Paige Rewritten

by Erynn Mangum

  “Sympathy for the older brother of the prodigal son?”

  “Lots of sympathy.”

  He watches me for a second, pursing his lips. “Are you jealous?”

  Rick asks the worst questions sometimes. I stand and start pacing. “She did everything wrong, Rick. She broke the law over and over again and not only that, she broke my parents’ hearts over and over again.”

  He nods. “I know.”

  “She didn’t even come to my graduation, did you know that? Or my twenty-first birthday. She wasn’t there when I got my first real job or when I bought my first car.”

  “I know.”

  “She did everything wrong,” I say again.

  “So you feel guilty for feeling jealous of her.”

  I sit down and try not to cry.

  “Paige,” Rick says, and there’s about nine hundred pounds of compassion in his tone. I don’t see this side of Rick very often. He’s usually the goofy guy, the one who makes jokes and has fun and causes the kids to laugh.

  I shake my head, will the lump in my throat to go down, and mash the corners of my eyes. The last thing I need is to go to my class of freshmen girls and have them all asking questions too.

  “Look, I’m not going to tell you what’s right or wrong here, because it seems to me that you’re already under enough conviction, but I just want you to remember something. God’s plan for Preslee is not His plan for you.”

  I just look at him. “He planned for me to do everything right and her to do everything wrong?”

  “Maybe on the surface.”

  The word surface pricks at my conscience. Rick looks at the clock on the wall. “It’s time for small groups to start. We’re not done talking. I’ll see you after you get off work on Friday. Just come on to the house for dinner.”

  “I’ll be fine, Rick.”

  “I wasn’t asking, Paige.” He gets up and leaves. I sit there for another second.

  There’s a soft knock on the door and Tyler sticks his head in. “You okay?” he asks sweetly.

  I’m not sure I know anymore.

  Cracker Barrel is not crowded at eight thirty on Wednesday nights. I follow the hostess to a table and sit down, Tyler sits opposite me. This is becoming something of a habit.

  Tyler’s a big Cracker Barrel fan. He’s like a seventy-year-old living in a twenty-five-year-old’s body.

  “Cobbler time,” he says, not even looking at the menu. He looks across the table at me and smiles. “How was small group?”

  “Fine,” I say. And it was. The girls were distracted with school coming to a close in a few weeks and summer starting, but it was nice in a way because I didn’t have to focus too much on what I was doing.

  A waitress comes by and takes our order. Tyler gets peach cobbler with ice cream and coffee. I just get a cup of decaf. I don’t need anything else keeping me up tonight.

  “So, you okay, Paige?” Tyler reaches across the table for my hand. He’s only held my hand once before. He holds it carefully now, gently.

  Suddenly, I’m very jittery and very thankful I didn’t order anything caffeinated or sugary. And that old worry about him just being a sweet friend resurfaces.

  Why hasn’t he made anything official yet? And is it way lame to ask?

  “I’m fine,” I say for what feels like the 547th time this week.

  He just looks at me, blue eyes probing, and I sigh.

  So much for not dragging him through this with me.

  “My sister? Preslee? She’s back in the area.”

  Tyler doesn’t know a lot of the history there. I didn’t tell him very much, simply because I didn’t like talking about her.

  I still don’t.

  “Okay.” Tyler nods. “You’re not happy about this.”

  “Honestly? I don’t know what I am.” The waitress comes over and sets two cups of coffee in between us. Tyler reluctantly lets go of my hand and I rip open a packet of sugar and eye the bowl of creamers that have likely been sitting there unrefrigerated on the table all day.

  “Well, you don’t have to tell me details,” he says, gently. “I just want you to know that I’m here if you need to talk.” His eyes are soft, his smile reassuring. He looks adorable today, not that he looks that different than other days. Jeans. T-shirt. His hair is curly despite his obvious efforts to tame it down for work earlier, and that makes me smile.

  I really do like this guy.

  We end up talking about everything except Preslee until almost ten, and then Tyler drives me back to my car, which is now the only car in the church parking lot.

