Page 56 of Old Fashioned
Jordan mimicked her, poking out his bottom lip until I rolled my eyes and tossed one of the dirty napkins at each of them to the sound of their laughter.
“I am so outvoted in this party of three and I amnotokay with that.”
“Thank you, Mama!” Paige stood on the chair to kiss my cheek before she leapt down off it and scampered into the living room, calling for Jordan to follow.
He stood, helping me carry the rest of the dishes to the sink, and when he glanced over my shoulder and found Paige glued to the television, he wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me into him subtly.
“For the record,” he said, whispering in my ear with his hot lips brushing my neck. “I reallyamlooking forward to adult time.”
His hand slid down, cupping my ass and squeezing it before he released me, and a flush burned through me as I bit my lip and swatted him away. He just grinned at me over his shoulder, and then he plopped down on the couch next to Paige, both of them kicking their feet up on the coffee table.
My hands were on autopilot as I washed the dishes, throwing some directly into the dishwasher after I rinsed them and spending time scrubbing the others. I found comfort in the warm, soapy water, glancing at Jordan and Paige in the living room from time to time, my thoughts wandering.
It melted my heart to see them together.
Jordan had been so comfortable with Paige from the start, and she was the same with him. It was like they were best friends from the very moment they spoke in the park. Paige counted down the days until she could spend an afternoon in the backyard running football drills with Jordan, and he never seemed to mind her stealing a Saturday of his. In fact, if I had to put money on it, I’d sayhelooked forward to it just as much as she did.
My stomach soured as Randy floated into my mind, as he still tended to do, this time as I compared his relationship with Paige to the one Jordan was building. It wasn’t that he and Paige weren’t close, or that Paige didn’t look up to him and love him dearly, but I couldn’t help but note that they’d never spent time together the way she and Jordan had. Randy had always put work first, from the very moment he was promoted to Chief of Police, and Paige and I had taken the backseat willingly, lovingly, with understanding and grace.
I wondered what they did when he had her for half the week.
I always did my best not to pry, not to ask her about her father when I already knew we’d put her in a tough position being the daughter of divorce. And, to Paige’s credit, she never volunteered what they did. It made me wonder if she ever talked aboutourtime together, or if she kept that between us, too.
She was a tough kid, and though Iknewthe divorce had affected her, she was the kind who wanted to handle it on her own. We almost never talked about it, or about her dad, or about how things used to be.
Paige was a survivor, and she looked forward, with her eyes on the brighter horizon, always.
My mind was still spinning when I sat next to Jordan on the couch, eyes blurring on the television screen with a football game on that I really couldn’t have cared less about. Instead, I sipped the wine I’d traded in my champagne for, thinking about Randy, about my own father, and eventually, about Jordan’s.
When I’d been at his house Monday night, not even a week ago, he’d revealed a secret to me that no one else in this town knew — one only he and his brothers shared. I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since then, because while I was digesting what he’d told me about what they’d found at the distillery, I was also digging through my foggy memory, straining to recall whatIhad heard that night.
It had been late by the time Randy had come home — tothishome, our new home at the time, one we’d bought with the help of his parents and my own when I’d come home from college earlier that summer. I wasn’t even a full two months’ pregnant with Paige, but I remembered holding onto my belly when I tiptoed down the stairs, pausing when I heard his hushed voice on the phone with someone in the kitchen.
The fire had been all anyone could talk about, all the local news could show that evening, and there was little information getting out. To this day, I’d never known what made me stop and listen at the foot of those stairs for a while before I made my way down the hall and into the kitchen.
Randy had ended the call quickly, and though he’d tried to smile and be gentle with me at first, his anger showed the more questions I asked.
He assured me it was an accident, that I was crazy, that it was started by a cigarette and they’d be closing up the case easily. He growled at my questions, when I asked how a cigarette could have started such a fire without John Becker noticing and being able to get out.Was he sleeping?I’d asked.Was the door locked? How was he the only one to perish?
That hadn’t been the first night my husband had raised his hand to me.
But it had been the first time he’d let it fall.
He’d told me to mind my business, reminded me that I knew nothing about what was going on and that I was better suited to tend to ourhome life.
He’d said I was crazy, and I remembered that clearly because it was the first time he’d said it, but it wouldn’t be the last.
What Ididn’tfully remember was why he’d said it in the first place, why he was struggling to explain himself, getting angry with the more questions I asked.
The memory was foggy, but every now and then, when the smoke cleared, I swore I remembered holding my daughter where she slept in my belly, my heart racing out of my chest.
And my husband’s hushed voice in our kitchen whispering something abouthomicide.
Jordan
On the Thursday before our final playoff game —thegame that would determine if we went to fight for the championship — I rallied up the boys, got them ready for practice, and sent them out on the field to work drills with Coach Pascucci and Coach TK.
“Sydney,” I said, eyes on my clipboard as I made my way to my office. Everyone else was making their way outside. “A word in my office?”
