Paige Rewritten

by Erynn Mangum

“Luke. And uh, I don’t know if you remember or not, but he’s also Layla’s older brother.”

  Natalie swallows and squints at Rick. “I kind of remember that. Tall guy. Dark hair. Really cute?”

  I nod.

  “I don’t see the big deal,” Rick says.

  “That’s so awkward,” Natalie says at the same time. She frowns at Rick. “Seriously?”

  “What? They’re adults. It was what? Five years ago?”

  “Around there.” I nod.

  “Eh.” Rick shrugs. “Hakuna matata.”

  I look at Natalie as she shakes her head while stabbing a carrot. “I’m seeing now why he needs me to counsel the kids,” I tell her.

  “No sympathy. No sympathy. Want to know what his Bible college professors said would be his biggest weakness?”

  “I’m going to assume the no sympathy.”

  “No sympathy.” Natalie is stuck on repeat. “They said, ‘Rick, you’ve got to learn how to have some sympathy as a youth pastor.’”

  “Hey,” Rick says, rising to his own defense. “I have sympathy. In certain cases.”

  “Like what?”

  “Look.” Suddenly Rick changes into Pastoral Rick. You can see the change like it’s physical. His shoulders get straighter, his posture gets better, his voice gets deeper and more thoughtful.

  It’s very weird, honestly. I glance over at Natalie and she’s just leveling Rick with a look of annoyance.

  “There is a big difference between sympathy and compassion,” he states. “I have compassion. I have compassion in abundance. But I do not think sympathy is as much of a biblical character trait as others might think.”

  “Therefore you don’t need it,” Natalie says.

  “Exactly.”

  She is quiet for a minute, chewing a bite of potato. “Our kids are so going to favor me.”

  I’m pretty sure I snorted up some of the carrot.

  I get home late. Typical for a night over at Rick and Natalie’s. We always end up getting on some random conversation train, and before I know it, it’s way past my bedtime.

  I climb the stairs wearily, unlock my apartment door, and then lock it behind me. I’d left a lamp on in the living room so I wouldn’t be coming home to a dark house.

  That creeps me out to no end.

  I hurry through my nighttime routine and climb into bed ten minutes later, yawning. I pull my Bible over and on my way to Galatians, I end up in Psalms. I am a big fan of this book of the Bible. There aren’t too many other places where the writer just lashes out about everything to God and then praises Him with the next sentence.

  Something about that just really appeals to me right now.

  I still haven’t read Preslee’s note. I moved it to six different places around the apartment, and it finally ended up on my bedside table. I look at it, frowning, and look back at the Bible.

  Maybe I need a little preface to tonight’s Bible reading.

  I bite my bottom lip, take a deep breath, and pull over the cream-colored envelope. She scrawled Paige across the front in her distinctive chicken scratch. I can recognize Preslee’s handwriting anywhere.

  I open the envelope and slide out a little folded note card, taking another deep breath, my lungs tight.

  Paige,

  Happy birthday, sister. I know this is a shock to have me here, to have me this close to home. Honestly, I am shocked as well.

  I know I made your life and Mom and Dad’s lives miserable. I know I wasn’t the little sister I could have been. I missed birthdays, I missed Christmases. I missed Mom and Dad’s twenty-fifth anniversary. You have no idea how much I wish I could get those back.

  I’m sorry, Paige. I don’t know any other way to say it, but please know I mean this with all my heart. I am so sorry. I hope someday you can forgive me.

  I love you, sister.

  Preslee

  Tears burn the backs of my eyes when I close the card. Sister. The word should mean so much more to me. Something along the song in White Christmas. Like matching blue dresses and peacock feathers and piano music and tap dancing.

  It doesn’t bring up any feelings of happiness in me at all.

  There was a point when Preslee and I were close. When I was in middle school and she was in elementary school, we did everything together. I was the cool big sister who got to have her ears pierced, and Preslee idolized me.

