“Over an hour ago! We’ve been frantic!”
An hour. Wendy had been with Maeve an hour before. She couldn’t have been in the wreck. She wanted to run to the phone and call Wendy. But there was no way. The hammer would come down now that her father was home. The door opened.
Maeve shuddered.
It was Conor O’Kane.
In the kitchen light, the creases under his eyes were deeper, the strange darkness of his lips more purple, his hairline blacker, his eyes bluer. Here was the wolf Maeve feared.
Her mother’s head lolled. “Now’s not a good time, Conor.”
“I saw the lights on,” he said, as if that was an open invitation to any house.
“William’s not here,” she said, then added a second thought, “... but he should be back any minute.”
“I’m not here for him. Or for you, Fiadh.” His eyes flicked to Maeve then back.
He was the only person Maeve ever heard refer to her mother by her given name, one that was not even on her driver’s license. And the way he said it, biting down on thatF, as if the name itself was a curse. Maeve’s shallow breaths heaved. She could not let Conor O’Kane say what he saw.
“What do you want then?” her mother asked.
He uncorked the flask he held in his hand, emptied the contents into his gaping mouth, then tossed it in the direction of the table like it was a paper airplane. It hit the floor with a hollow clang. He rummaged his right hand around in his jacket like he was sorting a junk drawer then turned his attention to Maeve. “I think you dropped this. Earlier.”
Maeve patted her empty back pocket. It was the photograph from the paperback. It must have slipped out of the car when he opened the door. Blood rushed to her head.
Her mother snatched the photo from Conor’s fingers, considered it, a look of confusion on her face. “Why do you have this?”
“I saw Maeve tonight. This fell out of the car.”
“What do you mean you saw her?”
“Well, Maeve and her little girlfriend ...” he began.
Her mother’s head jerked like a predator had snapped a twig. “What?”
That leer.My, what a big mouth you have!“He was at the Quick Stop,” Maeve blurted. “I was there. Before the party.”
Conor crossed his arms, an amused look spreading over his face. “I told you I had proof, remember? But, by all means, dig your hole. I have all night.”
She had to think fast, get rid of him before he said more, before her father came home. “He said he would buy beer for me, and I told him no. Then ...” She remembered the way he’d pulled up on her overalls. He knew what he was doing. “He touched me weird.” She was shaking. She would not let him say what was only hers to tell. “I don’t want him here. Mom. Make him leave.”
She turned, squeezed her eyes shut to wish him away, then bolted to the stairs as shouts erupted behind her. Accusations. Her mother and O’Kane, gnashing at each other.
“. . . Frenching some girl!”
“... kill you if you touched her, so help me God!”
“... a liar, just like you!”
“Liar!”
“Fiadh!”
“Liar!”
Molly was staring over the railing in front of Maeve’s door. “Go to your room!” Maeve shouted, taking steps two at a time. Molly retreated as the wolf clamored up the stairs. Maeve flung her door open. Her mother’s hollering shook the whole house. Conor O’Kane was steps away from gobbling her whole.
“Trust me,” he said. “You want to see this!”
