Not in Her Wildest Dreams(6)

"Oh, Paige." Britta braced her elbow on her desk and pressed her forehead into her hand.

"And she's having nightmares about Dad. Wakes up crying. It's awful, Brit. I feel so bad for her."

"Fair enough," Britta said, lifting her face and using a voice full of  patient reproach as she clasped her hands together and leaned onto her  forearms. "But she's an adult. You don't have to fix her life for her."

"She doesn't have anyone else. That's why she hooked up with Dad."

"So he would take care of her? Look around, Paige. You're the one doing  it. Seriously, forget the intervention for the addicts in your life.  Let's take a look at what you're addicted to. You can't take  responsibility for all of your dad's women. It's a full-time job and  needs clerical support on the side. Look after yourself."

"I'm trying to, but Dad-"

"You are not! You look like hell."

"Gee, thanks. Here I was this morning, saying to myself, ‘I'll go see  Britta. She'll make me feel better.' And look how good I feel."

Her best friend gave her a you know I'm right look. "You want to feel  better? Go home to Seattle, crawl into bed, and don't come back for a  month."

"I'm never gone longer than two weeks."

"My point, exactly."

"You and Anthony," Paige muttered, reminding herself that it took two to  destroy a marriage and she had definitely done her part. "He hounds me  daily, you know, to give up the apartment. Says I'm never in it anyway.  So I will go back today, if only to keep him from being right, but I  have a meeting at the factory in fifteen minutes-"

Britta rolled here eyes.

"Oh, don't be like that. Something happened at the hospital yesterday-"

"Yeah! Sterling Roy showed up." Britta pointed like it was a final clue  in a murder mystery. "And you took him home with you! What's up with  that?"

"I didn't take him home! Seriously, who said that? What is it with this  town?" She gave her brow a rub with two fingers, not having slept as she  had tried to process what he'd said yesterday about believing all this  time that she had set him up.

How? Why?

It was true there was no love lost between him and Lyle. They'd been the  same age and very well matched through school, if complete opposites in  their attitudes toward life. Where Sterling was the original Good Guy,  Lyle was the ultimate Bad Boy. Lyle was every bit as smart as Sterling,  but had blown off more classes and tests than he'd shown up for. Same  went for athletics. In the early years, they'd been neck and neck in  every race, but where Sterling had stuck it out and won all the blue  ribbons, Lyle had walked away from any talent he'd shown, too cool for  school.

Sterling had had all the advantages and Lyle had had what she, Paige, had had: nothing.

But for all their brother-sister bickering, she and Lyle were tight. He  might have teased her about her crush, but he wouldn't have used her to  bait Sterling.

Would he?

"Sterling was just helping me get Rosie home," she muttered, realizing Britta was waiting for an explanation.

"That's it?"

Paige settled back on her chair, low on her spine, warming both hands around her coffee mug.

"He wanted to put the past behind us and convince me to-" She stopped,  unwilling to reveal the injuries that had been reopened yesterday. It  was all so pointless. She hadn't even thought of Sterling, not really,  for years. But there he'd been, in her bedroom, compelling as ever,  eyeing her up in the mirror and forcing her to confront what she'd  worked so hard to put behind her.         

     



 

He'd made her face how much humiliation and anger and confusion was  still stockpiled inside her. Then he'd revealed that he thought she was  some kind of mastermind conspiracy plotter. It had hurt to be  accused-blamed-after all this time for something that still made her  heart ache.

She noticed Britta gazing at her with a quirked pout, her head tilted in empathy.

"Oh, don't! What am I, a masochist? I am not still hung up on that guy.  He just wants me to talk Dad into retiring and not exercise the option  clause to take over."

No hard feelings, he'd said. Unfortunately, the soft ones were like  quicksand, threatening to smother her. And even though she had been  serious when she had told him she didn't hold onto petty grudges, she  couldn't afford to be a pushover.

