Page 14 of The Homemaker (The Chain of Lakes #1)

Chapter Fourteen

Murphy

Silence is underrated.

It’s also open to interpretation

“She’s pretty, don’t you think?” Blair asks, as we relax by the pool on this ninety-degree afternoon on July first.

“Who?”

“Alice.”

I keep my eyes closed. “I don’t know. Why?”

“What do you mean you don’t know? You’re not blind. It’s not a trap. I’m just making a statement. She’s pretty. Why would my mom hire someone so pretty to be my dad’s …”

“Homemaker?” I grin.

“Stop.” She smacks my arm, but not without laughing. “Before we ran errands, I walked past my dad’s study, and guess what they were doing?”

“Discussing what cut of steak he wants for dinner? Fireworks for the Fourth?”

“No. She was reading to him. I kid you not; he was reclined on his leather sofa, eyes closed, and she was in the chair next to him, reading a book like a bedtime story. How messed up is that?”

“What book?”

“Murphy, what does that matter? That’s not the point. He’s a grown man having a book read to him like a child.”

“Well, maybe your mom won’t read to him.”

“Murphy!”

I laugh. “Okay. Okay. Yeah, it’s weird. But what are you going to do about it?”

“Why can’t you just agree with me without making a case for him?”

“I do agree with you.”

“But I want you to agree with me and do something about it.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Say something to him. Maybe shame him a little. Like one man to another, tell him how messed up it is that he has a woman close to his daughter’s age reading him a book.”

“Babe, I’m not having that conversation with him.”

“Ugh! You’re useless.” She stands.

“Blair.”

She grumbles, stomping into the house.

I shake my head and remove my sunglasses, then I jump into the pool to escape her irrational anger. She’s stressed, and there’s only so much I can do about it. Perhaps, just staying out of her way while she works through it is the best option.

The air from my lungs escapes into tiny little bubbles before my face as I sink to the bottom of the pool, where everything is peaceful.

I think about Alice and how long she had to hold her breath as a synchronized swimmer.

How long can I hold my breath? Until we’re in New York, and I no longer have to see Alice every day? Until I’m married?

I relax my body and count.

After a minute and twenty-six seconds, there’s a pinch on my arm, a hand gripping it, pulling me to the surface.

Ribbons of long, dark hair.

A blue dress.

White apron.

Legs frog kicking.

I pull away, and Alice whips her head around as we breach the surface at the shallow end.

“I’m fine,” I say, shaking the water from my hair.

Alice’s blue eyes pierce me, red lips parted, satin headband clinging to her drenched ponytail as she pants.

“I’m fine,” I repeat.

Drops of water cling to her long lashes as she returns a blank stare like she’s not hearing me or even seeing me. Then her nostrils flair and, without a word, she turns, arms limp at her sides as she climbs the corner steps and grabs a towel from the bin.

“Alice.” I follow her, snagging my towel from the chair.

She quickly grabs her shoes and hurries toward the guesthouse.

“Alice!” I don’t run, but I take bigger strides to catch up to her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She shakes her head and mumbles with a shaky voice, “It’s … uh, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. You’re soaking wet, and it’s my fault.” I follow her to the slider door at the side of the guesthouse .

With her back to me, she unbuttons her dress and lets it fall to her feet. It’s wrong to look at her, but it’s so familiar, not eight years ago familiar, more like eight seconds. She opens the door and takes one step inside, wearing just a white bra and underwear.

My chest constricts. She’s no longer for my eyes, my hands, my fucking heart, but that’s just my brain searching for a little self-preservation.

That spark, the invisible thing that was always between us, is still here.

Her lack of acknowledging it doesn’t make it less true; it just makes the pain cut a little deeper because what was so right is now so wrong.

“Do you remember me?” I ask.

She stops.

I’m afraid of either answer.

Never mind. As she takes another step into the house and closes the door, I realize I’m most afraid of not knowing.

I run my fingers through my hair. “Shit.”

“How many kids do you want? Is it weird that we haven’t discussed this?” Blair asks as we get dressed to go to dinner with her parents.

I button my shirt. “We’ve discussed kids.”

“Yes, but not how many we should have or when we want to start our family. I’m thinking two, preferably close together so we can just go all in with the parenting phase of our life.

And we’re not getting any younger, so I say we try within the next year.

What do you think?” She applies lip gloss in the full-length mirror .

“I’m thirty-two, and you’re twenty-seven. I wouldn’t call that old. I think we should take it one day at a time.”

She traces the edge of her lower lip. “What’s up with your mood?”

“My mood?” I slide my wallet into my pocket.

“You’ve been dying to just elope, skip the big wedding, and start our future as soon as possible.

But now that I want to discuss our future, you seem hesitant, like you’re putting on the brakes.

If you don’t want to start a family right away, we don’t have to.

I’m just saying I don’t want to miss our window.

I’ll blink and be in perimenopause. Did you know Elise Rayburn, who lived next to us in San Francisco, is already in perimenopause, and she’s only thirty-five? ”

I nod slowly.

“Murphy, what is your deal?” She turns toward me, capping her lip gloss. “Are you worried I’m going to break off our engagement or leave you at the altar?”

“Should I be?” I narrow my eyes at her.

Blair flicks her wrist, waving me off. “Stop. You let my dad get into your head too much. Before long, you’ll be asking me to read to you before bed.” She smirks, sliding her feet into her heels.

“Fine. I want five kids. Three boys first, then two girls,” I say.

Blair coughs, smacking her hand over her chest. “W-what?” Her eyes widen as she chuckles.

I shake my head. “I’m kidding, just testing you.”

She straightens my tie. “What kind of test is that?”

“Okay, not a test, just a bad joke. Sorry.”

She offers her cheek, and I kiss it.

It’s a nice cheek.

She’s a nice woman.

Our life will be … nice.