Paige Torn by Erynn Mangum Read Free Book Online Page B

like Dad’s not too anxious for me to come back.” I grin at the frozen peas.
    Dad, for all the love he has for me, has very much been enjoying these years of having my mom all to himself again. Mom is a different story.
    â€œOf course he wants you to come home again, sweetheart,” Mom says, and I hear Dad chuckling.
    I pull my planner out of my purse. I have a long weekend coming up in March. In a twist of fate that has brought me joy without fail for the year that I’ve worked there, Mark and Peggy had both gotten married on the same day.
    To different people.
    But it means they are easily swayed by Candace and me to just close the agency for the day. Last year, I’d gotten a wonderful Thursday off. And this year, I am very excited about my long weekend.
    â€œMarch 14 then?” I ask Mom.
    â€œOh, that will be perfect!” Mom squeals. “I’ll make all of your favorite meals. You just e-mail me a list of anything you want to eat. Okay, honey?”
    â€œSounds good, Mom.” I am already imagining a huge spiral-sliced honey ham, sweet potatoes, and my mom’s famous spinach casserole. Then we can end the evening with peanut butter chocolate bars, plenty of hot coffee, and card games until late at night.
    â€œAll right then. Happy shopping!” Mom says.
    I hang up and grab a few bags of the microwave-steamable vegetables. Some days, they are my dinner.
    I look in my cart. Suddenly I feel very homesick.

M onday and Tuesday pass in a blur of working and then spending the entire evening looking up anniversary decoration ideas on the Internet. I love making crafts, and the idea of decorating for a party that isn’t my own is starting to sound more fun.
    Probably because it isn’t my own, I have less of a personal stake in it.
    Wednesday morning, I walk into work carrying my lunch cooler. I bought a few packaged salads at the grocery store on Sunday. They probably cost more than making the salad from scratch myself, but they don’t take as much time, so packaged salad it is.
    Mark is already there when I walk in.
    â€œMorning, Paige. Hey, do you know what I did with the case file for the Wittles? I can’t find it in my office.”
    I swallow my laugh, which then gets me coughing. “Uh, yes sir. You mean the Waughtels? I have it right here, sir.” Candace just completed their home study, and I just finished transcribing it. “The home study is all printed up.” I set my purse and cooler on the desk and pull the file from my Stuff I’m Working On stack.
    Amazing how high that stack tends to get throughout the day.
    Mark grins. “Wow, thanks, Paige. Waughtel. That’s right.” He chuckles. “You realize you can never leave this job, right? The agency wouldn’t survive. How’s the banquet coming?”
    â€œGood. We’re looking at the bands this week, and then I need to talk to the florist next week,” I say, doing my best to ignore his first statement. Still, a part of me holds out hope that Mark will come to me one day and offer me a job as a partner.
    â€œFlorist?”
    â€œFor the table centerpieces.”
    He nods. “Right. I trust you’ll make it beautiful.” He sends me another smile before heading back to his office, Waughtel file in hand.
    Apparently, the Waughtels’ house is so clean that Candace was afraid to walk inside.
    â€œI don’t know about you, but I prefer homes where I feel like a kid could be allowed to make messes. It’s important for kids to make messes,” she told me afterward while she leaned against my desk eating a celery stick.
    Candace is one of those women who isn’t necessarily skinny but isn’t necessarily overweight either. Which means she is also one of those women who goes on a diet about twenty-three times a year.
    Or anytime she needs to fit into what she calls her “wear-all” dress.
    â€œIf I’ve got a funeral,