Page 64 of The Roommate Lie

I make a beeline for the washer and dryer in the corner instead. It’s time for a laundry miracle. One clean shirt, that’s all I need. Even if it’s wet, I won’t mind.

No such luck. Everything’s empty, and there isn’t even a hamper I can plunder. There’snothing.

The raccoon pauses in the mudroom entrance to catch his breath. That or he’s trying to draw this out and savor it. Time stands still, and it’s showdown time in the Old West. I eye the front door a few feet away, and the raccoon eyes me. The only question now is which one of us is faster.

This is it. It’s run-for-my-life-from-a-raccoon time. I pray for a total solar eclipse outside and sprint toward the door, ready to run into the yard shirtless if I have to. Anything’s better than dying of rabies in this mudroom.

As I reach the door, it flies open on its own. Charlie is standing in front of me, stunned. I’m not sure what throws him off more, the terror in my eyes, the raccoon in the distance, or my strawberry-pink bra. And I don’t ever want to find out.

I want to die right here in this doorway, please and thank you.

It couldn’t get worse, but then all those voices outside drift closer—and this is definitely worse. Charlie isn’t the only person who’s going to see me half-dressed today. Apparently, his entire neighborhood gets that honor too.

Before I can faint or close my eyes, Charlie springs into action. Reaching for the hem of his t-shirt, he yanks it off fast and pulls it on over my head to cover me up. Barely getting me decent as his older brother and twenty million other people wander into view.

While I stand staring at a very breathless, very shirtless Charlie Roscoe.

Chapter Thirty-Three

CHARLIE

Alice Kilpatrick is wearing my shirt. And she looks way better in it than I do.

The hem skims her thighs, her shorts completely hidden underneath, and she looks like every Married Life daydream I’ve ever had. As if this is another one of her costumes, and she’s acting out my version of the perfect “lazy Saturday morning with wifey.”

My mind floods with visions of sleeping in late, of us making brunch together while she’s wearing my shirt, and I’m basically useless. I’ve never even had brunch. Whenever I wake up late, I eat the same cereal or toast I always do. But still…

The shirt I changed into fifteen minutes ago, right before everyone showed up to help me do some repair work on the schoolhouse, is a little more oversized and worn than my usual t-shirt. A little softer and more willing to drape over every curve Alice has. It’s inside out—I pulled it on her too fast to fix it—but I don’t think she minds.

She’s too busy being mortified.

And scared.

“The ghost squirrel. Is. A.Raccoon.”

That snaps me out of my daydream. Something snarls in the dining room, and I grab Alice around the waist, pulling her behind me where it’s safe. Leaving her in the mudroom, I follow that sound, edging toward the dining table a few feet away. I didn’t catch a good glimpse of the raccoon earlier—I was too distracted with Alice—but all the sounds in the distance, all the scraping and scratching and the little low grunts sound exactly like the noises I’ve heard in Muriel’s attic. Exactly like her fabled ghost squirrel.

That was a raccoon?

My mother is married to our local wildlife expert. I used to do volunteer work with him as part of my self-imposed community service after I got out of rehab. I have helped Wild Bill Tipton rescue, rehabilitate, and release so many different kinds of animals over the years, including raccoons and squirrels. Maybe I never saw the “ghost squirrel” for myself, but you really think I would’ve noticed it sounded a lot bigger than that name might suggest. You really think it would’ve occurred to me that it wasn’t a squirrel at all.

I am never going to live this down. Wild Bill is too nice to give me a hard time, but Mama Roscoe is going to roast me forever.

Noises rattle near the back of my living room. As I close in, a familiar growl proves just how unhappy that raccoon is, just how cornered he feels. How did I ever think a noise like that belonged to a squirrel?

I still can’t see it; it’s behind an armchair near an open window. The moment I lunge closer, the sound vanishes. The raccoon vanishes.

Houdini.

I never got a good look at it, but the scent of baby powder lingers in the air like a calling card. When I make my way back to Alice, she’s still pretty shaken up as she tells me whathappened. Her voice is quick and eyes frantic as she describes how that raccoon cornered her in the guest room before chasing her down the stairs. She’s so upset, I rest my hands on her shoulders to steady her; I don’t even think twice. It just kind of happens.

It isn’t until her voice catches and her cheeks flush, her gaze darting to the initials tattooed on my chest, that I remember I’m still not wearing a shirt. And I probably shouldn’t be standing this close—while touching her.

Carl clears his throat in the doorway.

Because my brother is here. And his wife. Along with way too many other people that I consider friends and will have to see again. I’m standing shirtless in my mudroom while Alice is wearing my clothes, and we have an entire audience behind us.

Fantastic.

---