  “Thank you, Tyler.” I feel content for the first time since Sunday.

  “Thanks for coming with me, Paige.”

  I sit there in the passenger seat of his truck, not making any moves to leave. He doesn’t seem too sad about it. He puts the truck into park and leans back in his seat. The radio is playing some Chris Tomlin song very quietly, and everything feels peaceful.

  “Preslee ran away from home when she was seventeen,” I say into the silence. I hadn’t even known I was about to start telling the story.

  Tyler looks over at me and nods.

  “We knew it was coming.” I rub my temples. “I had already left home to come here for school, so I missed a lot of the end of it, but even when I lived at home, things weren’t good. Preslee was always the one to push the rules to the breaking point.” She spent a great majority of her junior-high years being grounded.

  I skip a lot of the things that led up to it. “Anyway, right before she left, she got a tattoo and decided to move in with her boyfriend, who was in her band and I’m pretty sure he lived in a van.” I take a deep breath, remembering those days. “It was awful, Tyler. She just left. Slammed out the door one day and we didn’t see her again for months. Mom and Dad looked everywhere. I missed a week of classes and we drove up to Oklahoma where Spike’s mom said his band just got a gig. We couldn’t find her.”

  Tyler reaches for my hand.

  “Anyway, about three months after she left, Mom got a call from her. Preslee said she was fine, she was happier without them, and she would prefer if they would just stop looking for her because there was no way she was ever going home again.” I close my eyes, remembering when Mom called me in tears. I drove home that same day after classes, spent the night crying with Mom and Dad, got up at three in the morning, and drove back in time for my seven o’clock class the next day.

  Tyler squeezes my hand.

  “Anyway, we didn’t see or hear from her for a long time after that. Bits and pieces would come through. Then she texted me the night of Layla’s parents’ anniversary and told me she was back in Austin.”

  “She’s been in Texas that long?”

  I nod. “I just haven’t seen her except once. She came by my apartment and dropped off a birthday present. And then Mom told me that we were having a family dinner on Sunday because it was ridiculous that Preslee and I still hadn’t talked.”

  Tyler sighs. “I’m sorry, Paige. How did Sunday go?”

  And now the fun part, where he gets to find out what a self-centered, awful person I am. “Preslee broke up with Spike, became a Christian, got a job, and is now engaged to this really nice guy.”

  Tyler squeezes my hand again, looking at me, lips pursed at my monotone. “And all of this is not good news?”

  “Yes. No … I don’t know.” I pull my hand away. “Anyway. That’s what’s going on.”

  Tyler just looks at me for a minute. “Have you considered …?” He stops.

  “What?” Might as well hear it now.

  “I was just going to say that maybe the problem with Preslee isn’t so much what happened in the past.”

  I just look at him.

  “Of course it’s a problem with the past. Didn’t you just hear that whole story?”

  “I think you should just find time to talk to her. Let her tell her side of things.”

  I just nod, smile a tight close-mouthed smile at him, and
climb out of the truck. “Thanks for listening, Tyler.” I don’t thank him for the unsolicited advice.

  I climb into my car and Tyler waits to follow me out of the parking lot. I drive home, park in my assigned space, and climb out of my car, holding my purse and my Bible.

  Once I’m inside, I change into my pajamas, turn on the lamp in the living room, and sit down in the rocking chair, still holding my Bible.

  This has not been my finest week.

  I feel like I’ve had several of those weeks lately.

  I look at my Bible and smooth my hand over the brown leather. Rick’s comment about the prodigal son comes back to my mind, and I open the Bible to the Gospels, trying to find the story Jesus told.

  John? Matthew? I finally find it in Luke 15.

  I read the story once, then twice, then three times, my heart getting heavier with each time I read it. I am like the older brother. I am angry. Part of me wants Preslee to suffer for what she did to us. Part of me wants her to just say her apologies and quietly stay out of our lives.

  A lot of me is scared she’ll do it again.

  I close my eyes and lean my head back on the chair.

  What am I supposed to do, Lord? If I forgive her and move on, what if she hurts me again?

  I rock back and forth slowly in the rocking chair. The verses about forgiving someone seventy times seven float through my head and I do the math.

  Four hundred and ninety.

  But what about the memories, Lord? Or everything she missed? I can’t just pretend everything didn’t happen.

  I open my eyes and look over at the clock on my microwave in the kitchen. It’s almost eleven o’clock. I’m tired. I’m too tired to think through theological questions right now.

  Maybe in the morning.

  Or maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll wake up to a text from Mom that says something along the lines of PRESLEE AND WES DECIDING TO MOVE TO FAR EAST RUSSIA INSTEAD.

  Then everything can go back to the way it has been. The way I’m used to.

  The safest way.

  Chapter

  11

  Friday evening I turn off my computer at work and just look at the black screen for a few minutes.

  I just spent the entire day doing meaningless tasks. I didn’t even talk to anyone on the phone about adoption. Just spent the whole day doing paychecks, bills, and writing e-mails to people who don’t live anywhere close to Dallas.

  I’m sorry, we are not staffed to do a home study in Connecticut.

  Apparently, we need to make the words Dallas Area Only larger on our website.

  Peggy walks over, pulling her purse over her shoulder and smiling at me. “And it’s officially the weekend, my dear.”

  I nod. “So it is.”

  “You have never seemed happier.”

  I smile at her. “I’m happy it’s the weekend.” I’m not so excited about the dinner coming up tonight at Rick and Natalie’s. Rick has a way of asking hard questions I don’t want to give answers to.

  Candace comes walking out of her office as well. “And I’m off. I don’t want to hear another complaint from anyone ever again.”

  “I hate spinach in between my teeth,” Peggy says to her. Candace just sticks her tongue out at her.

  “Long day?” I ask Candace.

  “Long week. I need a good weekend. Bob and I are going to a wedding, though, so it won’t be relaxing.”

  “Aren’t weddings supposed to be fun?” Peggy asks. “Whose is it?”

  “My cousin’s daughter. And yes, weddings are supposed to be fun.” She sighs and rubs her temple. “This particular cousin though is very antimusic and all things fun, so I’m not expecting too much.”

  I laugh. “Sorry about that.”

  Candace shrugs. “It’s family. What can you do?”

  We all leave and go to our separate cars. Mark is working late, so I’ll let him lock up. I climb into my Camry and try to stir up some enthusiasm for dinner with Rick and Natalie.

  I don’t usually have problems with this.

  I drive to their house and park. Since I’m coming straight from work, I look a lot nicer than I ever have for dinner at their house.

  Natalie opens the door with Claire in a Jedi Knight–looking contraption. Fabric twists around Natalie’s shoulders and waist and somehow, Claire is suspended in the middle of it. “Hey, Paige.”

  I just look at the baby, puzzled. “How is she in there?”

  “Amazing these wraps, huh? Come on in. Rick is making some sort of barbecue.” She closes the door behind me and lowers her voice. “Honestly, I’m a little scared of food poisoning. I’ve got a bottle of Tums on standby.”

  “Tums stop food poisoning?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. Seems like they should.”

  It’s probably a good thing Natalie is not a nurse.

  Rick is in the kitchen wearing an apron that says “It’s All Fun and Games Until Someone Loses a Pinkie” with a picture of one of those little smokey sausages on it, and he’s stirring something in a bowl.

  “There’s my next employee!” He grins at me.

  I sigh, though not as deeply as I probably would have before. After a meaningless day like today, I am maybe even potentially open to a job with Rick.

  That should show right there how much I fear a meaningless life.

  I watch Rick flick a jar of garlic powder behind his back and over his shoulder and catch it with his right hand.

  “You scare me.”

  “This? This isn’t scary,” Rick says.

  “No, you should watch him do that with eggs. That’s scary.” Natalie pats Claire’s back and turns to get into the fridge. “All right, Paige, spill the beans. Rick said Preslee is back in town?”

