ass at the woman waving a five-dolar bil like she might fly

away with it. The moment passed, but not the feeling. Not

the memory.

Later, after the club closed, I fucked Jack in the backseat

of his car while he whispered dirty, filthy things in my ear.

We fucked a lot, but not for long.

He never got on his knees for me again.

The rap on my window startled me so much my hands

flew up and knocked against my key ring. I stabbed at the

radio, switching it off. Heart pounding, I turned to the

window, expecting a gun.

I was shot al the same by the sight of the man's face

beyond the glass. My neighbor, my workout buddy, Mr.

Mystery. He frowned and leaned closer.

"Are you al right?"

I puled my keys from the ignition and grabbed my purse,

then waited until he'd stepped aside before I opened the

door. "Yeah. Fine. I was just…spacing out for a minute."

"Decompressing? Yeah. I do that, too. Sorry I scared

you."

I could breathe again, but every nerve ending stil tingled.

This guy looked nothing like Jack aside from dark hair, but

even that was nothing alike. I swalowed hard and fought

not to smooth my hair, though I had a sudden fear of how

messy it probably looked.

"It's okay. It's probably not smart to sit in the parking

garage."

His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "No, probably

not. You never know just who might be watching you."

Funny how that was supposed to sound like a warning but

Funny how that was supposed to sound like a warning but

came off as a temptation. He shifted his bag over his

shoulder and looked me over, seeming as though he might

say something else, but satisfied himself instead with

another smile. With a little wave he backed off and got in a

car across the aisle. It was newer than mine, a dark blue

hybrid, which told me that at least he was environmentaly

responsible as wel as hot.

I waved, too, and watched him drive away. For a second

or two the memory of Jack's face shimmered and merged

with my mystery man's. It made me shiver and I put the

thought from my mind. Jack had been a long time ago, and

a different time. I was a different me back then.

Or so I thought.

Chapter 11

Though I'd checked my mail that morning, I couldn't resist

peeking into my mailbox when I got home. Through the

smal glass window I expected to see nothing, so at first,

that's al I saw. Then the black sliver of shadow on the

mailbox's metal floor caught my gaze and my breath

razored my throat as I sucked it in. I hid my cough behind

my hand. There was something in my mailbox.

A Tenant Association flyer, probably. The T.A. was

notorious for its enthusiasm for memos. But they usualy

came on half slips of cheap computer paper, the message

printed multiple times on one sheet and torn in halves or

thirds. This was not a memo from the T.A.

I puled out the card, stil not addressed to me, and looked

around with sudden suspicion. I have never liked surprises.

Not in parties, not in relationships, not in practical jokes.

I saw other tenants in the lobby and standing by the

elevators. Some with unfamiliar faces moved past me

toward the stairs to the basement. Nobody looked at me.

If anyone was watching to see what I'd do, they were

being very shy about it.

being very shy about it.

And why should anyone be watching? I'd passed the other

notes along to the rightful recipient. Chances were good

the person putting them in the wrong box didn't even know

they'd gone through a different one first. Yet something

about it seemed off. Who would keep making the same

mistake over and over?

Unless it wasn't a mistake?

But I could think of no reason why anyone would be

slipping me sexy little instructions. I looked around again. I

tapped the card against my palm. I looked at the mailbox

for 114. I peeked through its glass window, saw the

magazines and letters inside and held the card to the slot.

I wouldn't read it. I shouldn't read it. I didn't dare read it.

I couldn't help it, I swear. I was thirsty and it was a drink

of cold water; I was hungry and it was a loaf of bread. I

had PMS and it was a bar of chocolate and a bowl of ice

cream with peanuts and fudge sauce on top. It was the

cherry on that sundae.

With a quick glance from side to side, certain no one was

With a quick glance from side to side, certain no one was

watching, I tucked the card into my bag and hightailed it to

the elevator. My phone was ringing when I got to my

apartment. The answering machine had just clicked on

when I grabbed up the portable handset from the end

table. My mom had already started talking.

