Page 71 of The Homemaker

He crosses his arms, confusion wrinkling his forehead. “Try again.”

I sigh. “Fine.” When the ball returns, I line up, take a few steps, and release it. This time, it makes it closer to the pins, but still lands in the gutter. “Ready to take that bike ride?”

Murphy nabs the pencil from the scoring pad and tosses it to me.

I catch it. “What are you doing?”

“You caught that with your right hand.”

Curling my lips between my teeth, I shrug.

“That means you’re right-handed. Yet, you bowled with your left hand.”

I set the pencil on the table. “Let’s go. I’d rather wreck a ten-thousand-dollar bike than watch a grown man cry.”

“Oh, Alice.” He groans, stumbling backward with his hand over his heart. “That’s harsh.”

“You’re proving my point.” I laugh, heading to the garage and he follows me.

We ride the bikes around two of the lakes and down tree-lined streets of historic homes in charming and quiet neighborhoods. Then we stop in the Uptown District for ice cream.

“This is weird,” I say as we eat double scoops from bowls at a picnic table.

He spoons another bite of caramel pecan into his mouth. “What’s weird?”

“If you were my fiancé, and I found out that you went to lunch with the family homemaker, then on a bike ride that included a stop for ice cream, I would not feel good about it.”

“Why must you spoil a perfectly good day with …”

I lift my eyebrows at him. “With what? The truth?”

“The truth?” Murphy laughs. “Are we exploring the truth today?”

I take the last bite of my ice cream and toss the bowl and spoon in the trash. “Truthfully,I need to get back and check on Mr. Morrison.” I head toward the bikes, then put on my helmet.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” he says, following me.

“It’s not that far to the house. Need me to come back and get you and your bike with my car?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m not sure I do.” My heart races with anxiety as I pedal before he’s on his bike. I should have quit my job the day he and Blair arrived from San Francisco. My legs burn, but I keep pushing to keep ahead of him.

As soon as we get back to the house, I enter the code to the underground garage.

“Alice, stop.”

“I have to check on Mr. Morrison. Thanks for the ice cream.” I descend into the garage, leave the bike next to the rack along with the helmet, and speed walk to the door.

“Was any of it real?”

My steps falter as I reach for the door handle.

“And if you tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about, I won’t believe you. Because you’re right … I would never takethe homemakerto lunch and on a bike ride for ice cream while engaged to another woman. But that’s not who you are to me. I know you can beat me at bowling and cornhole. I know that you’re a terrible dancer, and Vera has never known how I drink my coffee. I know you genuinely love this job because you love to cook, and you have a nurturing soul. And I never told you where we were getting sandwiches today, yet you drove there from memory. But all the things I know about you no longer matter because it’s the one thing I don’t know that keeps me awake at night. Alice,” his voice cracks. “I waited.”

I’ve imagined this moment, but never have I imagined the right words. And just like my mind played it out, I have no words. Everything hurts. Despite closing my eyes, the tears don’t stop, so I wipe them away, one at a time. But I can’t look at him. Not now.

His phone chimes, and he silences it.