Hilltop House

Maeve, Twelve

Navigating her car up the narrow slope onto her street, Maeve was bothered when she saw Tom and Ann standing outside their house. What were they doing out at four in the morning? And why was Niecey's basement light always on at night? She caught sight of several mangy cats padding along the sidewalk and knew they were Dottie's escaped pets. Why were all the neighbors so damned weird?

Maeve caught herself and laughed aloud. She couldn't judge any of them, could she? She was the queen of secrets. But she'd thought hard over the past few days, since Martha Heyward had unsettled her--made that comment about the past catching up--and she knew that it was time she get over her own fear and self-pity and share some of the secrets with her daughter. Maeve didn't want to burden or frighten Cora, and she also didn't want the girl to think less of her mother than she already did, but it was unwise to continue to keep her in the dark when the lack of information could endanger her. Cora needed to be able to protect herself, to be aware in the event something happened and Maeve couldn't be there. Maeve was, after all, more absent than present.

The woman noticed with a grimace that the black car was still parked outside the house. She really needed to get her act together and call the tow. The problem was that every time she left, she forgot the car. It was out of sight, out of mind. Cora had told her the boy's stepmother had come by to ask about him but never returned, so Maeve had assumed they'd figured things out; the stepmother had probably taken him back with her and, out of anger, made him leave the car. But that still left it for Maeve to deal with. As of yet, the neighbors weren't complaining, and knowing how odd they all were, how little they seemed to care about one another, none of them would probably ever complain about a car parked outside the house at that end of their street. They were more likely to grumble about the several cars now stationed outside the deceased Mr. George's house. His relatives had arrived right before the Thanksgiving holiday to go through his belongings, presumably, although Maeve couldn't imagine he'd had much. In any case, their three or four cars parked in a little cluster around his house had made the drive up the slope difficult. She'd had to maneuver around them, seeing as they hadn't taken into account that people might need to actually get in and out of the street.

Maeve pulled into her driveway, walked up to the front porch, and paused there. Something about the stillness of the cold, dark morning air calmed her. She knew that going into the house would immediately remove that calm. Although her daughter claimed to feel at home in the innocuous ranch, Maeve couldn't replicate Cora's sentiments. The house was foreboding, in spite of its innocent appearance; Maeve had really begun to sense that it didn't like her. As stupid as that sounded when she said it or thought it, the woman couldn't help but wonder. She had trouble sleeping in her own room, in her own ugly cherub-headed bed. In fact, she had trouble sleeping at all. And she was usually a nervous wreck during the sparse moments she did spend at home. As much as she disliked her jobs, she was beginning to prefer being at work solely for the reason that it got her out of the house. But what bothered Maeve the most about it was how attached Cora had become. Just bringing up the subject of moving again had practically sent her daughter over the edge. She'd insisted they couldn't leave.

Which was what had also prompted Maeve to consider telling Cora a little bit about her father. If they were going to stay, he would eventually find them, and even though the rabbit in Maeve wanted to startle and run again, she realized Cora would put up an even stronger resistance this time than she had the last, and the woman just didn't know if she could deal with the onslaught of drama and fighting that was sure to come.

Maeve exhaled a sigh she'd not realized she'd been holding and sat on the porch swing. Even though it was cold, she just didn't want to go inside, yet. Moving the bench back and forth slowly, relishing the chilly quiet, she considered what she'd done to her daughter by uprooting her. Cora couldn't be blamed in the least for desiring some stability. Her safe place had been with Grandma Luce. Once Maeve had pulled her from the old woman's care, Cora had immediately begun to struggle with the wrong group of friends, begun to dress and misbehave in ways she never had before. Maeve would've liked to let Cora stay with Luce, even if it meant not being able to really know her daughter, but when she'd found out her own mother had been speaking with him--with Paul--!