Whitaker’s smile returns. “I’m happy to hear that. So, then, what brings you here? To me?”
I wait then answer for Paige. “She’s looking for her birth mom.”
This time, Whitaker’s smile not only fades but disappears completely. “Why?”
“Because,” Paige says, breaking her silence, “I want to know what happened. I want to know why she left me. If she’s okay. If…” She trails off then redirects her queries. “Do you know her?”
Whitaker shakes his head. “I know you’ve been better off without her, Paige. I’m sorry you didn’t have an easier life growing up. You deserved better. But I see you now, here before me, and it looks like you turned out to be the best possible version of yourself. I don’t think that would have been possible with her.”
“Why not?” Paige shifts to Go. She’s eager for information and willing to fight for it. “What was wrong with her? Was she in trouble? Was it drugs? Was it…?” Paige trails off. “Did she need help? I can help her now.”
Whitaker leans forward to meet Paige and takes her hand in his. It’s not a forward advance. It’s not romantic, just caring. “You cannot help her.”
Paige’s shoulders sag in defeat.
“Cannot help her?” I repeat. “Paige can’t help her now? That means you know where she is.”
Paige perks up.
The doors swing open, and a Bellagio manager steps into the room with a security guard. Behind him stands Preston? with his headset still on. The manager points at us. “Those two. They’re not part of the staff. Escort them off the grounds.”
The security guard approaches us. We turn to Whitaker, hoping he’ll speak on our behalf.
Instead, he pats Paige’s hand. “Things turned out for the best for you. And that is all the information I am willing to offer.” He lets her hand fall and leans back in his chair.
“Let’s go.” The security guard grabs Paige and me by the arms and tries to lift us. He fails. Neither one of us is willing to move yet, and despite our relatively small size, it’s going to take a lot more than one overweight guard to move Paige’s earned strength or my raw power.
He tries again, but we don’t budge. Whitaker is looking away now, ignoring our presence.
“I said, let’s go!” the guard orders.
“Judge?” I ask.
He glances at us. “I’m sorry.”
The guard is about to grab us one more time when Paige and I simultaneously stand.
“That’s more like it,” the guard says smugly. “Let’s go.” He motions to grab Paige, but my arm snatches him in mid-reach.
“You touch her one more time,” I say, my yellow eyes boring into his, “and I will break your arm.” I squeeze, applying enough pressure to let him know mean it.
I push him aside then wrap my arm around Paige’s. We walk out of the Bellagio Country Club. Preston? hides behind the manager as we pass.
* * *
The entire drive home from the Bellagio Club, Paige is quiet. When we final get home, she goes straight to bed. She doesn’t deal well with defeat, and she’s back to Stop.
I put a kettle on the stove and boil some water. Once it has heated to a rolling boil, I pour the hot water into her favorite cup, a small ceramic mug she bought at Disneyland, featuring the character Chip from Beauty and the Beast. I suspect, on some level, she identifies with a partially broken character. Once the tea has steeped for three minutes, I quietly knock on her door and let myself in.
The blinds are closed, shrouding the room in darkness. Despite this, it’s a cheery space—much cheerier than my utilitarian room, with bright-colored rustic furniture and posters of art exhibits from local museums. With the exception of a speaker system, there’s little tech in here. This is where she goes to unplug each night.
I set the tea down on her bedside table and have a seat on her bed.
Under a bundle of blankets and pillows, Paige stirs. “Chamomile?”
“Chamomile,” I answer.
She emerges from her cocoon and sits up. Her eyes are red and puffy—she already had a good cry while I was in the kitchen. She drops a single tissue on her bed and takes the cup in her hands. The steam rises from the beverage, and she inhales its aroma but doesn’t drink. We sit in silence for a while.
Paige finally speaks up. “You know, I don’t care if I’m better off without her. I want to know what happened.”
“I know.”
“I can’t stop asking, Why?”
“I know.”
“What if I’m going to make the same mistakes?” she asks.
“You won’t.”
“I already am.”
She’s talking about her relationships with men. Paige has no memory of her father and no indication that he was ever in the picture. This is why she’s never even considered looking for him. It’s always been about the search for her mom. By learning why there was no father and why her mom left, she also hopes to understand why she keeps going after the wrong men.
“You’re not your mother. You’re not your foster parents. You are not your name or that judge’s name. Paige Alexandra Whitaker is all you and only you, a beautiful, intelligent, amazing woman. You made her—no one else gets credit for that.”
“I’m a mess,” she says.
“Well, that too.”
She kicks me through the blankets but also smiles a bit. “I guess that’s why we get along so well, since you’re a disaster.”
“We’re quite the duo.”
Chapter 17
____◊____
I WATCH AS PAIGE falls asleep wrapped in a cocoon of blankets. She still clutches a single tissue. With empty teacup in hand, I sneak out the door. For better or worse, Paige’s early night has afforded me the opportunity to pursue the next step in my search for Elizabeth—alone.
Paige hasn’t let me out of her sight since Lupe’s death. She was with me when Hugo pursued us, she was there when I confronted Carmen, she experienced
