his job and the one thing he tended to procrastinate on; paperwork.

  While he worked, he humored Ruby by letting her read his cowrie shells. There were eight shells that fell either with the open side up or down. The way they landed was supposed to give him the answers he was seeking.

  When he wasn’t fully cooperating, she made him repeat questions she came up with. Between Ruby and the shells, it had been determined he’d have three kids, solve two cases in the following month, marry someone in two years, and find the lab journal in a house with the numbers two, three, and four, in no particular order.

  Alex nodded along as he continued to work on his computer.

  Ruby sighed. When he didn’t ask her what was wrong, she sighed again, a lot louder.

  “Is everything all right, Ruby?”

  “I’m bored.”

  “Then you can leave. I can take care of myself. If I feel anything amiss at all, I promise I’ll call one of you.”

  “No. I made a commitment, and I will stand by it. But you need to show some gratitude by at least talking to me.”

  He held back an extra-heavy sigh of his own. “What would you like to talk about, Ruby?”

  “Dessert.”

  “You’d like to talk about dessert?”

  “Yes. I know you have celiac disease, but let’s forget about that for a moment. If you could have any dessert in the world right now, which would it be?”

  The answer to that, at least, was easy and immediate. “Double chocolate-chip chunk cookies.” The ones Paige had made him, he didn’t add.

  “Cookies? And double chocolate. Oh my. Now, that tells me something. But it’s so unexpected. You being so reserved and joyless and all.”

  He couldn’t help it, his lips twitched. He leaned back. “Okay, Ruby. What does it tell you?”

  “I’m flattered you want to know.” She smiled wide. “Cookies, Alex dear, are highly personal desserts. A desire for a particular cookie has more to do with the baker than the cookie itself. Does your grandmother or your great-aunt bake these cookies for you? It might mean you’ve been missing them while you’re here.”

  “Uh. No. They’re not really the cookie-baking type.”

  Ruby shrugged. “Oh. Well, then. You think about the baker of these cookies, and try to figure out what is making you jones for them.”

  “I don’t jones. I’m not the jonesing type.”

  She gave him a look. “Every man is the jonesing type. Now, on to the double chocolate-chip craving. Would these chunks be dark, milk, sweet, semisweet . . . ?”

  “Semisweet, I suppose.” He supposed nothing. He remembered the taste perfectly. His mouth was already watering at the memory.

  “Aha.” She nodded. “The wisdom of the ancient Mayans will be guiding you on this one,” she said, before holding her hands together in front of her, as if she was praying. Who was supposed to be watching whom for strange behavior? “The dough in these cookies requires cocoa. Cocoa is made from roasted and ground cacao seeds. This enchanted bean offers much to those who partake of its powers, because it is not only a food, but it’s also a medicine. It relieves emotional stress and promotes cognitive function, which makes sense for you right now. Your body is asking for these cookies because it knows you have something you need to figure out, something that is causing you distress. The journal, see?”

  “I see.” Alex stared at his computer screen longingly. Paperwork had never looked so good. Only half an hour had passed. He still had three and half hours of Ruby to go.

  “But the semisweet chips tell me you’re also looking to enhance your sensuality. Which means you’re hoping to attract someone. Which means you’re attracted to someone.”

  “Well, everyone’s always attracted to someone. It’s what keeps the world populated.”

  “Don’t be glib,” she scolded. “The person you’re attracted to is more than a procreation vessel to you. The cocoa says he or she, although I guess it’s a she if you’re already thinking about adding to the world’s population, which you will be doing because you’re going to have three children . . . anyway, the woman you desire also has the power to relieve your emotional distress and improve your cognitive function.”

  “But you said the cocoa was supposed to do that.”

  “I did. But that’s because I hadn’t put it all together.” Pause. “So—is there someone serious in your life right now?”

  He leaned farther back, until his head was lolling on the sofa and he was staring at the ceiling. There was no way he could take three more hours of this.

  “Are you dizzy, Alex? I think we should call the doctor.”

  “No.” He sighed. “I’m not dizzy. And no, I’m not currently in a serious relationship.” He’d think of it as an interrogation. As an exercise that could give him insight into the psychology of the person being interrogated. He’d taken classes on it, and had done role play, but this would feel more real.

  “When was your last serious relationship?”

  First observation: The interrogated
feels a sense of persecution. “Two years ago,” he answered, though he doubted a four- to six-month relationship every two to three years qualified as serious.

