Page 29 of The Homemaker

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” I ask, returning the book to its spot on the shelf.

“You could slip this registration in the glove compartment of my Ferrari and put the new tag on the plate.” He slides a folded piece of paper across his desk. “Grab the keys by the door. They’re the ones with the Ferrari logo.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“And, Alice?”

“Yes?”

“Do you by any chance make bar soap?”

Sometimes I think there’s a hidden camera, and this is all a joke. In fact, I make a quick inspection of the corners of the room. He continues to challenge my composure. A giggle tries to work its way up my chest, but I swallow it back down and clear my throat. “Um … not yet.”

“If you do, avoid vanilla. I’m not a fan.”

I nod slowly.

“Thank you, Alice. Best nap of my life.”

“You’re welcome.”

I first toss the sheets into the washing machine, then I find the Ferrari keys and head down to the basement, where there’s a two-lane bowling alley, a second kitchen, and a theater room, along with two more bedrooms. Then I pull on the maple bookshelf to expose the hidden door to the underground garage, which doubles as a panic room. The ramp at the far end leads to the driveway. It opens, seemingly out of nowhere, straight to the main street. There are no words to describe the Morrisons’ lavish home.

After a few steps toward the car, I hear someone behind me and glance over my shoulder at Blair and Murphy holding hands.

“Are those my dad’s car keys?” Blair asks, nodding toward the key chain around my finger.

“Yes. He asked me to do something for him.” I continue toward the Ferrari.

“He’s not letting you drive his car, is he?”

I close my eyes and remember she has PMS brain and can’t be held responsible for her bitchiness.

Again, I stop. This time, I turn toward her.

“It doesn’t matter, come on,” Murphy says, pulling her toward their white SUV.

She wriggles out of his grip. “It does matter. He won’t letanyone drive his Ferrari. Not me. Not my mom. So if he’s letting you drive it, then there must be a reason.”

“Such as?” I don’t know why I feel the need to play her game. Ijustdefended her to Murphy, and this is the thanks I get?

“My parents have been happily married for thirty years. Don’t mess with that.”

“I’m not. I think I make both of them happier than they were before me.” I wink.

Murphy bites his lips to hide his amusement.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Blair scoffs.

I hold up the registration. “I’m just putting this in the glove compartment, not going for a joyride.”

She deflates, dropping her gaze in embarrassment.

“Just say you’re sorry, and let’s go,” Murphy says.

“You don’t have to apologize. My dad cheated on my mom.” I pivot and continue toward the garage. “I’m not the woman who sleeps with another woman’s husband.”

At least, that’s not the plan.