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"Huh?"
"The water. We need to have water for the participants. If we bought jugs and poured it into cups, we'd save a lot of money. But it might make us look cheap."
"Cheap..."
"Right. So should we go with individual bottles instead?"
For a second, I could only sit there, a "what the hell?" expression on my face.
"Paige?"
"Oh, hell, buy Evian. It's only charitable donations you're spending, right?"
Silence buzzed down the line. I rolled my eyes.
"Cups, obviously," I said. "It's a charity event. If they expect bottled water, they can damned well go jog at the country club instead."
More silence, then a shaky, "Right. I, uh, thought that's what you'd choose, but--"
"Then why call?"
I hung up. Unbelievable. Donating time to charity is all very fine and noble, but how the hell could Paige find the patience for crap like that? She's running around trying to save the world from the forces of evil, and has to deal with idiots who think "what kind of water should we serve?" is a life-or-death dilemma. You ask me, that crossed the line from goodness to martyrdom.
"Lucas was right. You are in a strange mood," Savannah said, still twisting the chair back and forth. "Lucas said I can't bug you 'cause you're busy. But I didn't interrupt you. The phone did. As long as you're interrupted, though, there's no harm in talking to you, right?"
I thought of Lucas, downstairs, alone with the Nix. "Uh, can we--"
"It's about Trevor," she said. "He's acting--I don't get him, you know. I think he wants to be with me--but then he acts all--" She groaned and stopped spinning the chair. "He's being weird again."
"And you--you want my advice?"
"Duh, no. I just want to know what you think. I mean, sure, if you want to give me advice, I can't stop you. You always do anyway. But it's not like I have to take it."
I stood there, speechless. My daughter wanted my advice about a boy. How many times had I imagined this conversation, imagined what
I'd say, what words of wisdom I could impart--or, considering my romantic track record, what warnings I could give.
Jaime's laugh floated through the open window.
"Shit!" I said.
Savannah looked at me, one brow going up.
"Uh, Lucas," I said. "I needed to tell him--Is he downstairs?"
"Nah, outside. Jaime wanted to see his bike. Like she hasn't seen it before."
"I need to--Hold that thought. About the boy. I'll be right back."
I bolted from the room, then heard Savannah following and checked my pace, settling for a quick march down the steps and to the back door. I threw it open. Jaime turned, and for a split second something very un-Jaime-like passed behind her eyes, a mental snarl of pique.
"Ah, Paige," Lucas said. "Perfect timing. We need to discuss dinner."
"Already?" Jaime said, forcing a laugh. "I thought maybe Lucas could take me for a ride--"
"Aren't we having roast chicken?" Savannah said, slipping out behind me.
"We were," Lucas said. "But Paige has been so busy with that site crash that she hasn't had time to start it, so we'll need an alternate plan."