"Paige. It's Mom. Cal me—"

"Mom. Hi." The note, unopened and unread, burned my

palm.

"Are you screening your cals?" She sounded amused.

I took a couple of deep breaths and stared at the number

on the front of the paper. "I'm not screening my cals. I just

got in."

This perked her ears. "Oh? Were you out?"

"Yes, Mother," I said. "Hence the just-getting-in part."

"Where were you?"

"Not on a date, if that's what you're hoping," I told her, just to poke.

"Too bad for you."

"Too bad for you."

"Yeah, yeah. What's up?" I put the note in the center of the kitchen table where it could watch me and I it. I circled it,

only half my mind on the conversation with my mother, so

distracted by this new note I'd forgotten I needed to be

angry at her.

"Does something have to be up for me to cal my favorite

daughter?"

My mom has always been almost more like an aunt or

older sister than a mom. She was only nineteen when she

had me, about the same age I'd been when she'd had

Arthur. I'm not saying she didn't do her best. I'm just

saying that now, when I'm in my twenties and she's in her

forties, the age difference seems even less than it did when

I was growing up and she was the only mom I knew who

cared as much about the Backstreet Boys as I did.

"No, I guess not. But there usualy is. Usualy you just hit

me up on e-mail."

Since I moved "so far away," anyway, and phoning me

had become a long-distance cal.

"Wel, I don't have to do that anymore." She paused and I

could hear the grin in her voice. "Guess where I'm caling

from."

"Paris."

"No, Paige," my mom said as though I'd been serious. "My car! I'm driving to the mal!"

"You're talking and driving? Mom, you do know that's

ilegal in the city of Lebanon. You'd better hang up. You'l

get a ticket!" Not to mention my mom's driving was

haphazard even when she wasn't distracted by a phone.

"You're missing the point, Paige. The point is, I'm caling

you from my own cel phone!"

"Ah." I should've guessed it was something bright and

shiny that she'd caled to tel me. "Congratulations.

Welcome to the milennium."

She ignored my far-from-subtle sarcasm. "Leo bought it

for me. Isn't he the sweetest?"

As boyfriends went, Leo was one of the better ones.

Being older might have been part of it, though with his big

Being older might have been part of it, though with his big

beer bely and long beard there was no question he was as

rough a biker as any guy my mom had ever dated. He stil

rode his Harley to work and sported a line of faded

tattoos on each arm, but he was melower than some of

the younger guys she'd dated.

"That was nice of him."

"So now I can cal you al the time! And text. I can text

you, too, if I can figure out how."

"Oh, joy." I dug into the junk drawer for a pen and some

paper and paused when I puled out the yelow legal pad.

My scant list of flaws and strengths stared out at me, and I

forgot to speak.

"Paige?"

"What's your number?" I put that list aside and poised to

take down the number.

"I.D.K.," my mom said airily.

"Huh?"

"I.D.K.," she repeated. "Geez, Paige. Don't you know

"I.D.K.," she repeated. "Geez, Paige. Don't you know

what I.D.K. means? It means ‘I don't know.'"

"I know what it means. I just didn't think you did. Besides,

Mom, nobody talks like that out loud. It's just textspeak."

"L.O.L.," my mom said.

"M.O.M.," I said.

We both laughed.

"Also, listen," she said, but didn't say anything else.

"I'm listening."

"Guess who I ran into the other day."

"With your car?"

"You," my mom said, "are a smart-ass."

"I.D.K., who'd you run into?"

She paused. I waited for the sound of crunching glass and

metal, but she must've just been puling into a slot rather

than ramming into a phone pole.

than ramming into a phone pole.

"Austin's mother."

Serendipity. It's not just the name of a mildly entertaining

John Cusack movie. "Oh?" I couldn't manage a different

response.

"She said to say hi."

"Uh-huh." As far as I knew, when her son and I had

broken up, Mrs. Miler had been happy to see me go.

"Don't make that face at me, Paige."