Page 129 of The Homemaker
I’d seen pictures of Chris from when he was a child with freckles. And that was it. I knew those freckles had to be his. When the agency gave me the Becketts’ location and contact information, it seemed like fate that his family lived in Minneapolis. That’s where I had moved to look for Murphy.
I’m not sure I believe in fate anymore.
When I return to the main house, Vera’s in the kitchen making a salad.
“I’m sorry. I had to run back to the guesthouse. Let me do that.”
She smiles, shaking her head. “I can make his salad. Iwantto make it.”
When our gazes meet, I know my job is coming to an end, but I smile anyway.
Vera blinks away her tears before refocusing on the knife in her hand and the chopped cucumbers on the cutting board. “He almost died,” she says, her voice weak and vulnerable. “And I realized this game we’re playing is so stupid. It was funny at first. Neither one of us had to make a compromise. But that’s not a real marriage. Right?” She lifts her head again.
All I have to offer is a slow nod.
“I’d really like you to stay until after the wedding. I need the help. Then we’ll find you a new job. We know lots of people who would love to hire someone like you.” She laughs a little. “And I’m sure they won’t make you wear those ridiculous dresses and an apron.”
I slide the rosemary from the edge of the cutting board and brush it off my hand into the bowl of sourdough. “Actually, I think the dresses are fun. Maybe I want you to find someone who would like me to wear these dresses when I work for them.”
Vera grins, blotting the corner of her eye with the back of her hand. “Thank you, Alice. You have been the best thing to happen to our family.”
My smile falls off my face like a boulder tumbling down a mountain.
“You need to teach me all your tips. I want to learn howto bake bread and make chocolate chip cookies that are the perfect shade of golden brown. Gooey on the inside, crunchy on the outside. Hopefully, in the not too distant future, I’ll be a grandma.”
My hands shake as I cover the bowl of sourdough with the towel. “I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful grandmother,” I say without missing a beat, like a seasoned actress.
“Who’s going to be a wonderful grandmother?” Blair asks, shuffling into the kitchen, head bowed to her phone.
“Me, silly. When you and Murphy give me grandbabies.”
Blair lifts her head, and they have a silent exchange. She must have told Vera that she thought she was pregnant.
“Murphy got us a hotel room tonight. He says we need a night to ourselves.” Blair bites her lower lip to control her grin.
“Sounds like a lovely idea,” Vera says.
Yep. Soundslovely.
“I’m going to pull some weeds in the garden,” I say, jabbing my thumb over my shoulder.
Vera wrinkles her nose. “It’s boiling outside. Shouldn’t you do that in the morning or later this evening instead?”
Yes. She’s correct. That’s the best time to do it. But right now is the best time to sweat and take out my frustrations on invasive little soil creatures.
After I change into shorts and a tank top, because I can’t stay in character when I’m this frustrated, I rip, pull, and pluck weeds from the garden. My fingers curl like talons, raking the soil between plants. The warm earth packs under my fingernails as I inhale the sweet scent of dirt. Sweat drips from my forehead.
“Ask me to choose you.”
I pause, hands clenched around weeds and dirt, but I don’t turn. “Why?”
“Because I just want to hear you say it.”
“Well, we don’t always get what we want. Do we?”
“No. We don’t.”
“Choose her,” I grumble, tossing the weeds into the bucket.
