by Megan Hart
dispensing their instructions even as they drew forth an
emotional response. Only women could dig so deep and
pul out so much.
I typed faster, making mistakes and going back to fix them
because I'd be damned if I turned in faulty work and gave
Paul a reason to judge me. From behind his half-closed
door I heard the music swel, but he didn't change the
station. The lights didn't come on, either. I concentrated on
my tasks, but today they gave me no satisfaction.
Fuck!
I sat back in my chair, muttering. Nothing satisfied me, and
I understood why. It wasn't only because the notes were
going to end, it was because I'd solved at least half the
mystery. I knew who the notes were for, if not who was
sending them. And knowing, I couldn't stop thinking about
it.
If I hadn't found out it was Eric, a man. If that hadn't
changed my perception of what it meant to be on the
receiving end of the lists. If. If. If!
"Paige?" Paul caled. "Can I see you in here for a minute?"
He certainly could, though I doubted he'd be as thriled
with quiet, subservient little Paige as he'd been. I pushed
back from my desk and stood tal in my expensive shoes.
The list had told me to buy these shoes. This blouse and
skirt. My armor, what I put on when I wanted the world to
see me as who I wanted to be and not who they might
think I was.
"Yes, Paul."
For the first time in many weeks, I didn't sit to talk to him.
He had to tilt his chair back a little to look up at me. I
noticed the difference, and I thought he did, too, because
when he spoke he sounded a little uncertain.
"Thank you for setting up my office."
"You're welcome."
I thought he would say more, but Paul just turned his
attention back to his computer and dismissed me with his
silence. I had time to think of what it meant when I went
back to my own desk, but I didn't care enough to bother.
When my cel rang just before noon, I almost didn't
answer. I didn't want to talk to Austin, but it was my dad,
an even greater surprise. I flipped open the phone and
pressed it to my ear, though it wasn't my habit to take
personal cals at work.
"Dad. Hi."
"How'd you know it was me?"
"I have caler ID, Dad. I have your number programmed
into my phone." Not that I used it much.
He loved gadgets but wasn't particularly tech savvy. "Can't
pul anything over on you, huh? What are you doing for
lunch?"
"I brought a sandwich."
"How about I take you out for lunch? I have to be up your
way today for a meeting. Stela's off shopping or
something. It'l just be you and me."
My dad had taken an early retirement a year before, but
though he'd suggested it a few times, this was the first time
he'd actualy invited me to lunch. We made plans to meet
he'd actualy invited me to lunch. We made plans to meet
at a chain restaurant not too far from my office. I knocked
on Paul's door to tel him I'd be leaving. He'd been
concentrating hard on his work, and I had to knock twice
before he looked up. He was going to get a headache that
way, even without the overhead lights on.
"Paul. I'm going to lunch with my dad. I'd like to take an
extra hour today. I can stay later, if you need me to."
He shook his head. "No, Paige. That's fine. Go enjoy
yourself."
"Want me to bring you back anything?"
"No." He sighed and waved a hand at the monitor. "I need to get this done before I leave for Kansas next week."
"You have my cel number if you need me," I told him.
"Cal if you want me to stop on my way back."
Paul has a very nice smile he doesn't use half as often as he
should. It doesn't make him into a movie star by any
means, but it was easy enough to see why his wife had
agreed to become Mrs. Johnson.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd gone to lunch with my
dad. He usualy managed to remember my birthday, if not
the day at least the month, and major holidays seemed to
trigger his memory, too, but with nothing on the calendar it
was a bit unusual for him to ask me. He greeted me with
the same hug and kiss as he always did, the one that left
me feeling slightly strange though he never seemed to think
so.
We both ordered the same thing, soup and salad. "Stela's
got me on some sort of diet," he explained. "Says we both
need to drop a few pounds. You look like you've slimmed
down a bit."
"I've been working out." Leave it to my dad to compliment
me while making me feel bad at the same time.
"We just got an eliptical trainer and a Bowflex. You can
come over and use it if you want." My dad thickly buttered
a rol already glistening with grease.
"There's a gym in my apartment building, but thanks." I
didn't even take a rol, thinking of the word discipline and
what it meant to me. I didn't point out how little sense it
made for me to drive al the way to my dad's house to
work out.
work out.
"You could stop by anyway some time this week. Check it
out."
In the past I'd have given him an awkward laugh and
shrugged off the invitation knowing that though he meant
the offer, he wouldn't notice if I didn't take him up on it.
Real invitations, the ones I was expected to take, came
from Stela and always had. Now, though, something in the
way he said it sounded different.
"Sure, I guess I could."
