The Right Side of Wrong

by Prescott Lane

  I know he’s talking about Paige and Finn, but one of the benefits of guy friends as opposed to relationships with women is that we don’t really have to share shit. It’s not part of the bro code. Clearly, Catrine has gotten to him. His man card is in danger of being revoked.

  “You mean the golf course project?”

  “I didn’t say a word when you asked me to get her away from your father,” Jon says. “Even though you’ve never cared about your dad’s extracurricular activities before.”

  He’s wrong. I’ve cared. I know exactly why my dad is the way he is. Jon keeps talking, but the open road has all my attention. There are miles of road stretched out before me and miles I’ve traveled, but no matter the distance, some journeys never seem to end.

  “Catrine really likes Paige,” Jon says.

  I didn’t share Paige’s “profession” with Jon. He knows my dad likes younger women, so I didn’t feel the need to share that information with him. I’m glad I didn’t because I don’t want anyone to have any preconceived notions about Paige. Although, I’m sure he has his suspicions.

  “Good.”

  “She’s an attractive woman,” Jon says, stating the obvious. “The baby’s cute, too.”

  “Your point?” I ask.

  “Wondering if you would be taking such an interest in this woman if she was ugly?”

  “I hired you, didn’t I?” He bursts out laughing. “She needed a job, so I gave her one,” I say. “That’s it.”

  “Okay,” he says. “But I also know how you are once you decide you want something. Once you set your sights on something, you’re unstoppable.”

  “Jon . . .”

  “The Rose Bay Hotel,” he says, reminding me of a development we did together.

  “That turned a profit.”

  “Four years”—he laughs—“no one wanted that shithole, but you made up your mind, and there was no changing it. Took four years to complete.”

  “One time.”

  “How about the Mockingbird Club, the Cotton Mill Mall, the . . .”

  “So I like a challenge,” I say. “That has nothing to do with this situation.”

  “I’d say a single mother is a big challenge,” Jon says.

  “You forget, all your examples were in business, not in my personal life.”

  “Do I need to start naming women?” Jon asks. “Because that list is pretty long. It’s the same thing. When you decide you want a woman, you go after her. The only difference is, you don’t keep her around as long as you would a strip mall.”

  I chuckle, and I know he’s right. “I hired Paige to do a job. There’s no deciding anything.”

  “Not yet,” he says. “Just remember, a baby ups the ante.”

  “I know,” I whisper.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  PAIGE

  AGE 5

  “Paigey Poo, be a good girl. Go outside and play in the rain,” Momma says. “I have to work.”

  She smells funny.

  She sounds funny.

  She even looks funny.

  I smile.

  Momma likes it when I smile.

  She opens up the front door to our apartment, and a man walks in.

  He smells worse.

  He looks scary.

  I grab Momma’s leg, but she kicks it. “Outside.”

  The screen door closes behind me, and I hear Momma laugh, and I smile.

  Momma’s happy.

  It’s good when Momma’s happy.

  Tip, tap, tip, tap —my toes splash in the puddle outside our door. The mud squashes under my toes, and a raindrop falls through the hole in my T-shirt, landing in my belly button.

  I like the rain. No other kids are outside. People run, trying to avoid the rain, but I’m lucky. My momma lets me play in it. I have the best Momma.

  My wet hair sticks to my face, and I push it back, turning my head up to the sky and opening my mouth to let the rain fall in. I lost my front teeth. Both of them. Makes it easier to catch the raindrops.

  They slide down my tongue. I like the taste of rain. It’s better than the water from the sink in our kitchen that doesn’t even work half the time.

  I wish it rained more. I’d never be thirsty.

  Holding my arms out wide, I spin around and around, holding my mouth open, drinking the rain. Around and around.

  Dizzy in my head, I fall to my bottom, laughing. More people should play in the rain.

  “You look like a pig rolling in slop,” a boy yells at me.