  She started getting mixed up with the wrong crowd in late middle school, and by sophomore year in high school, she was pretty much as far down the path as she could get.

  Or so we thought.

  I rub my eyes and look back at the Bible verses swimming in front of me. Psalm 27 catches my attention.

  “When You said, ‘Seek My face,’ my heart said to You, ‘Your face, O LORD, I shall seek.’”

  I could feel it now. The gentle longing. The whisper.

  Seek My face, Paige.

  I’m trying, Lord. Show me how.

  Chapter

  7

  Wednesday morning.

  Eleven o’clock.

  I have now answered the phone sixteen times. Eight were potential adoptive parents. Two were potential birth mothers. The other six were all Mark’s wife because he apparently left his cell phone at home, and this was just not acceptable.

  The phone rings again and I don’t recognize the number on the caller ID. Part of me is relieved not to have to talk to Mark’s wife again. I like Cindy most of the time. I don’t necessarily like her on days when she is feeling clingy and I’m the one standing between her and her husband.

  Or sitting, rather.

  “Thank you for calling Lawman Adoption Agency, this is Paige, how may I help you?” I say this phrase so often, I’ve answered my cell phone like this without even realizing it until my mother started laughing.

  “Hi, um yes, I’m assuming I’m calling the right place.”

  I immediately take in the nervousness, the approximate age, and the way she’s phrasing her sentence. Potential adoptive mother.

  I grab the appropriate notebook to start writing down notes. Mark likes to have first impressions of both the adoptive and birth parents. “What can I help you with?”

  “My husband and I are looking to get some information on adoption.”

  I smile to myself. Score for me.

  “I’d love to give you some info, Mrs. um …” Kind of my informal way of saying, “Name please.”

  “Oh, it’s Tammy.”

  I end up talking to Tammy for over an hour, going over fees, legal questions she has, and then she just starts talking about how long they have been trying and hoping for a baby.

  “We’ve spent thousands and thousands of dollars on very expensive medical treatment to help us get pregnant and nothing worked,” she says, tears in her voice. “This is our last hope for having a family, Paige.”

  My heart hurts for her. What I want to say is “Don’t give up hope. God has a plan for you.” But this is a place of business and I can’t talk to the clients about God. So I just say, “Don’t give up hope, Tammy.”

  It sounds about as reassuring as a five-dollar bill not backed by anything substantial.

  I hang up a few minutes later, ready for my later lunch. Peggy comes down the hall, holding a Tupperware dish filled with some kind of bean salad. “Long conversation there, Paige. I’ve got nothing to teach her at the orientation meeting now.” She grins at me, poking a fork into her dish and leaning against my desk.

  I shrug. “I just tell everyone the basics.”

  “You’re going to make a good counselor someday.”

  I sigh. “Not if Mark has anything to say about it.” I tell her about the pay raise and she nods.

  “I know. He asked me and Candace for opinions on that too.”

  I pull my lunch out of the drawer with my purse and look at Peggy. “And you said that was a good idea?”

  “It’s a pay raise, Paige. Most people don’t complain about raises.”

  I dig my peanut bu
tter and jelly sandwich out of the plastic baggie. I’m not sure what I’m upset about. Everyone seems to think this is a good idea.

  Except me.

  Well and Rick. But he has ulterior motives.

  I think Peggy can tell I don’t want to talk about it, so she changes the subject, leaning back against my desk while she pokes at her salad with her fork. “So, how’s it going with Tyler?”

  Peggy and Candace are all for Tyler. According to them, I usually only date needy, weird men so they think Tyler is an angel from heaven.

  “It’s fine.” I think it’s fine anyway. It’s a little sticky with Luke being back in town, but I’m not going to say a word about Luke to Peggy. Lunch on Sunday was bad enough. I’m not necessarily in the mood to relive it.

  Plus, I don’t have time for a psychoanalyzation from my friendly counselor coworkers today.

  “Fine. Hmm.”

  “Peggy.”

  “Paige.”

  “Stop,” I command her, looking her in the eye. “It’s fine. No reading into it.”