"Your brother's been giving us a bit of a rough time," my
dad said.
Interrupted by the waitress bringing our soup, I didn't
answer at first. My dad, as was typical of him, ignored the
server, spiling his guts in front of a stranger when I'd have
preferred the decency of a few minutes' wait. Ah, wel, it
wasn't my secret.
"Jeremy," he added. "He's been acting up in school, getting into trouble at home. Won't listen to a damn thing we tel
him."
him."
I didn't think pointing out giving in to your child's every
whim was bound to catch up to you would be appropriate,
so I made some sympathetic murmurs and wondered why
my dad was sharing.
"He's been realy mouthy to me."
"Kids go through stages, don't they?"
My dad gave me a fond smile. "You never have."
Choices. We al make them, sometimes more than once.
Sometimes it's the choices we make over and over that
define us, but more often it's the ones we don't.
"Kids who feel confident in their parents' affections can
take the risk of acting out," I said calmly. "I gave my mom a heluva hard time growing up."
My dad's not a stupid man, though he is deliberately blind
to certain things. He sighed. "Paige. I know I haven't
always been there for you."
I lifted my spoon to give my hands something to do, but it
clattered against the bowl and I didn't want to
risk spiling
clattered against the bowl and I didn't want to risk spiling
the soup, so I put the spoon down. Of al the awkward
moments we'd ever shared, this had to rank right up there
with the top ten. Worse even than the year he'd noticed I'd
started wearing a bra and announced it at one of Stela's
parties.
Knowing he wanted me to say it didn't matter only made it
harder for me to answer. I stared into my soup for a long,
hard minute and felt his gaze weighting me. I wanted to
make it al right for my dad because it would be easier then
to pretend it was al right for me. But in the end I said
nothing, silence more of an answer than words could ever
have been.
"Could you come by?" he said after another half minute
ticked by. "Jeremy has always liked you, Paige. He looks
up to you like a—"
"Sister?" I looked up at him, then, and took pity on the
man who was responsible for one-half of me.
"You are his sister. We've never tried to make you feel like anything less."
He wasn't going to apologize more, I could see that. I was
pretty sure he hadn't realy meant the first one. On the
surface, sure, but not down deep. No where it mattered.
"I can come over. Sure. I'm not certain what you think I
can do with him, though."
My dad's look of relief was genuine, anyway. "Just talk to
him. I asked Steven if he'd come, but he's busy with the
kids. I knew we could count on you."
That, at least, was flattering and believable. "Sure.
Thanks."
"Great." Just like that, things were okay again.
My dad slurped up his soup, then dug into his salad as he
talked the rest of the meal about the trips they were
planning for the summer. Again to the beach house he'd
bought a few years back, and also to the Grand Canyon
for a river-rafting trip. He invited me to come to the beach
house if I could make it, and I said I'd try.
"Good," my dad said like that settled everything that had
ever been strained between us.
In a way it had. I'd been honest with him, in some smal
In a way it had. I'd been honest with him, in some smal
way, which I'd never been before. We said our goodbyes
and this time the hug didn't feel so strained. He patted my
head, then puled me closer for a second hug.
"You look so much like your mom," my dad said, which
was untrue. "How is she, anyway?"
"Fine. Good." He never asked about her, but I wasn't
going to act as if it was a big deal.
"Good." My dad hesitated. "Tel her…I said hi, and I hope she's doing al right."
"Sure, Dad. I wil."
He looked at my car. "You get a new car?"
My car, a silver-gray Volvo, had seen me through three
moves, multiple winters and road trips to the beach and
back. It was the first car I'd ever owned and even though
Austin had cosigned the loan he'd never put a cent toward
it. It had been too much car for me when I bought it. It had
been my debt and my work.
"No. Same car."
"Huh. Looks new."
I looked at it again. Lately al I'd been able to see were the
scratches and dings. "Wel, it's not."
"You had that when you and what's-his-name were
together, didn't you?"
"Austin. Yeah."
"You see him at al?"
I gave him a hard look. The bright sunshine wasn't kind to
him. I saw his years in the lines around his eyes and mouth
and the sag of his jaw and the gray glint in his hair.
"Sometimes. Why?"
"Just that…hel. You were young. I should've told you not
to marry him."
He was stil my dad, despite everything, and I loved him. I
think my hug surprised him as much as I surprised myself.
"Dad, you couldn't have stopped me."
He laughed. "No. I guess not. That's one thing I'l say
He laughed. "No. I guess not. That's one thing I'l say
about you, Paige, you always knew just what you wanted
and how to get it, and you never let anything stand in your
way."
