What's up with Arthur? Who exactly is Paige? Read on to find out some more!

Chapter Two: There's Always a Connection

It is his restraint that is honorable to a person, not their liberty.

- John Ruskin

"Arthur." She stands in front of me, hair neatly coiffed and makeup in place. It doesn't matter how long it's been since I've last seen her; she still makes me feel like a little boy with dirt smudges on my school uniform.

"Mother." It takes her a second before she moves aside from the front door and her arm drops down from the edge, the diamond on her engagement band twinkling against another beautiful Californian day. She raises an eyebrow when I don't enter immediately. I square my shoulders before going inside her house.

"You're lucky your unexpected visit came now; five minutes later and the maid would have been all that greeted you." She leads me into the living room. "Would you like anything to drink?"

"No, thank you." I stand in front of the screened porch, which leads directly into the backyard and the pool. Most of Los Angeles lies stretched out before me. It's a view I used to love.

"Well, then. What brings you back here, after all this time?"

I turn back and face the interior of the house. "Work."

She makes a polite sound. "And how long will you be staying?"

"Not long. I'll probably fly out in a few days' time."

"Hm. I see. I'm honored you made time for me. Your brother and his family were here only a few days ago. I'm sure he would have extended his trip had he known you would be in the area too."

It's been years since I've seen Daniel either. "I'm sure." The feeling is mutual. "I saw Paige last night."

My mother purses her lips. "You just can't let things lie, can you?"

"No, I can't." Ten minutes, ten years and it's still the same argument. "I have a responsibility. I'm reminded everyday how much I owe her."

"Her? If there's anyone who you should feel gratitude for, it should be your father and I. Do you know how much it cost us, not just in money, but time? And for what? So that you can turn into a son whom we never see?"

She knows how her words cut. I bite the inside of my cheek and refuse to lose my temper in front of her. "I never asked for any favors from either of you, and, I never wanted them. I just wanted to do what's right." Which I couldn't even accomplish - this is as close as I can get to the right thing. "If it's the money, I can pay you back."

She waves her hand away. "Money - we have enough of." She moves to me, puts her hand on my face. It reminds me of the time when I had the stomach flu and I couldn't do much except lie on my stomach in bed, my head angled at a trash bin. She would sit next to me and rub menthol on my back. "It's time you moved forward and leave the past where it belongs."

Past and present are ever intertwined and I can't separate them. Doing that would undo me. I lean into her hand for a second - and then I pull away. "I have to go. Tell Dad I'm sorry I missed him." It doesn't matter how many years go by - it's always the same argument, and it always ends the same. The past and the present, intertwined.

"Arthur! Arthur, get in the car already!" At the end of the driveway, Paige sits behind the steering wheel, although her head and torso are out of the window. "Don't tell me you're studying still. Tomorrow's the last day of school - I think it's okay if you let loose, just this once. I promise I won't tell. Cross my heart." She makes an "X" over her chest with a smooth swish of a pink-tipped finger.

I remember standing up and running over to her, my books and plans for the evening lying forgotten in a careless heap; and I got in the car with her, laughing and smiling. Looking forward to an evening out with pretty Paige. My biggest worry? Wondering if we were going to break curfew again. Comprehending little about chance or risk.

I'm back at Lucy's and Eame's in the afternoon, nearly 20 hours later. They've got a guest; a rental car is parked in the driveway. I'm not surprised, what are the odds, after all, that they would be entertaining so quickly? She's sitting on the couch, holding a can of soda and looking thoroughly amused by Lucy and Eames. There's no visible movement from her when I enter but the light drains from her face. "Ariadne. I thought you would be on a flight to Paris by now."

"Oh, honestly, Arthur, the poor girl's not a robot. I told her she should relax, enjoy this luscious weather for a few days before returning to her daily toil." Eames is wearing a tropical t-shirt and loosely gripping the neck of a bottle of beer.

"And I wanted to meet Ariadne. I've heard so much about her, I wasn't about to let the opportunity slip away. And I'm delighted - you're every bit as wonderful as John's described you!", Lucy says as she sets a bag of chips on the coffee table.

