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  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.