by Kelli Warner
Macy’s eyes grow wide, and she collapses into laughter. “That was you?”
“Uh, yeah. Not my finest moment.” Paige looks like she wants to wring my neck and dissolve into the floorboards at the same time.
“I honestly thought Cade was joking when he told me that story. That’s so funny!” Macy’s giggles finally subside, but Paige’s unease doesn’t waver. “I retract my earlier statement about this being a small world,” my sister says, registering Paige’s discomfort and trying hard to compose herself. “This was obviously meant to be. I don’t usually make impulsive decisions, but I have a good feeling about you, Paige. If you want the job, it’s yours.”
“Really? Yes, definitely yes!” Paige’s embarrassment dissipates, replaced by a beautiful, white-toothed grin that illuminates her face, and I find myself smiling back at her. “Thank you so much! I can’t tell you what this means to me.”
Macy pats her shoulder, choking back another giggle. “Let me just grab some forms for you to fill out and we’ll make this official.”
My sister disappears into the stockroom, leaving us alone. Paige presses her palms to her cheeks and sighs, her larger-than-life smile still in place. “Wow,” she says in joyful disbelief.
“She’s a big believer in fate,” I say.
“What?” she asks, as if she forgot I was in the room.
“Macy.” I gesture to the door. “I’m pretty sure she thinks you two met on the plane that day because the universe somehow knew she needed you to work here. That’s how her mind works.”
Paige’s smile weakens, barely lifting the corners of her mouth. “That’s not the reason.”
“What is it, then?” Maybe I’m overstepping, but this girl is a mystery. I’ve listened to the talk around school, hoping to pick up some bits and pieces of her story, but as far as I can tell, no one seems to know for sure how Principal Chapman’s daughter suddenly materialized out of thin air.
She shrugs off my question with, “Just a happy coincidence, I guess.”
“Macy doesn’t believe in coincidences.”
“Well, whether she believes in them or not, that’s all this is,” Paige says firmly, avoiding my eyes. She fingers a stack of books on the counter, inadvertently knocking the paperback on the top to the ground. In her haste to pick it up, she fumbles and drops the book one more time before returning it to the stack, bumping her hand into a display of bookmarks beside it on the counter. She grabs for the display, ensuring it doesn’t tumble as well, and exhales a sharp lungful of air, closing her eyes for a moment before issuing a curt, “Sorry.”
“Do I make you nervous?”
She snorts. “What? No.” Still refusing to look at me, Paige’s eyes dart around the shop and then land on the stockroom door with such intensity that I wonder if she’s somehow trying to send Macy a telepathic plea to come back and rescue her.
Right on cue, the stockroom door opens and Macy reappears with several sheets of paper in her hand.
“All right, here we go.” She hands Paige the paperwork from across the counter. “Welcome to Moonlight Books. Here’s to many new adventures to come.”
CHAPTER TEN
Paige
I drive home that evening with a ridiculous smile on my face, singing along with the radio like I just won the Grammy for Best New Artist. Macy’s job offer salvaged what had started out as a pretty sucky day.
I’m scheduled for my first shift at the bookstore next Saturday. The hours are perfect, so Jay can’t object, and I really like Macy. She’s down to earth, and I feel comfortable around her. I definitely regret not being a better seatmate on the plane now. But even more surprising than crossing paths with Macy was the revelation that Cade is her brother. I did not see that one coming.
I pull into the Chapmans’ driveway beside Jay’s Durango. I thought Connie said they were going to Tanner’s soccer game? The house is dark except for the kitchen light. I unlock the back door and, once inside, drop my jacket on one of the stools at the island counter and slowly make my way toward the living room.
“Is anyone here?” As I round the corner, I spot a small, orange glow in the fireplace silhouetting Jay’s form. I switch on the lamp on the end table and find him with his back to me, his hands firmly planted on the mantel.
“I’m home.” Taking a couple of steps into the room, I glance about, trying to identify what it is I just interrupted. On the coffee table lay two open photo albums. I step closer and see that the pictures in those albums are of me. A photo taken in the hospital after I was born. Another holding a basket of colored Easter eggs—I couldn’t have been more than two years old in that one. A photograph of me in a pink leotard at my first ballet recital.
I lower myself onto the sofa, pulling one of the albums onto my lap and fingering the plastic page protector over a photograph of me with my mother at the park. “Where did you get these?”
When Jay finally speaks, his words are bitterly hard. “I’m so angry at Abby.”
“What did you say?”
His back rises and falls in slow, controlled breaths. “I said, I’m angry.” I’m still processing his words when he finally turns to face me. His expression is dazed, wavering between frustration and—anguish?
I swallow, preparing myself for the conversation I knew would happen sooner or later. Of course Jay’s angry. Who wouldn’t be after having a teenager suddenly plunked down in the middle of what I’m guessing has been a pretty perfect life for this man? My mind swims with all the reasons Jay could possibly have to be pissed off at my mother. The list is pretty long by my estimation. I don’t blame him for resenting her, but before I can tell him so—that I, too, have as many reasons to be furious with her—he speaks again. And this time I’m completely derailed by his words.
