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Chapter 1
PRESENT DAY, THE MURPHY HOUSEHOLD
Daryl and Tommy had the flu this week, which put us behind schedule.
Between you and me I’m betting the illness they have is “whiskey” flu. I gave them bonus checks on Thursday. They each called in on Friday.
To make up for lost time, I’m at the job by myself, on a Sunday. When you’re the owner, shit runs uphill not down.
The “job” this time around is at my ex-girlfriend’s parents’ house. My ex and I were over so long ago that it shouldn’t have any sting left, but I’m not sure I ever shook her. Not because I’m pining, but because after we ended, she became famous.
Famousfamous.
I’m talking walk-the-red-carpet-who-are-you-wearing-can-I-have-your-autograph famous. How’s that for a kick in the nuts?
The Murphy house is quiet and there are no interruptions distracting me from sawing a hole in the wall where we’re expanding Cheryl’s walk-in closet. Allison’s mom “joked” to her husband (Allison’s dad, Stephen) that he could have the hall closet, but I don’t think she was joking. Stephen shrugged like the nice guy he is and said, “Whatever you want, doll.”
Whatever you want, doll.
Even I think that’s sweet and I’m a guy.
I’m remodeling Cheryl and Stephen Murphy’s bedroom. They’re celebrating their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary in style with an extended trip to Italy. My team and I are taking care of the remodel while they’re gone. Makes it easier for everyone to work in an empty house. We’re knocking out a wall, extending the deck, and expanding the closet into a sizable walk-in. Their house is on the ritzy side of Columbus. A far cry from the brick ranch I grew up in, or the even smaller one I live in now.
Since walking into this house, I’ve been struck with the oddest sense of déjà vu. The memories don’t shout so much as whisper. And being here has triggered more memories than I care to admit. Allison and I broke it off within the first year of her fleeing to California. Long distance relationships are as hard to maintain as they say.
I dropped out of college when my football scholarship money ran dry and then I went back to work for my dad’s construction business. Took me a few years to learn the ropes, but I quickly decided that I didn’t want to erect personality-free new-builds for the rest of my life. I was also tired of working for someone else.
Last year I filled out the paperwork for a business loan, and now I’m the owner-slash-operator of Burke Builders LLC. Remodeling is my favorite part of the job and the one I try to do most. It’s rewarding to take what isn’t working and make it work. Knocking down a wall to widen a living room or adding on a screened-in porch not only changes the physical space but infuses it with new life. It changes the feel of the place, is what I’m trying to say.
I know, I know. I’m a blue-collar poet. I continue sawing, drywall dust blowing around me like a sandstorm.
Sawing done, I tug off my mask and safety glasses and toss them on the floor. The bedroom furniture is crammed into a guest bedroom while we work. During moving that furniture, I couldn’t help peering into the bedroom across the hall. Allison’s bedroom.
It’s not exactly like it was when she lived here, but the bed is one and the same. And while holding the ass end of a bureau I was bracing, using my legs to lift while Tommy backed into the other guest room, my eyes lingered on that double bed and I remembered the things that Allie and I used to do on it.
My phone buzzes with a text from my sister, Julieann. I had a feeling she’d call me today—not that she calls often, but sometimes I have a sense that she will. We’re twins and have that weird superpower of finishing each other’s sentences and reading what’s on the other’s mind by simply sharing a look.
There are only two words on my cellphone’s screen.
Holy shit.
OMGfollows.
OMGpops onto the screen again before the phone rings in my hand.
“Hel—”
“Holy shit. Oh my God,” Jules says into my ear, the words bursting from her mouth. She’s out of breath like she’s been running a mile.
“So I gathered from your texts,” I tell her calmly.
“Nina stole an Oscar from Millie Duncan!”
I blink. I understand the words individually, but I’m having trouble with them all together in one sentence. “What?”
Also, let me catch you up: Allison’s internship in California turned into a walk-on role that became permanent for the Emmy Award–winning drama America’s Sweetheart. She changed her name when she went to Tinseltown to Nina Lockhart.
“I know you don’t like to hear news about Nina—er, Allison, but that part isn’t new news. I’d heard about it when it happened last week, but I made Mom and Dad swear they wouldn’t say anything to you in case it was gossip. I didn’t want you to have to deal with it, you know?”