  “It’s just that —”

  “It’s fine.”

  She looks at me, takes a bite of her salad, and then nods. “All right then. Whatever you say. I’m heading back to work.”

  She walks down the hall and I feel incredibly guilty for not wanting to talk about it. Then I feel justified because I had to go through a very long few months to learn how to say no. Then I feel awful again because, dang it, I was born with a very healthy guilt complex.

  I stand, slink down the hall, and tap on her door. She’s sitting at her desk, looking at a laptop.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. She looks up and smiles at me.

  “You don’t have to apologize, Paige. It’s your business. Frankly, I’m just glad to see you’ve started telling people no.”

  “Well, anyway. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “You’re fine. I’m glad everything seems to be going well with Tyler. You deserve a good man.”

  I kind of nod at her, smile, and go back to my desk, thinking about that. A good man. Tyler is definitely a good man. He was even very gracious to Luke at lunch on Sunday, though Luke kept bringing up memories he had of when he and I were dating.

  “Oh,” he interjected into the conversation, laughing. “Paige, do you remember when we went to that coffee shop, and the waiter gave you the tea latte on accident and you said you didn’t think you’d be able to even chai to force it down?” He laughed. “Didn’t they rename the drink after you because of that response?”

  I sigh now, raking my hands back through my hair that is still in desperate need of a cut. I glance at the clock. I still have five minutes in my lunch break. Time to call my regular salon.

  “Ramona’s,” a receptionist answers.

  “I need to schedule an appointment with Carla.”

  “Okay. Her first available is on Monday at five thirty.”

  “Great, thanks.” I tell the girl my name and number and hang up, feeling like I’ve at least accomplished something for myself today. I haven’t had a haircut in six months.

  Six months is too long to go between haircuts. If I go any longer, they’ll make me go to the new pet salon instead of my stylist.

  Five o’clock finally comes and I grab my purse and run for the door. Wednesdays are long days. I only have a few minutes to get from work to home, change, and grab something for dinner, and then head from home to church to teach the ninth-grade girls’ small group.

  I actually really enjoy it. It’s one of the few activities I didn’t cut out when I went on my rampage against all my obligations a little while ago.

  I drive home, park, run up the stairs to my apartment, replace the skirt and pretty top for jeans and a ragged T-shirt I’ve had since high school, grab my sneakers in one arm and a Lunchables and my Bible in the other, and run back down the stairs in my socks.

  My mother spent years of her life telling me to take better care of my socks. “People will think you have no home,” she’d always tell me, pointing to my feet.

  “What people, Mom?”

  “EMTs. Emergency sorts. Anyone who would be looking through the wreckage to see if the poor girl in the accident has a family who needs to know what hospital she’s at.”

  Mom has a morbid sense of priorities.

  My phone buzzes as I slide behind the wheel, and it’s my mother. I love when I am thinking or talking about someone and they randomly call. It makes me want to declare myself a superhero, stop sleeping at night, and start wearing glasses during the day to hide my identity.

  “Hello, Mother.”

  “Hello, Daughter.”

  “I was just thinking of you.”

  “I guess an angel got its wings then.”

  I turn the key in the ignition, frowning. “What?”

  “Oh no, that’s when a phone rings. No. Bells? Whistles? I don’t know. Anyway, I was calling for a purpose beyond remembering lines from movies I haven’t seen in years.”

  I tuck the phone between my shoulder and my cheek while I back out. I love my mom.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Well, as you know, Preslee is staying here.”

  Something freezes deep down near the base of my esophagus at the mention of my sister’s name, but I keep swallowing, hoping I can thaw it out quickly.

  “She mentioned that she saw you.”

  “She did.”

  “She said it was brief.”

  “It was.”

  “Well, that’s what I want to fix. I know the past and I just want to remind you that Preslee hurt us as much as she hurt you. But I’m calling a truce. And I’m your mother and it’s your duty to listen to me.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek, knowing what is coming.

