Perfect Paige

by Ines Saint

  “Do you miss it?”

  “SWAT?”

  She nodded.

  “I do and I don’t. I miss the adrenaline rush, and the targeted, coordinated, almost choreographed teamwork. But I have a lot more time for working cases from different angles now, and I work with more people, so that’s good, too.”

  “I was thinking today that our jobs are a lot alike.”

  So she’d been thinking about his job again. Third time now she’d admitted to it. Did it mean she was thinking about him? “How so?”

  She leaned her elbows on the railing and shifted positions. He made the mistake of looking over at her. The moonlight shone through her oversized white T-shirt and perfectly outlined her upper body. The battle inside him intensified. What would it be like to really hold her? Really kiss her?

  “Only a very small percentage of patients recover after only one treatment, and when I see these kids . . . it kills me to think that some of them will go back to it, after they’ve worked so hard. Already a few of them are going through treatment for the third time. I was thinking that it must be what it’s like for law enforcement when they don’t solve a case.”

  He thought about it, and had to agree. “And you have to learn to manage that frustration or you won’t get far with your other cases.”

  “Exactly. And teamwork is important.”

  They were quiet for a while, and he thought about how he’d just been saying that to her kids today. But it didn’t feel appropriate to tell her so. “How was your first day?” Typical small talk. Never mind that he really wanted to know.

  She smiled. “Challenging. Fulfilling. But it feels like tomorrow will be my first real day, though I’ll still have some orientation modules to go through. I’ll be sitting in on group therapy and participating in recreational therapy. I’ve been doing yoga for years, so I’ll be assisting with that, plus I’ll be receiving training on mindfulness meditation, which I’m really looking forward to. I think it’ll help at home, too.”

  * * *

  Paige wondered if she was babbling again, but she was having a hard time not ogling him. And she’d choose being an enthusiastic babbler over being an undignified ogler any day. The moment she’d come outside, the moonlight had shone down on his naked upper body and she’d immediately shifted her focus to the fence below. When he’d been in the hospital, she’d managed to keep her eyes away. But they were fighting back hard today. They wanted to stray.

  Finally, she allowed herself one peek, and her mouth went dry. So that’s what a half-naked FBI agent looked like. No dad-bod there. Nothing there, in fact, but hard, ripped muscles. Was that a twelve-pack? She’d never seen one before, outside of Hollywood action stars. She made another peek and counted. Yes, it was a twelve-pack.

  Her armpits were starting to itch. It was getting hot. Hopefully, another swipe of antiperspirant was all she needed. That and an Internet search for hot FBI agents, so she could switch out the image of Alex to someone else. Or better yet, hot firefighters, so she could get FBI agents out of her mind completely.

  She looked down. Damn Glenn for forgetting she was a woman. For the past year, all she’d done was bend over backward trying to look nice for him, to please him, to make him feel good about himself, and to make them all feel like a family again. She’d swallowed her pride countless times for the sake of her kids. It had been years since she’d thought of herself at all. All that had mattered was her perfect plan for the perfect life for the kids she’d vowed she’d never mess up.

  And double damn Alex Hooke, for reminding her she had needs, too. The need to share, to be listened to, and to listen to someone who called to her on another level.

  She’d seen him playing with the kids that afternoon. She’d been driving down the street when she’d caught sight of him and everyone she loved most, huddling, as if they were discussing a play. Not sure how she felt about it, she’d had to stop for a moment and watch. But there had been no use in fighting reality, not after living so fully outside her previous bubble. It was simple. She liked him. A lot. And everyone she loved liked him, too. Even Hope. Because he was worthy of being liked. And she wished things were different. She wished she’d met him at a time when feelings deeper than friendship were okay to explore.

  But he’d be out of their lives soon. That was another reality that couldn’t be denied. Remaining friends was impossible over one serious, friendship-damning fact: Alex was the case agent investigating the father of her children, and the results had been life-changing for them. She shook her head and cleared her throat. “You’re still here, so I’m guessing your day wasn’t successful.”