  I look up, seeing him smoking, his front door wide open. Our apartments are across from each other. Momma says he’s trouble with a capital “T.” I don’t know what that means. But I don’t like being called a pig, so I get up and walk over to the window of our place.

  I shiver, and tiny bumps pop up on my skin. The old lady who used to live next door called them goose bumps. I’ve never seen a goose, but I don’t think they have bumps. She was a funny lady.

  Raindrops slide down the window. The water kind of looks like that finger painting I made one time with Momma. Taking my finger, I chase the drops down the window, hoping the tiny one will win the race to the bottom.

  My tummy wiggles in my stomach, making a loud noise. I lift my shirt, looking down at my skin, waiting to see it do that again.

  One, two, three . . .

  I count the bones on my body. I can count all the way to one hundred, but I don’t have that many bones. My stomach starts moving, vibrating. It hurts.

  I let my shirt down. It hangs wet and feels too heavy now. Pulling open the screen door, I walk inside, pushing my hair out of my face. It’s cold.

  “Momma,” I cry, making my way to her bedroom door.

  With a pool of water dripping at my feet, I push open the door. Momma’s sitting on the scary man’s lap with her shirt open. He’s holding her as she bounces up and down.

  No jumping on the bed. That’s the rule.

  “Momma, I’m hungry,” I say.

  “Jesus, Paige!” she screams. “I told you to play outside!”

  The man lifts her off his lap. “No, don’t go,” Momma says.

  “Feed your kid,” he says, throwing some money down on top of a stack of bills already on the nightstand.

  Smiling, she leans over and kisses him. “Be right back.”

  Then she turns to me, pointing out the door. “I’m hungry,” I say again.

  She picks me up, holding me away from her body, and marches into the other room. “I’m working,” she says, her teeth showing. She tosses me down on the sofa, my wet clothes making a squishy sound. Then she picks up the TV remote, flicks it on, and goes back to work.

  I turn my head to the TV. The man on the show is making biscuits.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  PAIGE

  It’s the first day of my new job, so I’m up early, dressed, and ready to go. Finn is up, dressed, and fed, so it’s time to get started. Despite what I told Slade yesterday, this isn’t going to be easy with a baby. Unlike my tiny apartment, this house is huge. I can’t see or hear Finn from one side of the house to the other without the monitor. Plus, I’m not used to him being that far away from me. It’s not in my nature to leave him to play in his crib while I go do something in another room. I worry too much about him and get nothing done anyway, so it’s best to keep him close.

  Perhaps I need to invest in one of those baby carriers I can attach to myself. Or maybe a playpen would be better. I don’t want to clutter Slade’s house up with baby stuff, but I could take it down and move it to my room, out of the way, when I’m not using it. I hate to start spending money already, but I’m going to need something. Maybe a consignment store would have one.

  With Finn on my hip, I head into the kitchen to clean up from last night’s midnight snack, not wanting anyone to wake up to my mess. Plus, I want to be ready to go and prove I’m up to the job. Unfortunately, the kitchen is already cleaned, and Catrine is already here working on the island. It’s not even seven in the morn
ing. There goes my good impression.

  She flashes me a smile. “Morning.”

  “I’m sorry if I’m late,” I say.

  “You’re fine,” she says. “Slade needed to go back to the city. He left early.”

  “Oh,” I say, looking down at Finn, knowing we’ll be all alone tonight. We’ve been alone in that crappy apartment almost every night of his life, so why does this feel so strange?

  “Want to go over the schedule?” she asks, and I nod. “This is just how I do things. You’ll find what works for you. With you staying here, you’ll have more flexibility than I do.”

  We spend the next couple of hours going over stuff, everything from the computer, which is in Slade’s office, to where the cleaning supplies are stored and how to work the sprinkler system. We walk the property, and I meet a few men who work with the horses. Her phone constantly dings with texts. The first few times, she smiles and answers. The next series of times, she ignores them. When they start to come faster, she picks up her phone and sticks her tongue out at it.