“When I look at you, all I see is nearly eighteen years of things I missed.” Jay runs his fingers through his dark hair as the muscles in his cheek pulse. He clears his throat and tilts his face toward the ceiling. “Damn it, Paige, I missed your first steps.”
What is happening here?
I try again. “Where did you get these pictures? Did Aunt Faye send them to you?” It’s as if he can’t hear me, like he’s looking right through me, lost in memories I know he doesn’t have.
“When did you get your ears pierced?”
My lips part, but no words form.
Jay chuckles, and it’s both bitter and brief before the heavy shadow over his eyes returns. I nibble on my lower lip when his gaze touches mine for a fraction of a second, then shifts to other points of contact in the room, like he’s not sure what to focus on. “I could have been the one to teach you to surf. I would have liked that.”
I flip through the album. School pictures, middle school Science Night, birthday parties. And just as I suspect, there it is. The photograph staring up at me was taken at a youth surfing invitational three years ago. In my hands is an honorable mention ribbon from the first and only surfing competition I’d ever entered. My surfboard is planted firmly in the sand beside me. My fingers fidget with my watchband as something turns over in my stomach.
“Ten,” I murmur.
His eyes lock with mine. “What did you say?”
“I was ten when I got my ears pierced.”
Jay nods as sorrow fills his face. I must look as confused as I feel because he asks, “What is it?”
I struggle to get the words out. “Well—you have all these memories, or you will, with Tanner and Lily,” I say. “I guess I don’t understand why this matters so much.”
Jay shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re my daughter. You’re just as important to me as Tanner and Lil.” He dips his chin and sighs with frustration. “But I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?” Goose bumps prickle along my arms, like they do when I’m expecting bad news. His green eyes catch mine in his apologetic gaze.
“I don’t know how to be a father to a child I didn’t raise.”
And there it is. Even though I�
��d expected it, Jay’s words sting and my heart stutters at the rejection. Closing the photo album, I place it on the coffee table. Finally hearing the gravity of his own words, Jay’s eyes widen, and in a flash, he’s sitting beside me on the sofa.
“No, Paige! That’s not what I meant.” I think he wants to comfort me because he’s acting all awkward and hesitant, but I don’t think he has a clue how to do it. A consoling touch on the arm would be a nice gesture, but I don’t get one. Instead, he leans forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands fisted against his mouth as we sit in silence for several long moments.
I almost feel bad for the guy. I mean, I’m not the only one who had my world turned upside down. He’d received the same legal order from the will of a woman who’d lied to him all these years. Jay hadn’t wanted this—hadn’t wanted me—and that’s why he’s been distant and detached since the moment I got here. Because biological or not, I am an undeniable disruption to his life.
Jay sits up and faces me. “Let me try this again.”
“You don’t have to,” I say. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“Yes, I do,” Jay says. “Look, I have no idea how Abby raised you—her values, her beliefs. I want to do what’s best for you, what she would have wanted for you, only I’m not exactly sure what that is. What if I get this wrong?”
“You know more than I do,” I offer, but my optimism falls flat. “Don’t worry, I’ll be okay.”
“You deserve better than okay,” Jay says.
Another awkward moment of silence slips between us, and suddenly the ticking of the wall clock and the crackle of the fire are deafening.
“Can I be honest?” I ask when I can’t take it any longer.
“Please,” Jay says.
“This is weird. This entire situation. You get that, right?” I have to say it. It’s the enormous pink elephant in the room, the one that seems to have been in every room with Jay and me since the moment I got here. The elephant isn’t just pink; it’s wearing disco pants and twerking on the coffee table. At some point, someone has to acknowledge the absurdity of it all. Calling our new living arrangement awkward just doesn’t quite do this whole situation justice.
Jay flips the page of one of the photo albums in front of him. “Yeah, it’s weird.” He sighs. “But hopefully soon it won’t be and—” I can feel the weight of his eyes boring into me as I stare down at my watch. “We’ll figure this out, Paige. This is your home now. At some point, I hope you’ll feel comfortable here, and then we can figure out how to fit into this relationship that started seventeen years later than it should have. If that’s what you want,” he says.
What I want is my mother. I want a second chance to save her, to erase the pain and the misery that sprouts from roots so deep inside me, I can’t wrangle my way free. I’m not sure how much more I can take. First, it was Connie trying way too hard to fill my mother’s shoes. Now, Jay is doing whatever this is and trying to bond with me as my father. And despite his words tonight, I’m not entirely convinced it’s a role he’s fully committed to playing.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Paige
I am officially a liar, liar, pants on fire. And I feel kind of bad about that as I ring Quinn’s doorbell on Friday evening.
When she flings open the door, she takes one look at my face, rolls her eyes and pulls me into the house. “Will you relax? We’re not going to get caught. You’re making this a way bigger deal than it really is.”
Am I? Let’s break this down. First, I lied to Jay and Connie about exactly what I would be doing tonight, completely bypassing any mention of the party at some strange house with a bunch of people I don’t know. And if that wasn’t bad enough, I took my storytelling to an entirely new level by adding an intricately woven yet fabricated backstory.