  He shrugged. “Three more houses down. I could think of it as getting closer.”

  “You could?”

  He didn’t answer. Another glance showed her an Alex she hadn’t seen before. He was tense, but fighting it off. It was in his grip on the railing, and the set of his jaw.

  “Grandma Sherry said she’s asking those who borrowed the ghost stories book in the past to remind her of the stories, to see if that leads anywhere.” It felt dumb to say it, because he was the one who’d asked her to do that.

  But he merely nodded. “She gave me a list. I’ve been talking to them, too.”

  “You must be eager to get back to your old life,” she observed after some silence.

  “I—” He turned to look at her. “I . . .” His voice trailed off again, and he frowned.

  Paige grinned. “Don’t worry, Alex. It was a rhetorical question. A last bit of small talk to cap off the night, since neither of us seems ready to go back inside. Of course you’re eager to get back to your own home, your office, and all your cases. Don’t tell me you’re still afraid you’ll offend me, and that I’ll stop cooperating?” She tossed him a teasing look. Could this stuttering man be the same agent who’d handcuffed her only five months before?

  He didn’t smile. He merely stared at her for a long moment. “It hasn’t been a bad experience. I like your kids, Paige. I like your family. Even Hope. And believe it or not, I—I like you.” His words mirrored everything she’d been thinking only minutes before so precisely, she was rendered speechless. He cleared his throat. “So while I can’t wait to wrap this up, I can’t say I’m eager to get back to my boss. Him I don’t like at all.”

  Paige shifted her glance to a spot over his shoulder, feeling ridiculous over how touched she was at his simple sentiment. His last sentence made it all clear: He liked them better than he liked his boss. Not a big deal.

  “Funny how midnight makes us chatty,” she observed, turning slightly to study the outline of his silhouette, watching his throat work and his fingers grip and ungrip the railing. He was also struggling against something. “As if the clouds will absorb everything we say and then disappear with it all as soon as the wind changes,” she added, wishing she knew what he was struggling with. Most likely that he needed to get the case wrapped up, like he’d said.

  He turned and caught her looking at him. “Poetic,” he teased, offering up a devastating smile.

  “I’m a woman of hidden talents.” She smiled back, her insides tingling.

  “I believe it now, Perfect Paige.”

  She pinned him with a questioning look. “Perfect Paige?”

  “That’s how I thought of you a while back. Perfectly pretty, and fashionable, and behaved. Never a hair out of place or a crease on your clothes or a smear on your face.”

  “So . . . perfectly annoying, you mean?” It was her turn to frown.

  He shrugged, but this time, his eyes glittered with humor. “Hey, you compared me to Ivan Drago. That man was vicious. At least I only thought you were annoyingly perfect.”

  Paige slanted her head and mentally reviewed herself going about her days in her old life, trying to picture it all from his point of view. But all she could see were the little things no one else saw. “I’ve been using eye cream obsessively from the time I was twenty-two. I think I must slather it on at least five times a day. A
nd I can’t afford that much cream now, and yet I can’t seem to stop. And, for some reason, I have this obsessive habit of turning the light switch on and off four times before I leave the house. If I’m not sure I did it four times, I go back, do it again, and count. And I weigh myself, daily, even though I know it’s wrong and I’m scared of Riley catching me and growing up to think weight is so important that you have to weigh yourself every day—which makes me such a hypocrite.” She stopped abruptly and blinked. What had started off as kidding had nearly turned into a confession of her biggest fear.

  How could she possibly help others, let alone raise emotionally healthy children, when she herself was so messed up?

  He took one step toward her, put a finger beneath her chin, and gently lifted her face to his. “I can’t stand still on any threshold, or hand anything to anyone across one. It’s the only Russian superstition that has stuck with me. Thresholds are evil. I know it’s illogical, but still . . .”

