Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
PAIGE
The street is quiet, but only because it’s early in the afternoon.
Traffic will pick back up and die down again soon.
Briar Ridge traffic may as well be a clock.
School is out? Chaos. Work is over? Another small swarm.
Getting dark out? Final dribble of drivers.
Anyone out between those times can be counted on maybe two hands.
Trevor pulls his new-old car into the lot behind The Shop, and I marvel at it. I know he enjoyed his Camaro, but I recognize it was never about how new and flashy it was. A memory niggles the back of my mind, but the sound of a door slamming puts me back to my mission.
I’m feeling unhinged. I can’t latch onto one emotion, so I’m feeling them all as I slam the car door and stalk to the long set of stairs. Stairs that look far cleaner than the last time I was here. That’s not surprising when I consider how clean my husband is. But who was he so clean for?
I pause at the entry, shocked to see not the chipped brown paint of before.
Instead, the door is a gorgeous teal color that I adore.
This is not Trevor’s style. Why would Billy do this?
Why would Trevor do this? I grab the handle and turn, but nothing happens.
Dammit. A hand reaches around me and slides a key into the new bolt lock, and Trevor opens the door, pushing it wide for me to enter.
I ignore his heat against my back and stomp inside.
The door glides open to a brightly lit space.
I flip on the light in the strangely quiet room—the muffled echoes of some type of machine working down below are the only sounds.
The wood-paneled walls are either replaced or painted over—a fresh reset.
The old stained carpets are pulled up and replaced with beautiful hardwood.
I don’t know what I was expecting to see, but the view in front of me is not it.
Filling the refinished space are photos.
Framed, pinned, hanging on the walls, and sitting on the new tables and shelves.
The first photo I zero in on hangs on the wall behind the new couch.
It’s Jacob and me from a few summers ago.
We went on a rented boat to the lake, and Jacob caught his first fish all by himself.
“Get together and say cheese!” Jacob kissed the fish instead of saying cheese, and my face is hysterical.
I was so grossed out and worried about the diseases he could get.
I recall being shocked by the clarity of the image, considering how hard Trevor had been laughing.
It was a perfect day. We had a lot of those.
I drag my gaze across the walls, covered in Christmases, New Years, birthdays, and random memories throughout the last decade.
My eyes widen when I recognize a number of them include ones I’ve taken with her.
“Oh, Bethany.” Her smile was sad in the earlier photos, but the progression is clear as Jacob and I showed her love and acceptance for who she is.
Trevor has well over twenty photographs spread through the living areas and into the small kitchen, covering the area of the once dingy, sparse apartment.
The dated appliances are now newer, stainless steel.
The apartment is completely renovated.
I ignore the quiet presence behind me as my eyes bounce from one new detail to another.
A photo on the fridge makes me smile. Bethany—her short hair from high school framing her sad, brace-lined smile.
Betty Boop. She hates the nickname, but not always.
This photo is from before I came into the picture.
What truly shocks me is how cluttered everything is.
Mostly, there are legal pads everywhere.
I’ve ruthlessly made fun of him for years about his use of them.
He told me, “The important stuff needs the personal touch. I need to feel the process to make sure I get it right.” I still have his Get her to Marry Me Legal pad stashed away.
In front of me is one flipped to a page labeled simply Bethany.
I reach out to lift it up, and Trevor makes a pained noise behind me. I ignore him and look more closely. It’s a to-do list.
Get to know my baby sister
Take her to dinner
Scribbled by it is a note—
Ask her questions this time. Dumbass
Ask her about stories from our childhood. Make a list of Mom’s lies. (next page)
What does she like? Pickles, cheese and pepperoni pizza, less sweet stuff, more savory.
Coffee order - black coffee with cream and sugar. An additional note - I think she’s lying here. Her face when she took a sip was nothing like the face Paige or even Becky makes when they drink theirs
Music - Savage Sixty8 - Take her to a concert ASAP. We went to school together, take her backstage - Note - Doesn’t seem interested? Maybe she’ll go with Paige?