  I sit down at the table and watch Natalie pull salad ingredients from the fridge. I would offer to help, but I would be turned down flat. After so many years of eating dinner at this house, I know when I’m not needed.

  “There’s not a ton to tell. She texted me that she was in Austin the night of Layla’s parents’ anniversary party.”

  Natalie squints at me. “She’s been in Austin for almost two months and you failed to mention this to us?”

  I shrug. “I’ve only seen her once before Sunday. She came over with a birthday present for me.” I think of the necklace she gave me that is still sitting in the jewelry box, shoved into my bathroom drawer. I see it every morning when I pull my toothpaste out and just try to ignore it.

  I need to find a new place to store that.

  “How’s the jealous thing going?” Rick asks, being his typically blunt self.

  I shrug. Yesterday, I’d gone for a very long walk when I got home from work and just thought and tried to pray.

  Then I got tired and hungry. So I went home, made dinner, and watched HGTV until I fell asleep on the sofa.

  Sometimes, the best use an apartment renter has for HGTV is to avoid the Holy Spirit.

  “I do not recognize body language as an acceptable answer.” Rick digs around in a drawer and comes out with a baster.

  “It’s okay,” I say.

  “I do not recognize okay as an acceptable answer,” he says.

  I roll my eyes. “What do you recognize?”

  “Lots of things. My smoking-hot wife carrying my precious daughter in that weird wrap thing. My fantastic barbecue sauce that is about to cover the most succulent pieces of chicken you’ve ever seen. You sitting there, all forlorn. I recognize a lot of things, Paige.”

  Natalie grins at her husband. “Back atcha, babe.”

  “I do make this apron look good, huh?”

  “Okay, pause there, please.” I wave my hands before marital happiness dulls the memory of me sitting at their kitchen table.

  “Anyway, Paige, here’s my point.” Rick pulls a tray of raw chicken covered in plastic wrap out of the fridge. “You want to make a difference in people’s lives, which is why you should come work for me, by the way, but you need to see that people incl
udes your sister.” He grins cheekily at me. “Now, no more talk of things such as these. You’re going to depress my chicken.”

  “Thanks, Rick.” I roll my eyes. Nothing like being invited over for dinner and then being told to shut up before you cause emotional havoc on the animal you’re about to eat.

  We spend the rest of dinner talking about everything except Preslee. Layla and her upcoming wedding, Natalie’s mom coming to visit, and Rick’s excitement over the new youth group curriculum. Every twelve seconds, he makes a mini sales pitch.

  “And speaking of mothers-in-law, you know where a great place to meet a great guy is? Working in the youth group. Oh wait, you’ve already met one there.” Rick grins at me as he stabs a piece of barbecue-slathered chicken.

  “How are things going with Tyler?” Natalie asks, taking a drink of her decaffeinated iced tea. She stripped out of the wrap thing and Claire is nestled happily in a little bouncer by the table.

  I shrug, chewing a bite of chicken. The last time I saw him was Wednesday night.

  “He’s nice,” I say once I swallow.

  “So is Mr. Rogers, but that doesn’t mean I want to date him,” Natalie says.

  “I should hope not,” Rick says to her. “If you were into sweaters, you married the wrong man.” He looks thoughtfully at me. “Tyler doesn’t really strike me as a sweater guy either.”

  Not really. If anything, he looks like he needs his own show on some Wilderness Channel.

  Flanneled Man Versus The Concrete Jungle.

  I’ll never be able to picture Tyler as a computer guy. Ever. Even though that’s what he does every day from seven in the morning until six at night. He even wears slacks and a button-down shirt every day.

  Just an odd mental picture.

  “Not really,” I say to Rick.

  “Are you attracted to him?” Natalie persists. Rick looks expectantly at me as well, chewing a bite of green beans.

  This is why I have a love-hate relationship with dinners at their house. I love coming over here when everything is just fantastic in my life and I have no issues going on. Insert one complexity into my life, and I’d prefer to be anywhere but here.