Page 113 of The Homemaker

When I was a young girl, we had a dog that ran away. Three months later, while riding my bike several streets over, I saw a boy who looked about my age playing fetch with my dog in a front yard. I raced home and told my parents. We drove to the house, and my dad explained that we lost our dog, and she didn’t have her collar on the day she ran away.The boy got tears in his eyes because he had fallen in love with my dog. His parents hugged him and told him no matter how much he loved the dog, she wasn’t his, and she belonged to her rightful owners.

I felt sad for the boy, but the joy I felt over having my dog back was all that mattered to my young heart.

So here’s the “but.” Despite my inability to hate Blair and not care about her feelings, Murphy feels like mine. However, even this has a caveat. I never gave my dog a choice to stay with that boy or come back home with me. Maybe my dog liked that boy better. Perhaps that boy gave my dog more treats or took her on longer walks.

Murphy has a choice.

I won’t ever question his love for me. It’s deep in his eyes and bleeds from every smile he gives me, every whispered “hi,” every brush of his fingers across my skin.Buthe loves Blair too. He’s been with her longer. And he might trust her more than he trusts me.

“Miss me?” Callen surprises me with a bouquet of roses as he waits at my door Friday afternoon.

How is he to know that every day I pick roses, poke my fingers on the thorns, and arrange them in vases that cost more than I make in a month? Still, it’s a lovely gesture.

“Thank you,” I say, taking the flowers in one hand while wrapping my other arm around him.

“Dinner? Or skip dinner and go straight to dessert?” he asks before kissing my neck.

I close my eyes, and all I see is Murphy running his hands through his messy hair, giving me a shy grin as I step into my car after dinner at the cafe and walking through neighborhoods where no one knows us.

All I feel is my heart stretching my ribs thinking of howdifferent my life would be had I found him before he met Blair.

“For the record, I tried calling you. This wasn’t supposed to be a surprise, but I’m glad it happened this way.” He reaches for the door and kisses my lips at the same time.

I pull away, checking my pockets. “Crap. I left my phone on the kitchen counter of the main house. I’ll meet you inside. Okay?”

He takes the flowers from me. “Hurry. I’ll be in bed.”

I smile, but not like my usual smile for him. It’s a consolation smile. I jog toward the house, but slow to a walk when I’m behind the hedge bushes. Everything inside of me doesn’t want to be with Callen tonight, but how do I tell him that?

After I slip off my shoes and round the corner, I gasp, nearly tripping over Hunter’s body on the kitchen floor. “Mr. Morrison?” I drop to my knees and check for a pulse. “Help!” I yell before feeling for a breath.

Nothing.

No pulse.

No breathing.

“HELP!” I scramble to my feet and grab my phone off the counter to call 9-1-1. With it on speaker, I start chest compressions.

“9-1-1. What is your emergency?”

“I need an ambulance. He’s”—I compress over and over—“not breathing.”

The operator verifies the location and says something else to me, but I don’t catch it becausemyheart is beating just fine. In fact, it’s so loud in my ears, it drowns out everythingelse.

Where is everyone? I fed them dinner less than an hour ago.

“Help,” I say in a weaker voice as tears sting my eyes and sweat beads along my brow. “Don’t die. Please don’t die.”

Am I pressing hard enough? Fast enough? Is it doing anything?

I lose all sense of time, drowning in dread.

Drowning.It’s like he’s drowning.

“Don’t die, Chris,” I whisper.

I hear voices, but it’s like everything is echoing underwater. Someone stops me, pulling me away from him as paramedics tend to him. One of them cuts open his shirt while the other prepares the pads of the defibrillator to go onto his chest.