"Here's the thing. I ran over to the hospital to tell Dad that I was  staying the night and he gave me the paperwork from Walter. Dad's  willing to take the buy out, but the amount Walter is offering... I  don't know if it's fair. I need more information."

"Do you want me to read through it? It's a long way from family law and I'm not even a lawyer yet, but..."

"I already made you a copy." Paige wrinkled her nose, cheekily offering  the pages she'd copied minutes ago. They were still warm.

"Of course you did." Britta shook her head and rolled her eyes as she  took them, then tucked her chin and asked cautiously, "Have you talked  to Lyle about any of this?"

"I left him a note last night. He was out."

Britta dropped her gaze and said a non-committal, "Mm," while moving the papers to a different corner of her desk.

Because she suspected, as Paige did, that Lyle had been out drinking? Or something else?

"What's he done now?" Paige prompted.

Britta's shoulders fell and she bit her lips together, like she was debating whether to say.

Paige waited, fingers tightening on the folder she held in her lap.

"I haven't wanted to tell you." Brit's gaze flashed up. "With it being touch and go with your Dad and everything..."

"Brit."

"I'm pregnant."

Paige almost fell out of her chair. "Who-? With Lyle? When?" They'd been divorced for years.

A nasal buzzing sounded. Britta touched a button on her phone and Paige realized it was the receptionist ringing through.

"Your ten o'clock is here," a disembodied female voice said.

Oh, hell. The factory, Paige remembered.

Britta said, "Five minutes," then released the button and swore. "I  know. It was an accident. A huge accident. That's why I didn't want to  tell you. He doesn't know."

"Sweetie, I don't care how full my plate gets. There's always room for you."

"I know, I do. I just-" Britta plucked a tissue from the box on her desk  and blew her nose, eyes reddening by the second and voice growing  strained. "I didn't want to tell you because I know what you're going to  say."

"That I'll help," Paige affirmed. "That I love you and-"

"You're going to tell me to keep it," Britta said flatly.





Chapter Four

Sitting in the reception area of Roy Furnishings, surrounded by the  scent of cedar paneling and whatever perfume the receptionist had  trailed out when she'd left to find Walter, Paige tried to wrap her  brain around Britta being pregnant. Tried to grasp how desperate her  best friend must feel if she was considering what she was considering.

She probably should have stayed with her, but Paige had been in shock,  Britta had been welling up, and they'd both had places to be. Once she  was able to get back to her, they could-oh, hell, she had planned to  leave for Seattle after this.

She needed to get home, check in with work. She was using family  emergency time and her boss loved her so she wasn't worried for her job,  but even the best employers were only so understanding.

But this was Britta. It didn't matter that she had said she didn't want  help. Of course Paige would help in any way she could. Britta was  family. Figuring out how to help was the problem. She mentally wrestled  the situation until she was distracted by the sound of heels clicking  toward her.

She smiled. More family.

Olinda emerged through the same archway where the receptionist had  disappeared. She was a super-sized version of Paige's mother, ten years  younger, taller, blonde to the roots and even more curvaceous. She  halted and her smile fell away.

"Who hit you? Lyle?"

"No!" Paige scolded. "I bumped heads with someone." She skimmed past  mentioning Rosie's name. She was used to seeing Olinda in her  double-wide on the outskirts of town, when they had their standing  mid-month date for lunch. She hadn't seen Olinda here at Roy Furnishings  since she'd caught up the filing that one summer going into Grade Ten.         

     



 

A surge of affection-relief even-brought Paige to her feet. She held out her arms for a hug. "It's good to see you."

"You, too." Olinda's skirt swayed, and her embroidered navy sweater  revealed two-inches of cleavage when she bent to embrace Paige. Her hair  was sprayed so stiff it crunched against Paige's cheek like balled up  newspaper. "How's your Dad?"

Some of Paige's tension eased as the scents of sandalwood perfume and  lemon-scented hand cream cloaked her along with warm, plump arms,  reminding her of the tea talks she'd shared with Olinda while the older  woman had coached her through puberty.