After several very long minutes, she looked again and found the coast clear. As quietly as she could, she let herself out the door and skated to the stairs leading to the front door. Long ago she’d learned sliding feet made less noise.
She could see him at the curb, leaning against his car wearing a white tee-shirt and dark jeans. His arms were folded across his chest as he glanced at his watch and looked up and down the sidewalk. He seemed impatient. That was a good sign, maybe.
Maeve hadn’t allowed herself to give much thought to why she was doing what she was doing. On one hand, she knew he needed to see her as a woman and not a silly young girl in need of supervision. What better way to make him want her? She wanted him on fire with the need of her, panting with the kind of lust she’d only read about.
She also wasn’t opposed to really, really pissing him off. After all, she’d been mad at him for more than three years. Well, not just mad, hurt too. She felt deserted, abandoned, and it wasn’t right for him to treat her that way and then show up and act like he owned her or something.
This wasn’t the 1800’s. They weren’t betrothed by some ancient decree or agreement between their families. There was no throne to protect. Hell, if he really wanted to marry her, he should get down on his knees and thank her for being oh so good these last three years. Keeping herself pure and all that!
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and sauntered down the stone steps much like a contestant in the Miss Universe Pageant. She barely managed to stop herself from giving the royal wave. Sean’s eyes never left her, and her head swelled right along with her heart, at which point she reminded herself vanity was a sin.
Uncertain which way things were going to progress, she figured there were two options. Either he would be so taken by her stunning beauty and raw sexuality he would drop to his knees, profess his undying love and affection and beg her to marry him, or he would explode. On the other hand, he could be furious both for being kept waiting and by the blatant, somewhat slutty way she was dressed. If the second scenario happened, she planned to whack him with her bag, kick off her heels and run like hell. Going cross lots, she could make it home before he could drive to her house.
Unfortunately, what ultimately happened was neither of these things. As she stepped off the last step and approached him with the sultriest expression she could drum up, he began to laugh. Oh, not a snort or two, but great big belly whoppers that crippled him as he held his stomach.
Maeve’s bag dropped from her hand as she stood there completely stunned. Tears were running down his cheeks as he roared. He mumbled words like ‘priceless’ and ‘hysterical’ as he ended up bent over the hood of his car, howling.
Her embarrassment knew no bounds. She was mortified, furious, crushed, and she took the opportunity that presented itself and kicked him right in the arse with her pointy toed shoe.
For some reason, although he yelled, he kept laughing, maybe harder, so she snatched up her bag, hit him with it and stomped away.
“Darlin’, wait,” he called after her, but she was beyond hearing anything he wanted to say, if he could form an intelligible sentence, which he couldn’t.
“Kiss my arse, O’Malley. I hate you. I’ll never marry you, never!” she screamed over her shoulder. Tears streamed down her cheeks, taking copious amounts of mascara with them. When she scrubbed at her eyes, a fierce burning began that blurred her vision, causing her to trip on an uneven sidewalk. Screaming, she kicked off her shoes, picked them up and hurled those at him too. She thought she heard a ‘damn’ but she didn’t wait around to see. She would literally die if one of her friends saw her in this condition. Cutting behind the parsonage, she took the alley and was almost home when she realized she still had her other shoes and could have stopped to put them on. Her stockings were shredded and her feet were bleeding from several cuts. Hobbling into the house, she called out to her mother.
“Ma, I’m goin’ to have a long soak in the tub. If anyone calls for me, tell them I’m not at home.”
“’Tis lying,” her mother pointed out as she called back from the kitchen.
“Then just tell them I’m not available,” she yelled as she nearly crawled up the stairs.
* * *
The tub helped, but that damn long lash mascara should come with a removal kit, Maeve thought as she put the last plaster on her foot and looked in the mirror. She had a striking resemblance to a raccoon, and no matter what she used, it only smudged and made it look worse. Pulling on a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt and her softest slippers, she went downstairs.
“Maeve, lass,” her father remarked as he sat in his chair and listened to the news. “I don’t know why you have to wear that awful eye stuff. You look like a raccoon.”
“I know, Da,” she sighed, rolling her eyes and flopping on the couch.
“You’ve missed dinner,” her mother remarked, as though Maeve didn’t know it. “Are you ill?”
“No. What can I use to get this stuff off?”
“I’m not sure. You know your Da doesn’t fancy me wearin’ such things. I can’t for the life of me figure out how you get away with it,” she said, pausing in her knitting. “Perhaps some baby oil would help.”
“Thanks, I’ll try that,” Maeve said rising from the couch and walking slowly to the bathroom. A little on a cotton swab did help, but it didn’t take it all off. Going into the kitchen, Maeve got a fizzy drink from the fridge and used the can opener on the side of the cupboard to open it. Just as she dropped back down on the couch, the doorbell rang.
“Sean,” her father sang out after opening the door. “It’s good to see you, son.”
“Thank you, sir,” Sean replied, shaking the older man’s hand. In his left hand he held a bottle of single malt scotch which he handed Mr. Donahue as he removed a box of chocolates from under his arm. “These are for the missus.”
“Why, ’tis thoughtful of you to bring us such fine gifts, Sean. What brings you here tonight? How are you doin’ in school? Come in, sit down.”
“Thank you,” Sean replied, wiping his feet and moving to the couch to sit.
“Maeve, look, ’tis Sean O’Malley come to visit,” her father pointed out with a scowl in her direction.
“Aye, I see him” was all she replied, her eyes fixed on the game show on TV.