His assessment took me aback. What could I say to that?
"Thanks."
"Give Stela a cal, would you? See when's a good night
for you to come over. She knows the boys' schedules
better than I do. We'l give you dinner."
"You don't always have to feed me."
"I'm your dad," he said and tucked a twenty-dolar bil into the pocket of my jacket before I could even register he'd
done it. "Cal her. I'l see you later, kiddo."
I watched him go and turned back to my car to look at it
with new eyes. Sunshine had made a mirror of the
windows, and in it I saw a woman who never let anything
stand in her way, who knew what she wanted and how to
get it. My father saw me that way and suddenly, I could
see myself that way, too.
Chapter 20
It's amazing how one smal thing can change so much. I
went back to the office humming under my breath. I'd have
danced and scattered glitter if people did that in real life,
but I settled for stopping at Starbucks to grab Paul a late-
afternoon coffee and scone. He'd need one.
Tension creased his brow when I gave it to him, but he
took the cup and bag gratefuly as he pushed back from
his desk. "Thank you, Paige."
Five minutes later, as my fingers flew over the keyboard, I
heard the phone ring. Five minutes after that, I heard a
thud and a curse, folowed by the sound of water running
in his private bathroom and more muttered cursing. I
waited for him to cal me, and when he didn't, I got up and
went into his office without knocking.
Paul stood in the center of the room with a handful of
sodden paper towels. He'd been using them to scrub at the
coffee stain al over his white shirt, but al he'd managed to
do was spread it. Smal bits of paper towel clung to the
fabric, adding to the mess. The harder he scrubbed, the
worse it got.
worse it got.
The first three days I'd worked for Kely Printing, Paul had
been out of the office. He'd hired me, one of three people
who'd sat in on the interview, but I hadn't known until I
showed up that day who was going to be my boss. I'd
assumed the thick sheaf of instructions left for me on my
desk were because he wasn't there to start me off. I knew
better now, of course, but looking back you always see
things you didn't at the time.
The first day I'd come into work to find him actualy in the
office, he'd had this same look on his face. It was because
he'd assumed I hadn't finished everything he'd left for me;
when I showed him al the tasks I'd completed, he'd
calmed down at once, and our routine had quickly become
the way I've described it. So I'd seen the panicked look
before, but not for a while.
"Stop." I didn't have to think about this. I took the paper towels from his hands and threw them in the trash. I went
to the bathroom and puled a handful of dry paper towels
out, then dabbed at
the wet spot on his shirt. "What
happened?"
"I spiled my coffee," Paul said unnecessarily.
"I spiled my coffee," Paul said unnecessarily.
"I see that." I also saw there was more to it than that. I blotted the stain and scraped off most of the paper-towel
flecks.
Under my hands, Paul's chest was firm. He radiated heat,
though his face was dry and even a little pale. His hands
shook a little as he held them out away from his sides to
give me room to work. He was getting ready for a ful-on
panic attack.
"This isn't so bad," I soothed.
"I have a meeting to go to in five minutes, and Melissa
forgot my dry cleaning again. So I don't even have an extra
shirt." His voice went a little hoarse. "Damn it, why'd I
have to spil coffee on myself now?"
"You wouldn't be the only person at the meeting who ever
spiled coffee, Paul." I stood back to assess the damage,
then looked him over with a critical eye. "Did you bring a
suit jacket today?"
"Yes. Of course."
"Wear that. Nobody wil notice. It's a little warm, but you'l
"Wear that. Nobody wil notice. It's a little warm, but you'l
feel better." I patted his arm, and the muscles jumped
beneath my fingers.
Paul shook his head slowly. "Paige…"
I let him trail off and didn't offer a response. We looked at
each other. Without the harsh overhead lights, Paul looked
younger. The lines in his forehead visibly smoothed as I
stroked his arm.
It wasn't appropriate. If anyone had seen us, the gesture
could have been misconstrued. At the very least, it might
have started damaging rumors. But nobody saw us, and
Paul gentled under my touch. After working for him for so
many months, I knew what he needed.
It al fel into place. I thought of the day he'd put the
bandage on my leg. How he'd taken such care. And of his
lists, laid out in such detail to let me know exactly what he
needed and wanted. I thought of how he'd owned to being
difficult to work for, when in the end he'd made it so very
simple for me to give him everything he needed I couldn't
remember why I'd ever thought he was hard to work with.
And just then, I think we both understood.
And just then, I think we both understood.
He must have known before what he realy wanted, and
how hard it must have been for him to get it. Yesterday,
too focused on what I thought I'd needed and wanted, I
hadn't been able to see it.