"I think that may be the first time I've ever heard your first name, John", Ariadne says, enunciating the one syllable that makes up his name. She's back to that teasing tone of voice. I think about the times she's directed that playfulness at me.

Eames grins. "Don't wear it out, love." He turns to me. "You're awfully silent. How did your errands wind up?"

"Fine." I'm about as joyful as a vacuum. Which makes me even more formal. "It's good to see you again, Ariadne. Where are you staying?"

Her eyes finally meet mine. In a considerably more subdued tone, she answers. "The Wilshire Hotel."

"I'm trying to convince her to stay here with us. Arthur won't mind sleeping on the couch, right, Arthur? Ouch, what are you doing, John?" Lucy is batting away Eames' hand. He gives me an apologetic look.

I cough. "No, it's fine. I'm not staying in L.A. long anyway."

Ariadne says, "No, I'm fine staying at a hotel. No need to put anyone out." She stands up. "I should go."

It's the best plan. Let her go. But she shows up, unexpectedly, what are the probabilities of that occurring? She's shrugging into her jacket. I hear myself calling out, "Wait, don't go yet. You should stay. I don't mind taking the couch. Please."

She hesitates and then nods. "Ok."

Suddenly, the whole room seems to let out a collective breath. "Ok, then. I'm glad we worked it all out", Lucy says. "Lucky for you, we've got plenty of leftover meat from last night."

I don't miss dinner tonight and it's delicious. Afterwards, I ask to borrow Eames' car again. "More errands?", Eames says as he hands over the keys.

I give him a look. "I'll be back later. I'll try to be as quiet as possible." Then I head out, looking straight ahead of me as I head for the garage door.

The lights are out by the time I return. I'm exhausted but I make no more effort to get ready for bed other than sitting down on the couch, which has a fresh pile of linens and pillow on it. "Tough night?"

I recall the night, sitting with Paige. I don't know how much she remembers - I've never dared to ask, but she's always glad to see me. The visits blend into each other - she shows me the painting she drew that morning, describes to me in the now-familiar slow lilting cadence what she ate throughout the day, the television shows she's pursuing, and, what's on the agenda for the rest of the week. There was a time when she talked about going to law school, about spending summers abroad, living on the East Coast and experiencing all four seasons of the year. She's never seen anything outside of the 25-mile radius. She's never left. She'll never leave. "No. Just a long night."

Ariadne sits down across from me, in the armchair. "Where'd you go?"

I rest my elbow on the armrest and my chin on my hand. "It doesn't matter. What did you do after dinner?"

She smiles. "Not much. We played a hand of poker. I was up a hundred dollars on Eames before Lucy put an end to it."

I can imagine that and it makes me laugh, a little. "So you're a card shark on top of brilliant architect?"

"I'm no card shark. I just happen to be better than Eames - which isn't saying much at all." She yawns in mid-chuckle.

"It's late. What are you doing up anyway?"

"I was curious where you'd gone. Wondering if your errands had something to do with your self-professed 'complications.'"

I knew she wouldn't let go of that. "I knew you wouldn't let go of that."

She stares at me, unimpressed. "So I was right, then."

"Did you know I was here when Eames invited you over?"

A beat goes by. "No." Another beat. "But I hoped you might be."

It's exactly what I want to hear and everything I shouldn't be hearing. "I thought we were pretty clear before. At the airport." She flashes me a look - I know she finds it incredibly annoying when I feel the need to state the obvious. Sometimes I do it on purpose.

"You were clear - in a completely ambiguous, mysterious way."

I fold my hands across my stomach. She doesn't say anything either. Seconds stretch into minutes. After awhile, the silence becomes a warm, comforting blanket. I lean back against the couch cushions, unloosen my tie. She tucks her feet underneath her and she lays her head and arm on the armrest. I take off my cuff links and drop them on the coffee table. She unwinds the scarf around her neck and lets it fall to the floor. She's asleep before I am, and, I watch her pink mouth part slightly before drowsiness claims me too.