  “We are having a family dinner on Sunday,” Mom says. “And you are going to be there. At four o’clock sharp because I know you have a long drive home. I don’t care if you are mopping yourself up off the floor thanks to the flu. You’ll be there. Okay, Paige?”

  Mom is pulling out the big guns today. Rarely does she ever ask me to do anything and today she’s not asking — she’s demanding. I suddenly have a great deal of sympathy for the older brother of the prodigal son. No one ever cares about his side of the story.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I mutter.

  “Paige?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” I say louder.

  “Good. Now. What would you like me to make for dinner?”

  “Traditionally, I believe it’s supposed to be a fattened calf.”

  “Sorry, honey, I lost you for a minute. You must be driving somewhere. What did you say?”

  Probably is a good thing she didn’t hear my sarcastic response. I clear my throat and put on a fake happy voice. “Whatever, Mom! I like all your meals.”

  “Well, that’s a statement that was born in the Falsehood Tree and hit every branch on its way out.”

  “Okay, fine. All of your meals except for stroganoff.” Even saying the word makes my gag reflex act up a little bit.

  “No stroganoff. Got it. I’ll let you go. You shouldn’t drive and talk on a cell phone anyway. Especially with the kind of socks you wear. Love you, sweetie.” She hangs up.

  Only my mother can pay me a big, fat insult and then tell me she loves me in the same breath. My socks are fine at the moment, running through the parking lot notwithstanding.

  I walk into the church and into the youth room, still carrying my shoes, Bible, and dinner.

  “You are late,” Rick declares.

  “Am not,” I say, sitting in one of the folding chairs.

  “Are too. I have five thirty and forty two seconds.” He waves his phone at me.

  I set everything in my lap and pull my phone out. “Five twenty-eight.” I wave my phone right back into his face.

  Rick garumphs, which means I win. A good thing. Rick is mean to those who are late to the leaders meeting. Last week, he made Tyler walk across a littering of Legos barefoot.

  That
one hurt to watch.

  Typically, Tyler is the only one who is ever late.

  Tyler is in the chair beside me, early for once, and he grins at me. “Dinner?” he asks, nudging my arm.

  “I always wanted these as a kid and my mother never bought them for me.” I push my shoes to the floor and rip open the Lunchables. “We’re about to see if all the commercials were correct in that they are fulfilling and nutritious.”

  “They are fulfilling. If you’re five.”

  Rick claps a hand. “All right. Order of business for tonight. Sam, the junior and senior guys are doing a project on Saturday, yes?”

  “Yep.”

  “Got enough chaperones?”

  Sam shrugs. Sam is one of the most laid-back guys I’ve ever met. “Half of them are eighteen, Rick.”

  “True point. Trevor, fill us in on the sophomores.”

  We spend the next few minutes talking details about service projects, studies, and prayer requests the kids have. I eat my crackers, ham, and cheese in silence, trying to make it to the Oreos before it’s time to pray and go mingle with the kids before the study officially starts for the night.

  Two Oreos. I can’t even remember the last time I ate only two Oreos.

  Even after I had my wisdom teeth taken out, I still managed to eat three.

  That’s the reason I never buy packages of Oreos. I will polish them off in two days. I do not trust myself with them. And I don’t have the energy to run the hundreds of miles it would take to burn them off. Or the time.

  “Paige? Questions? Comments?” Rick looks at me.

  “They only put two Oreos in my Lunchable.”

  “That’s because they are meant for children. Anything that applies to this discussion?”

  “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “The Oreos?”

  “The Lunchable.”

  Rick just looks at me and I start on the Oreos. “That’s all I had to comment on.”

  Tyler looks amused.

  Rick just rolls his eyes. “And with that, let’s pray.” He prays something short and sweet and then we head out to the foyer to mingle with the kids already congregating.

  I spend the next hour teaching the girls about love. We are starting a new series on the fruit of the Spirit, and I’m going to regret being the teacher for it, seeing as how the opening chapter Rick wrote says this: