Page 2 of And Everything In Between

Ashton nodded. “Of course. But don’t think about it for too long. I want to personally recommend you.”

Paige left Ashton’s office buzzing; she was so excited that her hard work was paying off. She’d been grinding for this. And she was finally being seen, finally being trusted. They were giving her the shot she’d earned.

Ashton’s trust meant a lot to her. She was her shero for being the second and youngest black woman in their small town to become a bank manager. Paige had been grinding harder than anybody in the bank, waiting for them to see that she could be the third.

But nothing she ever wanted came without a fight. She calmed down deciding she wasn’t going to get too excited, afraid she’d sabotage it. Good things seldomly happened to her by chance.

Her phone buzzed again in her desk, and she rushed to grab it. It was her father’s ring tone. She answered and heard him coughing roughly on the other end.

Her father, Perry Bishop, had only been out of prison for almost year, and he hadn’t come out the way he went in. He was thinner now, slower, smaller in ways that scared her if she thought about it too long. Three days a week, he sat tethered to a dialysis machine, his body betraying him piece by piece.

“Hey daddy, what’s going on?”

“Oh, hell, I didn’t mean to call you shit. I can’t ever work this damn phone. But while I have you, can you bring me some of them jalapeno pepper poppers? You know when you get off.”

“Yes, but you know you can text me during the day. I’m working.”

“I know. How is work?”

“It’s work. But it’s good. Good things are coming.”

She looked down at the photo of her and her father the day he was released. It was hard to look at him and not remember PJ sometimes. Her twin brother, forever ten, smiling. Wrong place, wrong time. One bullet, one funeral, a family torn apart. But that was the story of multiple communities and families. Hers wasn’t the exception.

“Proud of you, Paige. I know it’s not always easy to look your wound in the face and help it, but your, Pops, appreciates you.”

“Dad don’t start that. Look, I’ll bring the poppers if you learn to text me unless it’s an emergency.”

Paige hated it when he did that. She hadn’t completely forgiven Perry Not when his choices and enemies had taken PJ. But she was working on it and taking it day by day. Now the roles reversed. Perry’s health problems had become her responsibility, his appointments her responsibility, his medication another line on a to-do list that never ended.

“Thanks. Try to come before Wheel of Fortune comes on. That’s my snack.”

“Ok, I’ll call when I’m on the way.” They disconnected, and Paige flopped back in her chair.

Most days, Paige felt stretched thinner than Slim Thug’s goatee.

She carried it all - her daddy, JT, her job. Had been since she was ten. Could she carry anything else?

Yes, she told herself. Because that’s what Bishops did. And she would have to because this next season was going to be hers. She was claiming it.

The rest of her shift blurred past. Her face was buried in crunching numbers, lunch, and then back to it until Donna reminded her it was time to clock out. She barely remembered clocking out, grabbing Perry’s snack, and driving home, her mind stuck in a tight loop of what-ifs and maybe-I-coulds.

When she finally stepped into her home, she stripped down to nothing but her robe. She tied it loose around her waist and stepped out onto the patio of her townhouse. It was her own little oasis, full of plants, cute furniture, and lights. She inhaled and exhaled. It was barely summer, but the nice day followed them into the evening. She was grateful.

The blunt trembled between her fingers as she lit it. Smoke slipped past her lips as the weight of the day eased off her shoulders. For now. She reclined and kicked her feet up on the edge. Today was one of those days. Her mind was all spun up, and she didn’t know why.

She was barely ten minutes into her peace when three sharp taps came.

“This is the shit I’m talking about.”

Paige pulled her robe tighter and padded to the door, already frowning and tired. Not to mention, someone was popping up unannounced. When she opened the door, there stood her momma, sunglasses perched on her nose, one hand clutching a brown paper bag, the other holding a white envelope.

“Hmph. Good. You ain’t dead. Sure, living like you’re trying to be.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Myra Saint swept inside, the scent of house fried rice and chicken wings trailing behind her like perfume. Paige leaned against the door, exhaling slowly, trying to summon the energy she didn’t have.

“What are you doing here, Momma?”

“Bringing you food so you don’t shrivel up and disappear,” her momma said, plopping the bag onto the kitchen counter. She peeled off her sunglasses with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “And bringing you a little surprise since you act like you’re allergic to joy?”

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