Get her out of their house
Fix up the apartment - Billy says he’d rent it to her (I’ll pay while she figures everything out)
Maybe she can stay with Paige and Jacob? - She said yes! Thank God.
Note - Still finish upgrades on apartment. She might still want to be here, or it can be a simple gift to him? For letting me stay?
Show her she matters
Show up - Call her, message her, give her the version of me I’ve given everyone else.
Ask questions - listen to her answers.
I can’t read any more of it because my eyes have overflowed, and treacherous tears are flowing down my face. I place this one down and search for another, but then I see the calendar on the fridge. A number is written on each Sunday, and on Monday, written in all caps and underlined is—
BABY APPT - DON’T FUCK UP
Damn. Double Damn. Damn him. Damn this man. “Dammit, Trevor. Why?”
“Paige, I—”
I whirl on him. “You think you can just turn this into a to-do list and—what, it’s all better? Sunshine and roses!”
He steps closer. “No, of course not. I—”
“Years of hiding important, life-altering details from me? I can understand, to a degree, why you might do that.” I step closer to him, and he takes a step back. “You were young, but then you should have grown up.”
“I know, I should have—”
“But then, you turn—not to me, your wife—but to another woman when things get tough? You confide in her, touch her, watch her, admire her.”
It was nothing personal, you know? Krista’s stupid, beautiful, placating face flashes through my mind.
“Jesus, Paige. It’s not like—”
“It’s not like what? It’s not like you slept with her? Congratu-fucking-lations, Trevor, on not being total scum of the earth, but you thought about it.”
“I never thought about it.” His voice drops from conciliatory to something darker.
“Bullshit! Bullshit, Trev.” I crowd him into a wall, rattling the frames, and shove my finger into his chest. “I saw you two together, cozy and in your office. You said yourself that it was a common occurrence—”
“We had working lunches, but I did let it get too casual. I know that now.”
“Do you want a fucking cookie!” I shriek, throwing my hands in the air.
“No, sweetheart. No. I don’t want a cookie. I. Want. My. Wife. Only my wife.” I see him flexing his hands as frustration starts to seep in. Good.
“I remember what you said to me. It wasn’t ’Ew, gross. She’s gross.’ You admitted to me that you not only touched her, but you think that she’s attractive—”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” He takes a step forward, and I match with a step back.
“That’s what you’re holding onto?” Caustic laughter drips from his lips, causing fury to rise up in me.
“You’re holding onto the fact that I admitted a woman is attractive?
That I casually touched a woman I viewed as safe?
Not desirable.” He shakes his head and chuckles.
“You. Up on that fucking ridge when you handed me the evidence of lives we created, then proceeded to rip away everything that makes me fucking breathe.” He thumps his chest and takes another step closer to me.
Now I’m crowded against the front door as he leans forward.
“You told me that you lived for me. Well, baby, I’d skin myself to the fucking bone to give you what you need to live with a Goddamn smile on my face. ”
He slams his hands on the wall on either side of me, his face growing furious—the match to my own.
“You told me that you breathed me? I’d feed you the air from my fucking lungs,” He dips closer, running his nose across my neck, making me shiver.
“Down to my last breath just to keep you safe, even if for only one second longer than me.” His eyes flash, and his voice lowers to a growl.
“You are my everything, and I wasn’t smart enough to see the harm I was causing.
What I feel for you?” He shakes his head.
“There’s no comparison. Yes, I needed to set some fucking boundaries, but the care I felt for her was as a friend. ”
“There you go again! You’re her boss. And, you’re blaming her for your choices.
” I poke him again, trying to budge him away.
“You weren’t smart enough? You? The smartest person I’ve ever met?
Bull. Shit. Trevor. You told me that you think she’s attractive, that you put your hands on her.
Your blinders weren’t on, mother fucker.
You could see perfectly clearly, and all of your choices led to her, not to me. ”
Trevor doesn’t stand down as he always has in the face of my anger or frustration. He doesn’t try to placate me or calm me.
He erupts.