Page 55 of Idle

Wiping a tear off her cheek after a particularly funny story about how my sister insisted on dressing up our German shepherd like Max from “The Grinch” one holiday season, Paige says, “You’re good at this. You should talk with Theo. I bet he could write a great book about Diana so people learn about her wonderful, although too short, life.”

Perhaps it’s all the happy stories. Or it’s the innocent laughter still echoing off the walls. Maybe it’s the newness of telling her things I hadn’t thought of in a long time. Whatever the reason, I choose to come clean to Paige.

“She was hit by a drunk driver.”

Her hand covers her mouth. “Oh my.”

Because the floodgates are open, I can’t stop the story from pouring out of me. “She was walking home from the convenience store with a loaf of bread for Homer’s lunch. She was on the sidewalk. A guy in his early twenties roared up the road and plowed right into her. The coroner said she didn’t know what happened, and she didn’t suffer. One second she was walking back to our house, and the next. Poof.”

“Jesse, I am so sorry.” Paige gets up and races into the bathroom—the one we completed—and returns with a box of tissues. Pulling one out, she doesn’t use it on herself, rather wipes my cheeks.

I was crying?

She perches on the arm of the chair, urging me to continue. “It was a beautiful ceremony. There were so many flowers, the church smelled like a garden center. And the people! What I remember the most was the entire high school came out, or so it felt. She was a senior.”

“And you were a freshman when it happened?”

I nod. “Yeah.” I don’t want to return to that time. I don’t want to remember what happened next. How my parents fell apart. Marge blamed herself for asking Diana to get the bread. Homer’s guilt was worse. She was getting the bread for his lunch. Plus, she had him wrapped around her finger. After all, she was following his footsteps into banking compliance.

Then there was me. Aimless. Adrift. Alone.

Paige prods. “Did you have to go for counseling?”

I snort. “You bet your sweet ass. My parents threw me into therapy with a vengeance. They hovered over me, not letting me do anything that might be considered ‘dangerous.’ High school turned into a nightmare.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through this.” Her brows furrow, as if trying to remember something. “Your contact, Mr. Hooper. Did you meet him in high school?”

“How do you know Mr. Hooper?”

She tucks her hair behind her ear. “I might have caught a glimpse of his name when Quinn asked us to put in a contact on our new phones. You had written high school something by his name.”

My shoulders slide downward. “He was my high school woodworking teacher.”

“I’m happy you had him on your side when your family was imploding.”

My lips curl upward. “I loved his class. It was the first time I was able to use my hands to create something functional. It was like magic.”

“And then you took all of his classes and started learning more about carpentry.” She pauses. I can see her working out my professional choices. “Oh shit.”

Sad eyes meet mine. “It was more important for me to live out my sister’s dream than follow my own, which I didn’t have at the time. Homer wanted a protégé in the industry, and since he lost Diana, I stepped into her shoes. For the first time ever, he was proud to have me as his son. Someone to carry on his legacy.”

“But didn’t he want you to be happy?”

“It was a fucked-up time. I did what I did to try to help them. Honestly, I didn’t give my love for woodworking too much of a second thought back then.” Without realizing it, I’m holding her body in my lap. Somehow, she slid down the arm of the chair during my “confession.”

She cups my cheek. “What did your parents say when you told them about this show?”

I glance away. “They told me to get this out of my system and take the promotion I’ve been offered at the bank.”

“You’re too good to, quote, get this out of your system.” Paige squirms in my lap. “My parents were much more up in my business before the FBI—”

It’s her turn to stop talking. “How has it been for you since the indictments?” I’ve heard from both Xander and Theo, who had already established themselves in the professional world before everything went down. Paige is still struggling to find her way. When she doesn’t reply, I turn her trick on her by cupping her smooth cheek.

She sighs. It’s not an audible noise, rather a movement deep within her chest. “Honestly, it’s been hell. My parents fight all the time. All our staff except our maid and personal chef were let go. When things get too bad, I stay with Theo. But since he’s found Amelia, I feel like a third wheel there.” She bites her thumb.

“This show was a respite for you, huh?”

Her gaze drops. “Kinda.”

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