Page 17 of The Homemaker (The Chain of Lakes #1)

Chapter Seventeen

Murphy

The past can never be changed,

but we can change how we look at it.

If I’m honest, Alice was my first love. I’d had girlfriends, and we threw around that four letter word with the same carelessness as any other word. But Alice was different.

Every day mattered. She lived without reservation. When we were together, there was nothing to chase. No dreams. No tomorrows. Every moment with her felt like the reason for existing, like I’d figured out the meaning of life.

In a blink, she was ripped away from me, and I spent years recovering from a fortnight.

I’ve moved on, but there’s still an invisible string attached to her. And now she’s here, and I can’t break that string. Every time she looks at me, that string gets tighter and stronger, and I fear I’ll break before it does .

“Do either of you know anyone in New York?” Vera asks as the four of us drink around the rectangular fire pit table on the patio overlooking the pool after dinner. “Or will you have to make new friends?”

“Cam and Sage are in Brooklyn. They’ll be at our wedding, and they’re getting married two weeks after us, so we’ll be back from our honeymoon in time to attend their wedding. It’s in Buffalo because that’s where most of Sage’s family lives,” Blair says with her feet propped on my leg.

“Do I know Cam and Sage?” Hunter asks.

“No.” Blair shakes her head. “But Mom met Sage when we took the girls’ trip to London last summer.”

“I’m going to use the restroom. Excuse me,” I say, lifting her feet from my legs and resting them on the love seat. “Can I get anyone anything while I’m inside?”

“We’re good, but thanks,” Hunter answers for everyone since the women don’t seem to hear me.

After I take a piss and head toward the back of the house, I hear something from the open window in the kitchen.

Alice is in the yard between the main house and the guesthouse, playing cornhole by herself with a canned beverage in one hand.

The boards are dimly lit by the LED path lights next to the hedges.

I exit through the front door so Blair and her parents don’t see me walk to the side of house. “Who’s winning?” I ask.

Alice jumps, turning toward me.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She returns a shy smile, curling her hair behind one ear.

It’s wavy like she let it air-dry. One of her shorts pockets is frayed and ripped, and she’s barefoot.

She’s never looked so beautiful. And why that thought just popped into my mind is not only disturbing, but frustrating.

I love Blair. She is beautiful. Alice is nothing but a door that never got closed, and these feelings are nothing more than a distracting draft of air, blowing my common sense around like a scattered pile of papers.

“Currently, I’m in the lead, but it’s a close game.” The corner of her mouth twitches.

I grin, sliding my hands into my back pockets. “Are either of you any good?”

She sips her orange Olipop soda before bobbing her head. “We’re okay.”

“There are a lot of bags in the hole. Looks like one of you is more than okay.”

“Just a lucky night.”

I nod. “I’ve wanted to apologize again for the pool incident. Or perhaps I should thank you. Had I been drowning, you would have saved my life.”

“It’s fine. Forgotten. Don’t worry about it.” She retrieves the red bags, tucking a couple under her arm since she only has one hand to use.

“I can probably play a quick game with you before anyone sends out the search party for me.” I pluck the blue bags off the ground.

She eyes me for a few seconds before nodding, but I don’t miss her tiny grin. And I wonder if it’s any sort of recognition or a familiar feeling, or if she’s just happy to have someone to beat.

“You can go first,” she says.

I ready myself to toss the bag. “Years ago, I owned a vacation rental. A guest challenged me to a game of cornhole, and she kicked my butt in a matter of minutes. I haven’t played since then.” I toss the bag and hit the board, but nowhere near the hole.

“Bruised ego? Is that why you haven’t played again?” she asks, tossing the red bag right into the hole.

“Maybe.” I take my turn and miss the board.

Alice gets ready to pitch her next bag.

“But mostly it’s because I’ve tried to forget that time in my life,” I say two seconds before she tosses it and misses the entire board by at least three feet.

And I know, right now, without a doubt—she remembers me.

She sips her drink, trying to look unaffected, but her other hand balls into a fist, and she cracks several knuckles.

There’s not enough alcohol on the premises to numb the pain in my chest. I thought it hurt when she didn’t recognize me. But this … it’s fucking torture.

She clears her throat after I chuck my next bag. “So you sold your vacation rental?”

“Yeah. My dad worked so hard to recover from a heart attack only to have an aneurysm take his life in a blink. He’d helped me convert the building into two separate living spaces, and we used to turn wood in the garage together.

” I shrugged after she tossed her next bag and made it on the board again, but not in the hole.

“The place held too many memories of my dad and … someone else. I needed a fresh start.”

Alice doesn’t say a word or look at me as we toss our last two bags.

“Do you still turn wood?” she asks as we collect our bags.

“No.”

She brushes her auburn hair out of her face when the breeze tangles it. “But you’re marrying an artist. Does she encourage you to do it again?”

I shake my head, eyeing the hole only to throw the bag way past the board. “She doesn’t know I ever did it.”

“What?” She squints at me, mouth agape. “Why not?”

“Like I said. A fresh start.” I’m not sure anything feels fresh about my new life since Alice is here.

“Does a fresh start mean your past doesn’t exist?” she asks.

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

Alice shifts her attention from me to the board. “I’m asking you. What I think doesn’t matter.”

“But what if it does?”

She returns a nervous laugh before sipping her drink. After she swallows, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “It shouldn’t. I’m just the homemaker. A virtual stranger.”

I take a step closer, and she seems to hold her breath as I reach for her face to brush a few hairs away from it, but then I stop and return my hand to my side.

It hurts to look at her like a stranger.

My mind might know how to play tricks, but my heart is incapable of such games.

“You’re the most familiar stranger I’ve ever met.

And eventually, I’m going to figure out why you feel so familiar. ”

It’s reminiscent of when my mom used to catch me or my sister in a lie, and she’d give us every opportunity to confess before calling us out.

Alice presses her lips together, and I can’t tell in the dim light, but it looks like she has tears in her eyes.

“Well, I should get back to?—”

“Your fiancée,” she whispers.

“Yeah,” I murmur, dropping my head and staring at her bare feet as she curls her toes into the grass. For a breath, I close my eyes and go back eight years.

“Murphy, do you walk barefoot in the grass? You should. This is the softest spot, right here by the fence.”

“Alice, that’s where Palmer pees the most.”

“Yuck! Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

A tiny grin finds my lips as I remember her running to the spigot to wash her feet. Palmer peed in the sand, but she didn’t know that.

When I look at her, Alice assesses me with her sad blue eyes and takes a step closer.

Fearing what her proximity might do to me, I retreat and find a genuine smile. “Good night, Alice.”

“Good night, Mr. Paddon.”