Page 52 of The Homemaker (The Chain of Lakes #1)

Chapter Fifty

Murphy

Lies are a slow death. The truth is a quick one.

“I’ve lost count of just how many times you’ve swept me off my feet,” Blair says before sipping her wine in the dimly lit Italian restaurant with soft music and the aroma of garlic and spices filling the air.

I smile, calmly cupping my bottle of beer in one hand while my other flexes in and out of a tight fist on my leg.

“Promise me we’ll always date. Even when we have kids and we’re exhausted. Promise that you’ll get a sitter, make reservations at a nice restaurant, and whisk me away for the night.” She tears off a piece of bread and pops it into her mouth.

The server sets our bowls of pasta on the table. We smile and murmur thank-yous .

“This looks amazing.” Blair blows on her penne then carefully takes a bite. “Mmm …” She closes her eyes.

Again, I smile because she’s beautiful and full of life. I love her smile and the way her eyes practically dance when she’s excited about something. Her zest is contagious. And after we met, it wore off on me. I owe her so much, and I should spend the rest of my life showing her my gratitude.

“The wedding planner sent a computer-generated layout of the venue. How it will look with the flowers, soft yellows and white. The gold bows on the back of the chairs. The candles. It’s going to be stunning.

I’d show you on my phone, but it wouldn’t do it justice.

When we get home tomorrow, I’ll bring it up on my laptop.

” She takes another bite and lifts her gaze to mine.

“What?” she mumbles, pressing her napkin to her mouth.

“What’s that look? Why aren’t you eating? ”

“How did you do it?” I ask.

Blair narrows her eyes. “Do what?”

“When you broke off your previous engagements. How did you do it? In person? Over the phone? Text?”

She rests her napkin back on her lap, slowly swallowing. Then she takes a sip of wine. “I’m not doing that to you. You’re the one, babe. Please trust me.”

“I do,” I say. “I just need to know.”

She frowns, brow tense.

“Were you nervous? Scared? Did you have second thoughts?”

After pulling in a long breath through her nose, she holds it then releases it just as slowly.

“The first time, I just showed up at his place. I …” She shakes her head.

“I was so scared. Scared of his reaction. Scared that I’d lose my nerve.

And yeah, I worried about having second thoughts.

But the overwhelming feeling I had was just fear of not doing it and li ving the rest of my life with someone I loved but just not enough.

” Her blue eyes find mine. “Does that make sense?”

I give her an easy nod.

“The second time was worse. I didn’t want to break down into a blubbering mess before getting a single word out, like what happened the first time, so I picked a fight with him.

I provoked him. And when he got angry with me, I broke it off.

” She glances away, blotting the corners of her eyes on a painful laugh.

“I felt like such a coward. And days later, he tried to apologize, but I said it was too late.”

She sniffles, and I want to disappear. Run away. I don’t know, but I don’t want to be here.

“If you had it to do over, what would you do?” I ask because I can’t stop.

“Why?”

“Because I think it’s important to learn from the past.”

She takes another drink of her wine, this one a little bigger like she needs the courage. “I don’t know. There’s no good way to do something awful. There’s no good way to give someone bad news. It’s hard. It hurts. The right words are never there because they don’t exist.”

The tea light flickers in the center of the table like it might go out. I feel the same way.

“Do you regret saying yes when they proposed?”

She takes a smaller bite of her pasta like she’s no longer hungry, and her gaze lingers on the bowl while she chews.

“I don’t know. Do I regret not making the right decision?

I mean, sure. But I’m not perfect. Are we supposed to spend eternity regretting every mistake?

Every bad decision? And maybe it wasn’t a bad decision.

Maybe it was right at the time, but circumstances and feelings changed. You know?”

When she looks at me, I whisper, “I do.” And I’m not sure she hears me, but then her lips part and her eyes stop blinking.

I’m not sure she’s breathing.

This is the longest moment of my life. I imagine it’s how Alice felt seconds before the car flipped over the side of the bridge into the water. Slow motion, one frame at a time, when in reality, it’s over in a blink.

And she does. Blair blinks and the well of tears in her eyes spills down her face.

It’s over.

“W-why?” She brings a shaky hand to her mouth, closing her eyes, but the tears continue to fall.

The lump in my throat swells. And despite being the deliverer of pain, my eyes sting with emotion.

There’s no good way to do something awful. There’s no good way to give someone bad news. It’s hard. It hurts. The right words are never there because they don’t exist.

I don’t know what’s worse, not having the right words, or stealing hers, pulling them from her one by one, leading her down a road that’s a dead end for us.

Blair grabs her purse and shoves her chair back, then she runs out of the restaurant.

I toss a wad of cash on the table and chase after her.

When I push through the front door, I freeze.

She’s on the sidewalk, one hand on a light pole, the other holding her hair back, and she’s bent over like she might get sick.

I swallow hard and wipe my eyes before picking up her handbag from the ground. Then I pull her into my arms. She doesn’t hug me back, nor does she fight me. We hurt together and grieve the loss of our love that once was, but never again will be the same love .

“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go,” I say, opening the door to the car.

She stares at the seat, but she doesn’t get in. “Give me the key.”

I hesitate, but only for a second, before handing it to her.

“Get your bag out of the back.”

Again, I give her request a second, then I pull my bag from the back.

She shuts the passenger door, posture sagging, eyes dead. “I hate you.”

“I know.”

“I’m going to Alison’s. I expect you to be gone by the time I get home tomorrow.”

I nod. “I’ll talk to your parents.”

She shakes her head, jaw clenched. “No. Don’t say a word. Just get your stuff and get out. Don’t let them see you. No explanation. No goodbye.”

“Blair—”

“I said no .”

“Okay,” I whisper.