Megan Hart - Switch

make it al right for my dad because it would be easier then

to pretend it was al right for me. But in the end I said

nothing, silence more of an answer than words could ever

have been.

"Could you come by?" he said after another half minute

ticked by. "Jeremy has always liked you, Paige. He looks

up to you like a—"

"Sister?" I looked up at him, then, and took pity on the

man who was responsible for one-half of me.

"You are his sister. We've never tried to make you feel like anything less."

He wasn't going to apologize more, I could see that. I was

pretty sure he hadn't realy meant the first one. On the

surface, sure, but not down deep. No where it mattered.

"I can come over. Sure. I'm not certain what you think I

can do with him, though."

My dad's look of relief was genuine, anyway. "Just talk to

him. I asked Steven if he'd come, but he's busy with the

kids. I knew we could count on you."

That, at least, was flattering and believable. "Sure.

Thanks."

"Great." Just like that, things were okay again.

My dad slurped up his soup, then dug into his salad as he

talked the rest of the meal about the trips they were

planning for the summer. Again to the beach house he'd

bought a few years back, and also to the Grand Canyon

for a river-rafting trip. He invited me to come to the beach

house if I could make it, and I said I'd try.

"Good," my dad said like that settled everything that had

ever been strained between us.

In a way it had. I'd been honest with him, in some smal

In a way it had. I'd been honest with him, in some smal

way, which I'd never been before. We said our goodbyes

and this time the hug didn't feel so strained. He patted my

head, then puled me closer for a second hug.

"You look so much like your mom," my dad said, which

was untrue. "How is she, anyway?"

"Fine. Good." He never asked about her, but I wasn't

going to act as if it was a big deal.

"Good." My dad hesitated. "Tel her…I said hi, and I hope she's doing al right."

"Sure, Dad. I wil."

He looked at my car. "You get a new car?"

My car, a silver-gray Volvo, had seen me through three

moves, multiple winters and road trips to the beach and

back. It was the first car I'd ever owned and even though

Austin had cosigned the loan he'd never put a cent toward

it. It had been too much car for me when I bought it. It had

been my debt and my work.

"No. Same car."

"Huh. Looks new."

I looked at it again. Lately al I'd been able to see were the

scratches and dings. "Wel, it's not."

"You had that when you and what's-his-name were

together, didn't you?"

"Austin. Yeah."

"You see him at al?"

I gave him a hard look. The bright sunshine wasn't kind to

him. I saw his years in the lines around his eyes and mouth

and the sag of his jaw and the gray glint in his hair.

"Sometimes. Why?"

"Just that…hel. You were young. I should've told you not

to marry him."

He was stil my dad, despite everything, and I loved him. I

think my hug surprised him as much as I surprised myself.

"Dad, you couldn't have stopped me."

He laughed. "No. I guess not. That's one thing I'l say

He laughed. "No. I guess not. That's one thing I'l say

about you, Paige, you always knew just what you wanted

and how to get it, and you never let anything stand in your

way."

His assessment took me aback. What could I say to that?

"Thanks."

"Give Stela a cal, would you? See when's a good night

for you to come over. She knows the boys' schedules

better than I do. We'l give you dinner."

"You don't always have to feed me."

"I'm your dad," he said and tucked a twenty-dolar bil into the pocket of my jacket before I could even register he'd

done it. "Cal her. I'l see you later, kiddo."

I watched him go and turned back to my car to look at it

with new eyes. Sunshine had made a mirror of the

windows, and in it I saw a woman who never let anything

stand in her way, who knew what she wanted and how to

get it. My father saw me that way and suddenly, I could

see myself that way, too.

Chapter 20

It's amazing how one smal thing can change so much. I

went back to the office humming under my breath. I'd have

danced and scattered glitter if people did that in real life,

but I settled for stopping at Starbucks to grab Paul a late-

afternoon coffee and scone. He'd need one.

Tension creased his brow when I gave it to him, but he

took the cup and bag gratefuly as he pushed back from

his desk. "Thank you, Paige."

Five minutes later, as my fingers flew over the keyboard, I

heard the phone ring. Five minutes after that, I heard a

thud and a curse, folowed by the sound of water running

in his private bathroom and more muttered cursing. I

waited for him to cal me, and when he didn't, I got up and

went into his office without knocking.

Paul stood in the center of the room with a handful of

sodden paper towels. He'd been using them to scrub at the

coffee stain al over his white shirt, but al he'd managed to

do was spread it. Smal bits of paper towel clung to the

fabric, adding to the mess. The harder he scrubbed, the

worse it got.

worse it got.

The first three days I'd worked for Kely Printing, Paul had

been out of the office. He'd hired me, one of three people

who'd sat in on the interview, but I hadn't known until I

showed up that day who was going to be my boss. I'd

assumed the thick sheaf of instructions left for me on my

desk were because he wasn't there to start me off. I knew

better now, of course, but looking back you always see

things you didn't at the time.

The first day I'd come into work to find him actualy in the

office, he'd had this same look on his face. It was because

he'd assumed I hadn't finished everything he'd left for me;

when I showed him al the tasks I'd completed, he'd

calmed down at once, and our routine had quickly become

the way I've described it. So I'd seen the panicked look

before, but not for a while.

"Stop." I didn't have to think about this. I took the paper towels from his hands and threw them in the trash. I went

to the bathroom and puled a handful of dry paper towels

out, then dabbed at the wet spot on his shirt. "What

happened?"

"I spiled my coffee," Paul said unnecessarily.

"I spiled my coffee," Paul said unnecessarily.

"I see that." I also saw there was more to it than that. I blotted the stain and scraped off most of the paper-towel

flecks.

Under my hands, Paul's chest was firm. He radiated heat,

though his face was dry and even a little pale. His hands

shook a little as he held them out away from his sides to

give me room to work. He was getting ready for a ful-on

panic attack.

"This isn't so bad," I soothed.

"I have a meeting to go to in five minutes, and Melissa

forgot my dry cleaning again. So I don't even have an extra

shirt." His voice went a little hoarse. "Damn it, why'd I

have to spil coffee on myself now?"

"You wouldn't be the only person at the meeting who ever

spiled coffee, Paul." I stood back to assess the damage,

then looked him over with a critical eye. "Did you bring a

suit jacket today?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Wear that. Nobody wil notice. It's a little warm, but you'l

"Wear that. Nobody wil notice. It's a little warm, but you'l

feel better." I patted his arm, and the muscles jumped