Page 127 of The Homemaker

Blair scoffs. “Stress? What stress? You have people waiting on you hand and foot. If you wanted to stop working today, you’d never want for anything the rest of your life.”

“And you get your dick sucked once a week,” Vera says, floating into the kitchen with a sly grin before hugging the back of Hunter.

“Gross, Mom!” Blair scrunches her face.

Hunter looks at me as if to … gloat? I’m not sure. When I return my attention to Alice, she doesn’t flinch.

Head down.

Hands steadily chopping the rosemary.

“I’d rather die from choking on a piece of steak than eat chicken and fish the rest of my life.”

“Calm down, darling. You’ll give yourself another heart attack,” Vera takes his hand.

He stands. “You are going to suck my dick?”

“Stop!” Blair covers her ears.

Finally, Alice’s lips lift into a tiny grin, but she doesn’t look up.

When Vera and Hunter disappear around the corner, Blair drops her hands to her sides. “Let’s move out tonight and just elope.”

Before I can say anything, not that I have anything to say, she flips her hair over her shoulder and pivots. “I have to call Alison about the bridal shower this weekend.”

When it’s just the two of us, I take the knife from Alice.

She jerks her head up. “What are you doing?”

I take her hand and lead her to the back door.

“Murphy—”

“Shh.” I pull her out the door and past the gardens to the guesthouse.

As soon as we’re inside her sliding door, I release her hand and pace the room, massaging my temples. “You have a child?”

She’s much calmer than I am. Too calm. Easing onto the barstool at the counter, she nods. Then she crosses her legs and folds her hands over her knee, slowly bouncing her foot in those strappy wedge heels that Hunter loves.

“How? When? Why aren’t you raising him?” I rapid-fire questions without stopping my pacing.

“Because his father drowned in a car accident, and his mother ended up in a mental hospital.”

I halt. “Alice, you had a child when we were together?” That’s why she had to go back. She left her child behind. “I’m so,” I shake my head. “I’m so sorry.”

She returns a smile that’s a little sad, but not hopeless. “He seems happy. Good parents. Sisters. He plays soccer, and he likes theater.”

The pieces of the puzzle move into place. “You didn’t meet Callen at your nephew’s soccer game. You met him at your son’s soccer game.”

Alice smiles and nods.

“Does he know he’s adopted?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know because I’ve never talked to him or his parents. They gave the adoption agency permission to share their information with me if I ever wanted to contact them. But my parents and I didn’t give permissionfor my information to be shared with them for obvious reasons. Who wants to find out the mother of their child was in a mental hospital?”

“So you just,” I frown because it’s heartbreaking, “go to his games and plays? You watch him from a distance, but you’ve never spoken to him?”

“All I want is for him to be happy, and he looks really happy. I don’t want to disrupt his life because it seems like a good one. But,” she bites her lip and tears up, while still managing a smile, “I like seeing him. It makes me feel like his guardian angel. And that’s what mothers are. Right?”