  “He usually doesn’t blow up my phone like this,” she says, taking a seat at the kitchen island, clearly uncomfortable in her state of pregnancy. “He’s a good boss. Low key.”

  “Those are all from Slade?” I ask, fixing a bottle for Finn.

  She nods, typing out a message. “Well, one was from Jon checking on me.”

  “Anything I can help with?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “I’d say no since every message is about you.”

  “Me?”

  She flips her phone around, showing me the messages, all asking if she told me this or that. Reminding her to show me how to use everything from the garage door opener to the coffee pot.

  “He must think I’m an idiot,” I mumble.

  “More likely, he just can’t stop thinking about you,” she says, raising an eyebrow.

  “Oh no,” I say, shaking my head vehemently. “It’s not like that. We aren’t together. I’m nobody to him. Just an employee, like you.”

  She smirks at me. “If you say so, but I don’t know a man alive who goes shopping for cribs and changing tables for a woman who’s nobody.”

  “You didn’t do that? I just assumed it was you,” I say, taking a seat and giving Finn his bottle.

  “Not me,” she says, patting her belly. “He didn’t even ask for my help.”

  I think about how perfect the room is and how he covered every detail. What thirty-year-old single man has a clue about diaper rash creams? Why would he bother? Go to all that trouble? No man does that, not even for nookie. No vagina in the world is magical enough to make a man do all that. There’s always another woman to move along to, one with less baggage.

  “Still, I know he’s not interested in me like that,” I say.

  “Because you’re friends with his dad?” she asks.

  My armor goes on at record speed. Slade told her? I never asked him not to tell anyone I was “working” that night, but I didn’t expect him to blab it all over, either. “You know how we met?”

  She shrugs. “Yeah, Jon told me you met at a party. That you are a friend of his father’s. Slade hates his father, so I was surprised he’d hire a friend of his dad’s.” She looks me up and down, smiling. “That is, until I saw you.”

  Breathing a sigh of relief that she doesn’t know everything, I feel my skin warm. “Standing next to you, I look like a servant girl next to some goddess.”

  “A whale of a goddess.” She laughs, patting her baby bump. “What did you do before this?”

  “Odd jobs,” I say, which is the truth. “I was in college before I had Finn, so I’m hoping to go back and take some classes.”

  Finn starts babbling, causing milk to bubble up all around his mouth and ooze down into the fat rolls of his neck. Placing the bottle down, I prop him up on my shoulder, and before I can even pat his back, he burps, laughing at the same time.

  “Can I hold him?” Catrine asks. Finn hasn’t been held by many people. His doctor, nurses, the occasional babysitter, but for the most part, it’s just been him and me. Still, he’s a friendly baby, and Catrine is the sweetest person I’ve met in a long time. After wiping Finn down, I hand him over to her, then start to clean up his bottle. “He’s five months?” she asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “You lost your pregnancy weight already. I hope I’m that lucky.”

  “You look great. I’m sure you won’t have a problem,” I say.

  “I’m going to breastfeed. I hear that helps. Did you try breastfeeding him?”

  Glancing over my shoulder at her loving on him, I say, “He’s always been on formula.”

  “And he seems to like it,” she says, tickling his chunky baby belly.

  “His pediatrician says he’s almost off the charts for his weight,” I say with a proud smile.

  “Who’s his doctor?” Catrine asks. “We are interviewing pediatricians now.”

  “He sees . . .”

  Her phone dings again, interrupting us. “Good grief,” she says with an eye roll.

  “What does Slade want this time?” I ask.

  “To make sure you know where the grocery store is.”

  *

  I didn’t see the point in both of us going to the grocery store. Despite Slade’s lack of confidence in me, I knew I could do that on my own. So I loaded Finn up and did the shopping. And no matter what Slade said, I parked far away. The last thing I needed was to dent the Mercedes. I even splurged on a new playpen for Finn. I couldn’t resist. When I saw the baby store right across the street from the grocery store, it seemed like a sign. By the time I got back, it was late in the afternoon, and Jon had returned to pick up Catrine. Despite my first impression of him, Jon seems to be a big old softy, at least when it comes to his wife and unborn son, smiling at her, doting on her. They’re very sweet together. I haven’t seen much of that in my life. Dysfunctional, yes, but not sweet.

