Page 62 of Idle

He did say that during our awful last dinner together. “You did a great job with them.” She cheated a little on the corners, but overall, it was a strong effort. I’m sure the judges won’t give us too many demerits for her work. No. That honor belongs solely to me.

“Your work on the bed is going to be much better.”

I want to fling her away from my body so I can breathe. Race into the hallway and onto the sidewalk. Drown the voices in my head with Guinness on draught rather than these cans. Since I’m stuck here at this moment, I settle for, “We’ll see.”

She tugs at my hand, and I have a choice. I can return with her into the apartment or pull away and live out my destructive fantasy.

“Come here,” she half-commands, half-begs.

It’s now or never. Return or go? No choice, really. “I need fresh air.” Without waiting for her, I open the door and walk down the gloomy hallway. Need some lighting in here. Change up the carpet. Add some bright artwork on the walls.

When I reach the elevator, I press the call button, banging my fist against my thigh. In short order, the doors open and I walk in, only hesitating when I hear Paige yell my name from the apartment. Ignoring her, I press the button for the lobby and smash the “close door” button.

The entire descent, I battle with myself over whether I should return to Paige or unleash my demons. The doors open and standing in the lobby is Quinn with her camera crew. Bo’s there, too.

I can’t. I just can’t.

Instead of getting out, I press sixteen and return to “our” apartment. This time, when the door opens, Paige is crumpled in front of the doors, her head on her knees with her hands in her hair.

I exit the elevator and creep over to her dejected form. Touching her shoulder, I say, “Hey.”

She raises her face toward me, her light brown eyes awash in unshed tears. “You came back.”

“I did.” I slide down the wall and join her on the floor. Guilt bubbles that it wasn’t her who made me return, but I squash it. The fact I returned has to be enough. “I’m sorry I was a jackass to you in there. I wasn’t lashing out at you, but at myself.”

“Figured. You’re like how Theo was before Amelia.” Her arm drops to the floor. “I only wanted to help.” She flicks the rust-colored carpet. “Talk to me.” When I remain silent, she adds, “I’m not a baby. I want to make this better for you.”

Theo and Xander see her as the baby of the family. To me, though, she’s a fully formed, capable adult. With keen observations. Plus a sharp wit and an excellent eye. Banging the back of my head against the wall, I admit, “I kept hearing him all day. Saying I couldn’t do it.”

She absorbs what I’ve said. “Your father?”

I nod.

“Why would he say that? You were trying to accomplish something you’ve never done before.”

My voice lowers. “Because it’s not a worthy endeavor.”

She tilts her head. “What makes it unworthy?”

There is only one answer. “Money.” I pause. “And prestige.”

Paige drops her chin onto her knees. “My family has money, tons of it. Well, until the government freezes it all.” Her nose wrinkles. “Guess what it taught me? It could buy fancy stuff but not happiness. You could afford to go on vacation, but misery went with you, too. Money’s not what’s important.”

Her words land like an arrow to my heart. “My father’s bank account didn’t save my sister from the drunk driver, either.”

“And who’s to say there’s no money in carpentry? When we win, you’ll get a television show, which has to come with a nice paycheck.”

I let her answer soak in. Ignoring her blatant optimism, I reply, “You’re right. But it’s still an elevated blue-collar job. Not white collar, following in Homer’s footsteps and becoming the chief compliance officer like my sister dreamed.”

“Father’s white collar. Look where that landed him.”

The pain in her voice pulls me out of my own misery. She’s going through as much pain as I am, if not more, considering her family’s currently in the middle of it. I drop my hand on top of hers. “I’m being selfish. I know what you’re dealing with right now is awful.”

“Yeah.” She turns to face me. “We make some pair, huh? Morose and depressed, at your service.”

A grin forms. “Which one am I?”

“Morose.” A brilliant smile crosses her face. “We’re both resilient, too.”

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