  “Why did it end?”

  Second observation: When trying hard to avoid direct answers, the interrogated begins to feel mental fatigue. “She had a fit one day, saying she couldn’t stand my grandmother and great-aunt. She said they were too rough around the edges and had zero social skills. That didn’t bode well, obviously, so I broke it off.” In his case, the truth would be best. At some point, he needed to get back to work. Mental fatigue should be avoided.

  “And you love them, don’t you?”

  “Of course I love them. They’re good and honest women. Sure, they could use some finesse, but they arrived here in their late teens, orphaned and not knowing the language. I know they can rub people the wrong way, but they did the best with what they had, and that’s more than a whole lot of people who’ve been handed everything can say.”

  “It’s obvious you admire them greatly. And your gratitude and loyalty helped you put aside what you were missing. That’s actually very sweet and very mature of you. Now I see you’re not joyless. You just don’t know how to express that joy, which makes sense after meeting the women who raised you. Not that I’m criticizing them. I agree they’re very admirable.” She tapped her finger to her chin. “So the last woman you were dating had a fit . . . are you usually attracted to overly emotional women? Is that why your relationships don’t work out? It could be that you’re overcorrecting.”

  He raised his eyes to Ruby. That was probably why he’d initially only been attracted to Paige’s demon voice. Because it showed deep emotion. Now it was something else, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. Not that he wanted to. “Ruby, I hate to disappoint you, but I have a lot of work to do.”

  Third observation: When truth hits close to home, the interrogated looks for a way out.

  Someone knocked on the door then, and Ruby got up to answer it. It was Hope, and she was carrying a briefcase and a laptop. “Holly called Grandma Sherry, who called me. She needs you for something or other. I’m supposed to relieve you.”

  Alex was relieved. He’d take snark over behavioral analysis any day.

  * * *

  The kids were sleeping and Paige was reading up on the psychology of addiction. She was supposed to be getting rest so she could watch Alex from three to seven, but her run-in with her father-in-law had her feeling out of sorts. The man was smart in so many ways, and he knew how to push people’s buttons in mean, subtle, masked ways. He’d started in on her about her new nursing job, automatically assuming she’d be rotating shifts, grilling her on her schedule and how it would affect the kids. It had pleased him to know she’d only be working the day shift, but it bothered her that she’d had to mollify him at all.

  When she heard a noise outside, she got up to see Ruby was leaving

  “Hey, Ruby. Are you tired? Because I’m just reading and I can take over till midnight,” she said when she opened the door. “He’s not supposed to be alone.”

  “I know, sweetie. Don’t worry. Hope is in there, and he seemed relieved to see her.”

  “Relieved to see Hope?” What had Ruby done to him that would make him relieved to see Hope?

  “Yes. You know, I’m glad I got to spend those two hours alone with him, though. He’s a good kid. The woman he is falling for will be quite lucky if she is able to look at the entire forest and not just the dead trees.”

  “Dead trees?”

  “Yes, not that they’re not important. They have a role in supporting ecological processes, you know.”

  “Uh . . . right.”

  “In fact, if the woman can appreciate the importance of the dead trees while also seeing the forest beyond, she’ll have a loving, supportive partner for life.”

  “Agent Hooke is loving?” Paige leaned on the door frame. Now, this was funny.

  “Yes, dear. And he’s not joyless, he just doesn’t know how to express emotions. He needs someone who’s supportive, too, someone who makes him feel like it’s okay to express his feelings, that’s all.” Her eyes twinkled. “He humored me even though I was annoying the heck out of him, and he’s loyal and understanding to the women who raised him. You’ve met them. You know that can’t be easy.”

  Paige smiled and rolled her eyes good-naturedly before going back inside.

  Chapter 11

  Hope worked at the dining room table, and he worked at his desk. There was no conversation for the next three hours. It was perfect. When Sherry knocked on the door and Hope got up to leave, he said, “See? We can get along. I’m not so bad, and you’re not so scary.”

  “Why is it important to you that we get along, Agent Hooke?”

  “It isn’t.” Jeez. Women.

  “Gracie gets in tonight. Would you like to try to get along with her, too? She can take Paige’s shift.”

  Alex ignored her. At least Sherry was normal . . .

  Sherry was carrying board games. Not cowrie shells and tarot cards, like Ruby. Or cutting remarks, like Hope.