  Paige looked into his eyes, surprised. “Lately I’ve been thinking that those who put the most pressure on themselves are the ones who crack, either through quirks or taking dark paths. Quirks are better, right?”

  He chuckled. “Definitely.”

  She smiled. “And now you have to tell me why thresholds are evil.”

  “Ancient Slavs thought that was where demons dwelled.”

  “Demons,” she repeated. At that moment, feeling like she felt, looking into his eyes, with her kids only a window away . . . she knew where demons dwelled. So she took a step back, said, “Well, it’s late, and we both have busy days tomorrow,” and turned to go inside, not wanting to keep him out when he should be resting, and needing to put some distance between his smiles and her heartstrings, and his half-naked body and her increasingly misbehaving libido.

  But distance wasn’t enough. The next day, it seemed to her that she was carrying him with her. Thoughts of him kept floating in and out of her consciousness.

  At lunch, Paige and two nurses, Joyce and Colleen, were sitting with the boys, talking about their favorite desserts, when Laney came by to give both Joyce and Colleen handwritten, decorated sheets of lyrics of songs they liked. Both women were obviously touched and delighted. The gesture, and the look in Laney’s eyes, spoke of gratitude, appreciation, and a healthy dose of self-pride. Paige felt so hopeful for her . . . But then Laney looked stricken, because she didn’t have anything for Paige. “These took me a few days, and, you know, you weren’t here yet . . .” she said, stumbling toward the end.

  Paige shot up to give her a quick, reassuring hug. “Oh, sweetie, you’re so thoughtful, but there’s absolutely nothing to be sorry for. I get to see your talents, and your wonderful gifts to these deserving people.”

  Laney looked relieved, but embarrassed, and Paige sat back down and let Joyce and Collen gush over their gifts.

  “What’s your theme song right now?” Laney turned to Paige when the gushing became embarrassing, too.

  Paige didn’t have to think. “‘Breakaway, by Kelly Clarkson.” It was her theme song for today, yesterday, and all her tomorrows, it felt like.

  Laney nodded once and turned to go. “Well, I’m not supposed to be here . . .”

  They said good-bye, and conversation at the table turned to life theme songs. Some of the boys’ choices, like “I Feel Like Dying” by Lil Wayne, and “This Place Is a Prison” by The Postal Service, were sobering, and their accompanying, sometimes cuss-laced sentiments, brought Paige back to the uphill battle ahead of the young kids, their caretakers, and everyone trying to help. A lot of pain and memories were brought to the surface, and many things she could share, but it was all delicate, and it would take time to learn and feel right about what she should share and when.

  Through it all, in the back of her mind, she knew that for a short while longer, there would be someone to share the highlights and low points of her day with, and someone who would share his day’s big and small frustrations and breakthroughs with her, as well. So that night, when the sultry sounds of jazz called to her again, she followed them out to the balcony, hoping he’d be there, unable to feel that their rapport and attraction could do harm when it would all end soon enough. What felt like her little adventure was rewarded by the look in his eyes when he saw her, as if he’d been hoping to see her, too.

  “Any luck today?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “None at all. I’d much rather hear about your first real day than go over my dead-ends.”

  She smoothed her hands over the railing. “Well . . . I had more training and orientation, but I also got to do actual work—like review treatment goals, pass medication, and draw blood, and I found those moments were really good for one-on-one interaction, which is encouraged. I really enjoyed connecting with the kids who were open to it, in small ways today, but hopefully . . .” She shrugged.

  “Hopefully . . . ?” He smoothed an errant hair behind her ear, but then took a step away.

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly and quietly, understanding his need for distance more than his gentle touch, but craving the expression of tenderness all the same. It was best to concentrate on words. The highlights and low points weren’t about the specifics of what was said and done, but it was hard to explain.

  “There was this girl I saw the very first day. She reminded me of my mother,” she began, looking at him. And without disclosing anything she wasn’t supposed to, she told him all about the day she went in for the interview, and all about Laney.