  Jon helped me bring the groceries in, but I assured him I could put them away on my own. Accepting help from anyone is hard for me. In my experience, people don’t do things for you without expecting something in return. That goes double for the male species of the population. A part of me still wonders what price I’ll have to pay Slade Turner for this job and when he’ll come to collect.

  Catrine gives me a full-on hug before she leaves like you would a friend. It’s been a while since I’ve had friends like that, and it feels good. She says, “Tomorrow, I have my checkup at the doctor, so use it as a cleaning day. I left you a note on the kitchen island. My number’s on there in case you need anything.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I left a package on the island for you, as well,” Jon says, wrapping his arm around his wife, then they head out for the night.

  As soon as they’re gone, I place a blanket on the floor in the kitchen and put Finn down on his stomach with a few toys. He likes tummy time and can get up on all fours now, doing this little rock back and forth. He doesn’t go anywhere, and I’m thankful. I’m not ready for him to crawl yet.

  Keeping one eye on Finn, I make quick work of putting everything away. Well, as quick as I can while trying to figure out which cabinet is which. The next order of business is the playpen. Luckily, I don’t need any additional tools to put it together. By the time I finish everything, get Finn and myself fed and bathed, I’m exhausted, but in the best way tired can feel.

  Tired because I worked hard, not because I worried hard.

  Tired because for the first time in months, I feel like I can be tired. I’m allowed.

  With Finn fast asleep in his crib, I sink down into the oversized sofa and grab the remote control. I can’t remember the last time I watched some mindless television. It takes me a few minutes to figure out the buttons, but I go straight to the Cooking Channel and zone out when I do. The cooking show host demonstrates how to make the perfect steak on the stove, not a grill. This must be kismet since my new boss is a meat and potatoes man, so I happily
watch, making mental notes. And I almost die laughing when they make green beans as one of the sides. Of course, they also make potatoes, but I won’t tell Slade that.

  A noise startles me from my happy place, and I dart up. I can’t see a thing out of the windows. It’s pitch dark outside without the benefit of streetlights like in the city. I’m sure there is outdoor lighting, but damn if I know which switch it is. This house has more light switches than I’ve ever seen, and some of them do things other than turn on and off the lights—some control ceiling fans and another the garbage disposal. Yet others seem to have no purpose, or else I haven’t figured it out yet.

  The noise comes again, and this time, I can tell it’s coming from the kitchen. It sounds like a phone ringing faintly, but I know it’s not my ring tone. Flicking on the light, I wait and listen. When it rings again, the package Jon left wiggles just slightly. I’d forgotten to open it.

  Tearing open the box, I find a brand-new smartphone, tablet, and laptop computer. A small note rests on top.

  Paige Hudson, M.D. has a nice ring to it.

  It’s not signed, but I know who it’s from.

  Holy crap! Why would he do this? I don’t usually find men this confusing, but Slade has me not knowing which way is up.

  Looking down at the missed call, I see it’s Slade’s number. He’s the only contact number saved in the phone. I wonder why he was calling. To make sure I got the gift? Does he need something? Should I call him back? Or just text? I have to thank him, and that deserves a phone call. But this is a lot. I can’t keep this, right? I mean, buying things for Finn is one thing, but for me? There has to be a catch.

  Trapped in my internal debate, I shouldn’t be surprised when the phone rings again, but I still jump slightly. My boss needs something. I should answer.

  “I’m very grateful for the gifts. Thank you, but there’s no way I can accept,” I say when I answer.

  “Well, hello to you, too,” he says with a hint of mischief in his voice.

  “I don’t want you to think I’m not appreciative. I am. But it’s too much.”

  Ignoring me, he asks, “How was your first full day?”