  He felt bad that the 11 p.m. to 3 a.m. shift had fallen to her. It had been a long day with her house being searched yet again, and she was probably tired. But he knew these women would see him through to the end, whether it was necessary or not.

  “It’s midnight. You must be tired,” Sherry began. “I’m supposed to rouse you every two hours, but I thought we could play a board game if you’re not yet sleepy.”

  “I slept all day at the hospital, and I feel great. But you should catch some sleep, Sherry. I promise to wake you if I start to feel bad.”

  “I took a good long nap in preparation for this, and I’ll sleep in late tomorrow. I’m wide awake. We can play Scrabble, if you want.”

  “Sure.” Alex nodded. He needed a small break from the computer screen, and Scrabble, unlike fortune-telling, was a harmless game.

  Or so he thought.

  They played an intense, three-and-a-half-hour game. Every other word Sherry came up with seemed to be a ploy to read him. She studied his every reaction, analyzed his every word, and did it all while wearing innocent looks and smiles.

  The word beatific led to, “I heard you call Paige an angel. That was sweet of you.”

  “And I heard I was delirious.”

  The word lurid brought, “Hope says you and Paige put on quite an act Saturday morning, when Bride of Chucky was here.”

  “It was like going undercover. I’ve done it before.”

  Sherry won the game, but instead of gloating over it and calling it a night, the surprisingly sprightly woman managed to pull his rack of letters toward her before he could throw his remaining letters in the pouch. “You have part of a winning word here, and it would’ve netted you forty-two points. You could’ve won! Why didn’t you use it?”

  “I don’t see a word there.”

  “You have an O, a Y, and a J. You know, it’s quite worrisome that a federal investigator can’t put three letters together. And if you would’ve used the kill I made from the k in knight, you would’ve had a word that covered a double-word square. I can’t believe you didn’t see that.”

  Killjoy. “I’m tired. I didn’t notice it.”

  “Oh well. Don’t worry. It happens to all of us. Sometimes we can’t see what’s right in front of us.”

  “Right.”

  “And sometimes, our subconscious sees what’s right in front of us, and it makes us uncomfortable, either because it doesn’t gel with what we see as reality—or because we don’t want it to screw with our approved version of it—and our conscious selves ignore it. But if we only took a moment to examine why something makes us uncomfortable, we’d avoid so many mistakes and so much pain.”

  She was quiet for a while, and Alex began putting the game pieces away. Only a blank letter was left, but she was twisting it in her fingers. It seemed to him that she’d started out trying to give him some sort of advice, but had ended up think
ing about her own life.

  “Mac and Laura were good at everything, and they were always the life of every group and party. Everyone liked them and lit up around them. I couldn’t fathom that to them, keeping that up felt like a burden. That they’d need help, and turn to the wrong kind. Mac was dependent. It took me a long time to see it. But Laura . . . Laura became addicted.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s an old habit. Confessing my sins to keep punishing myself. And I know better. But this whole thing with Paige marrying Glenn and all that came with it—it feels like another act in a bad, never-ending movie. A movie I helped produce.”

  Alex felt bad for her. It was easy to dismiss all three women as nosy and impertinent when they were prying, but this one was trying to tell him she had her reasons. They were good people, and he suspected they all had their reasons for interfering. “Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and nothing happens in a vacuum, right?” He kept his voice neutral but gentle, not wanting to make her uncomfortable, but wanting to comfort. “There’s a reason those two sayings have been tossed around forever, but they’ve become so overused, people forget to really think about what they mean and why they’re true.” When Sherry didn’t say anything, he was quiet for a while. There was something he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how it would be received.

  Finally, he decided to go with his gut, and just say what was on his mind. “You know, my grandmother and great-aunt always had a bottle of vodka around. They always had a small glass after work, and one before bed if it was cold outside. They gave me my first sip when I was seven. The furnace broke, and it was nine degrees out. But I never snuck any or even felt compelled to. There’s a lot to everything, Sherry. Don’t—don’t beat yourself up.”

  Her eyes teared up, but there was gratitude in her expression. “I know what you’re saying. And maybe you’re right. Some days I beat myself up, some days I don’t. There are days when it makes me feel better to carry the responsibility, to make myself suffer, to feel it keenly, right here where it hurts most.” She put a fist to her heart. “But there are days when forgiveness rises from underneath that, telling me I just didn’t know because I just didn’t know. But all of it makes me human, and it makes me try to understand others, and it helps me forgive. It’s all life, isn’t it?”