"This is my favorite song." Paige laughs at me; her hair is tickling my nose. "You hate it, don't you?"

"It's catchy."

She laughs again. "You're a terrible liar, Arthur."

I like how her arms are around my waist. The heat radiating from the bonfire leaves a cozy glow on my back; I twist so that she can feel it too. "I lie just fine."

She snuggles closer. "When you lie, you can never say yes or no directly. That's how I know." She smiles again. "It's one of my favorite things about you."

I wake up. My back hurts from sleeping in a slouched position. It's rare for me to dream these days. A fortunate side effect. Morning light filters in through the shuttered windows. Ariadne is still sleeping, slumped as well. I lean forward but it's not enough. Suddenly I'm off the couch and silently dragging my knees across the carpeted floor until I'm crouched in front of her. She's breathing in and out, evenly. What is she doing here? What does she want from me? I can't give it to her, whatever it is. My treacherous hand reaches out and follows the curve of her head from the top to its base, then her neck, then her shoulders, an inch from making any contact. It snaps back when she shifts, following the heat. I stand up, let myself out and walk to the beach. The sun is starting to rise. I hate sunrises. But it's better than waiting for everyone to wake up inside, so I force myself to watch the dark blue peel back to corals, blushes and powder shades.

It turns out that I don't have to wait long. Forty-five minutes later, Eames comes outside; it's obvious he's about to go for a run. He spots me immediately and heads over. "What're you doing out here?"

I shrug. "I couldn't sleep."

He frowns. "This doesn't have anything to do with Ariadne sardine canning herself on the chair in the living room, would it? Look, I know it's none of my business but maybe you'd feel better if you told her whatever's bothering you."

I stare out at the ocean. The sun is up, buttery yellow but the eastern horizon still has splashes of pink. "What I need is another job." I like airports and hotels. Recycled air and travel-size portions of shampoo and soap. Cold weather and carry-on luggage. I like turning on my laptop, hearing its whirls and beeps and then being able to uplift every stone in a target's life. I like finding out what they eat for breakfast, what maid service they use, finding the smallest connections between their normal lives and their secret lives. And believe me, there's always a connection, no matter how minute. It's what made me a great research assistant in grad school and what makes me a great point man now. What I do not like is idleness.

"I haven't heard anything, but I'll keep an ear sharp for you. Until then, what are your plans?"

"I'll pay a visit to Cobb soon. See how he's settling back into normal life. Check in with a few of my contacts on the East Coast. Something should be coming along shortly. You?"

Eames gives me a smile that is reminiscent of the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland. "I'm quite content to play the kept man for the foreseeable future. I might be able to convince Luce to run away to England with me for a few months. Who knows. We'll see." He has the look of a man content with his lot in life, and, aware of his fortune. I watch him as he jogs off, the sun behind him.

My phone rings - the caller ID flashes a number I rarely see. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine, dear. What makes you think it's not?"

Because you're calling. I strangle the words before they gurgle up. "I'm sorry. It's early, and I'm tired. I'm not thinking clearly at the moment."

"Well, I won't keep you then. Your father wants to see you. We think you should join us for dinner before you leave. Are you free tonight?"

"I... um, I..." You're a terrible liar, Arthur.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

I close my eyes. "Yes. I'm free." I must be really tired if the best I can come up with is the truth. "Where do you want to have dinner?"

"I've reserved a table at Tomoyo's. Seven p.m."

I want to smash the phone against my forehead when the call is ended, but I don't do it. It's a good phone and while satisfying, it would leave me disadvantaged in the long run. No, I don't do it. Instead, I walk back inside the house, rummage through my suitcase until I find my jogging shorts and shirt and I go for a long, exhausting run myself. I run until I convince myself that it'll be fine, it won't be a long, protracted affair, and I may actually feel better afterwards. I tell myself that this time, it will be different. There'll be none of the repetitious, vicious circling that always seems to happen. New slate. Time to move forward. You see, Paige? I lie just fine.