  It was darker and quieter than the night before, with only moonlit clouds above, the soft music, and their lowered voices, and their conversation grew deeper and bolder by degrees, until he hesitantly asked. “What was your mom like?”

  He didn’t add “when she was sober,” but she guessed that was what he meant. She tried to think it through, but her thoughts became jumbled because the answer was complicated. Her mother was only sober in the mornings and sometimes through midafternoon, and extended periods of sobriety had been few. “She’d wake up grumpy, and yell a lot, but then she’d grow loving and loveable as the day wore on, always trying extra-hard because she felt bad about being in a . . . bad state the night before, and then in a bad mood in the morning.”

  That’s what her mother would call it. A “bad state.” Paige leaned over the railing, recalling a few random moments. “We lived for midmornings and early afternoons with her on the weekends, because we were home and had her at her best. She was full of interesting thoughts, and she had deep feelings about everything. It’s probably part of why she started down that road. But eventually she’d become depressed because she felt remorse—real remorse.”

  She looked up at him. “She wasn’t selfish, you know. She wanted to do better and be better, and we knew it, and knowing that helped. And she could even be really funny when she was drunk. Except it was never funny, but it was easier to forgive when there was humor.” She shook her head and looked away, her thoughts just as jumbled as when she started. “As crazy as it sounds, it helped, because there were mean drunks where we lived, and at least she was never mean. Moody, but never mean.”

  They were quiet for a while, until he said, “You don’t sound resentful.” It was more of a question than a statement, and his voice again held that gentle hesitance, letting her know his interest was real and pure, but that he’d understand if she chose to be silent.

  “Addiction is a disease. It’s incurable. Only treatment and support can keep people off the cycle of recovery and relapse, but it’s a whole lot of hard, difficult work, and it never ends. And we now know that binge-drinking when you’re a teenager rewires the brain’s circuitry, making it even harder.” She recited the well-known bullet points, because that’s what she and her sisters had done, over and over again, until one day, the truth behind the words had sunk in and they’d gotten it. She still got it. “I remember how hard it was for her. She did really want to end it. And I loved her so much. We all did.”

  Paige w
as aware that she hadn’t really answered his question, but that part of her wanted to. Like confessing to a priest. To get her own shame and guilt off her chest. She swallowed hard and let it out. “Of course I was resentful. Especially when I became a mom and I saw how utterly impossible it would be for me to do the same thing to them.” She gripped the railing. “And I hated myself for it. How could I feel the deepest anger after I’d been so sure I had already forgiven her? When she was already gone?” A tear fell. She hadn’t meant it to.

  Before she knew it, her head was tucked into his chest, and his arms were around her, holding her close. He was warm, smelled woodsy, and felt hard; being close to him felt so good . . . like being in a cocoon. A comforting one. “I got over it, though.” She sniffled.

  “Shhh.” He soothed. “I know you did.”

  She snuggled deeper. “Perfect Paige, huh?” She sighed. How wrong he’d been.

  “Perfectly Paige.”

  They stood like that for a long time, until the clouds above moved west and the moonlight shone bright and high and the fact that they were both half-naked, outside, and locked in an embrace seeped into their consciousness. But they didn’t say good night. He tousled her hair, she waved, and they each went inside.

  * * *

  The next day, just as Paige was about to leave work, Laney gave her a sheet with the handwritten lyrics to “Breakaway.” The borders were aptly decorated with butterflies, birds, and clouds. “I’d never heard it. I cried while I was writing them out,” Laney said.

  Paige noted a smudged bird and she pressed her thumb to it, feeling so moved, she was afraid she’d cry. And then, she thought, Why not? Tears were cleansing, and they were real. She let the tear she was holding back fall, and hugged Laney tight. “A happy tear, because last night, my son told me that we’re all connected, and you helped me understand it,” she said. Laney stood still a moment, but then she hugged her back, tightly.