“We have a big math test coming up on Monday and Quinn’s really struggling,” I’d told Jay that morning before I’d left for school. “She needs my help studying, and I thought it would be a good idea if we jumped on it now, so she’ll have the rest of the weekend to practice and prepare for next week’s test.”
“I think it’s great that you’ve made friends so quickly,” Jay had said, and Connie had stood beside him nodding approvingly and looking like she wanted to bake me a cake as a reward for my gallant gesture of friendship. “It’s admirable that you’re willing to help Quinn with her schoolwork, Paige. We’re proud of you.”
I think that’s what did me in. Hearing Jay and Connie say, “We’re proud of you,” when I was not only planning to sneak around behind their backs but lying to them about it too. In my defense, this is not something I typically do. I never lied to my mom to sneak out to a party. She either trusted me enough to let me go, or I’d had enough common sense not to sneak out in the first place. I hope Quinn’s party invitation is worth it, because I’m pretty sure I’m getting a one-way ticket to hell for this one.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea anymore,” I tell Quinn.
With a dramatic sigh and another roll of her eyes, she drags me by the wrist through the large living room, calling out to no one in particular, “Paige is here; we’ll be in my room studying!”
I glance around, expecting Quinn’s parents to appear, but they don’t.
Quinn’s room is at the end of the upstairs hallway. Once we’re behind her closed door, I release the breath I’m holding. “What if your parents ask where we’re going, or wait up for us to come home?”
“For the third time, calm down!” Quinn roots around in one of her dresser drawers. “My mom has her own stuff going on. We won’t see her until tomorrow morning. Trust me, it’s totally fine. My track record for this kind of thing is nearly flawless.”
I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean, nearly flawless?”
Through her sheepish grin, she says, “You don’t want to know.”
No. No, I do not.
Stray articles of clothing are strewn across Quinn’s bed, along with the scattered contents of her school bag. I notice a couple of sheets of paper peeking out from her math book. One of them has an unmistakable “58%” written in red ink at the top.
“You really are flunking math?” I’m starting to understand why this part of our plan is so believable.
“No biggie.” She waves her hand dismissively. “I don’t plan to use it later in life.”
“Not even to get into college? I hear it comes in handy for that.”
Quinn smirks and flips on the stereo next to the bed. Her walls are covered with photographs, some in frames, others simply tacked up on the wall or collaged on a bulletin board above her desk. I peruse the room, taking them all in, and I’m about to ask her where her collection came from when I notice two cameras on her desk.
“Did you take all these?” I ask, inspecting a photograph of a sunset with the most spectacular pinks and oranges I’ve ever seen.
“Most of them. I collected a few for inspiration.”
“How long have you been in to photography?” I pick up a black-and-white photograph from the desk and study it. It’s a photo of Mrs. Talbot, apparently taken without her knowledge. She’s gazing off into the distance, and she looks nothing like the woman I see in the halls every day at school. This woman radiates sadness and pain and—Quinn snatches the photo from my fingers, and I jump.
“So, what’s your story, Paige Bryant?” she asks, placing the photograph facedown on the desk and leaning against the edge. She studies me like my autobiography is written somewhere on my skin.
“What do you mean?”
“If we’re going to be best friends—and I’m certain we’re well on our way—I need to know your deepest, darkest secrets,” she says. “So, spill.”
Her words catch me off guard, and I can’t seem to come up with a response. “I don’t have any secrets.”
“Everyone has secrets,” Quinn says. “Some people are just better at keeping them tucked away. And you, my mysterious friend, strike me as a master in that department.”
>
I stare wide-eyed, wondering what she might already know about me that’s prompting this bizarre and uncomfortable conversation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Okay. Playing it aloof. I respect that technique.”
I sit on the bed. “Quinn, seriously, I have no idea what you’re getting at.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Google, remember?” Hopping onto the bed beside me, she tucks her legs beneath her. “What gives? You’re apparently this amazing dancer, but you’re avoiding the dance team like we smell or something. Aside from the fact that you had to come live with your dad, I hardly know anything about you. So again, I have to ask, what is your deal?”
“You know why I’m here,” I say. The entire staff at school knows about my mom and how I ended up in Mystic. That’s no big secret. But I didn’t have control over the sharing of that information, so I’m not exactly ready to volunteer additional details.
“Okay, fine. You’re not ready to share yet, I can see that,” Quinn says, surprisingly jovial and nonchalant. “But when you are, know that your best friend is here to listen.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I answer, still dumbfounded by this odd exchange.
“Check this out.” Quinn pulls me by my forearms to her closet and flings open the doors to reveal a large walk-in, filled with clothes from floor to ceiling.
My mouth drops. “Whoa! Did we just teleport to the mall?”
“I know, right? I’m obsessed with clothes.”
“Clearly.” I run my hand across a stream of colorful fabrics on hangers. There are enough skirts, dresses, shirts and sweaters to clothe a third world country. One wall of the closet is dedicated entirely to a collection of jeans; light wash, dark wash and what appears to be everything in between. “You can’t possibly wear all these.”
“Oh, I will,” Quinn says. “Or die trying!”