Page 105 of The Logic of Loyalty

The apartment is completely renovated.

I ignore the quiet presence behind me as my eyes bounce from one new detail to another. A photo on the fridge makes me smile. Bethany—her short hair from high school framing her sad, brace-lined smile. Betty Boop. She hates the nickname, but not always. This photo is from before I came into the picture.

What truly shocks me is how cluttered everything is. Mostly, there are legal pads everywhere. I’ve ruthlessly made fun of him for years about his use of them. He told me, “The important stuff needs the personal touch. I need to feel the process to make sure I get it right.” I still have his Get her to Marry Me Legal pad stashed away. In front of me is one flipped to a page labeled simply Bethany.

I reach out to lift it up, and Trevor makes a pained noise behind me. I ignore him and look more closely. It’s a to-do list.

Get to know my baby sister

Take her to dinner

Scribbled by it is a note⁠—

Ask her questions this time. Dumbass

Ask her about stories from our childhood. Make a list of Mom’s lies. (next page)

What does she like? Pickles, cheese and pepperoni pizza, less sweet stuff, more savory.

Coffee order - black coffee with cream and sugar. An additional note - I think she’s lying here. Her face when she took a sip was nothing like the face Paige or even Becky makes when they drink theirs

Music - Savage Sixty8 - Take her to a concert ASAP. We went to school together, take her backstage - Note - Doesn’t seem interested? Maybe she’ll go with Paige?

Get her out of their house

Fix up the apartment - Billy says he’d rent it to her (I’ll pay while she figures everything out)

Maybe she can stay with Paige and Jacob? - She said yes! Thank God.

Note - Still finish upgrades on apartment. She might still want to be here, or it can be a simple gift to him? For letting me stay?

Show her she matters

Show up - Call her, message her, give her the version of me I’ve given everyone else.

Ask questions - listen to her answers.

I can’t read any more of it because my eyes have overflowed, and treacherous tears are flowing down my face. I place this one down and search for another, but then I see the calendar on the fridge. A number is written on each Sunday, and on Monday, written in all caps and underlined is⁠—

BABY APPT - DON’T FUCK UP

Damn. Double Damn. Damn him. Damn this man. “Dammit, Trevor. Why?”

“Paige, I⁠—”

I whirl on him. “You think you can just turn this into a to-do list and—what, it’s all better? Sunshine and roses!”

He steps closer. “No, of course not. I⁠—”

“Years of hiding important, life-altering details from me? I can understand, to a degree, why you might do that.” I step closer to him, and he takes a step back. “You were young, but then you should have grown up.”

“I know, I should have⁠—”

“But then, you turn—not to me, your wife—but to another woman when things get tough? You confide in her, touch her, watch her, admire her.”

It was nothing personal, you know? Krista’s stupid, beautiful, placating face flashes through my mind.

“Jesus, Paige. It’s not like⁠—”