Chapter 2
Chapter Two
As soon as the last bell rang signaling dismissal, Maeve hurried to the girl’s room.
Hanging her bag on the back of the stall door, she removed a pair of thigh high stockings, navy heels and her make-up bag.
Quickly, she stripped her loafers and knee socks off and replaced them.
After stuffing her original items in her bag, she peeked out the door, thankful to find the bathroom still empty.
Most of the girls scattered as fast as they could once the bell rang and the nuns never used this bathroom.
Exiting the stall, she went to the mirror and applied eyeliner, shadow, a heavy dose of mascara and frosted lipstick.
Taking a brush out of her bag she pulled her ponytail free and bent upside down, brushing her hair until it was full and fluffy before flipping her head back and arranging it in a tousled style.
Turning this way and that, she was satisfied with her appearance.
Now she had to decide whether she wanted to tie her shirt under her breasts or roll her skirt up.
It could only be one way, but which was best suited to pissing O’Malley off?
The shirt she finally decided. Unbuttoning it, she tied the ends together, exposing her midriff.
Carefully, she tiptoed to the door. Clicking heels could draw attention and that was the last thing she wanted, at least from the nuns.
She opened the door the tiniest bit, saw Sister Margaret and Sister Beatrice walking down the hall and quietly let it close.
It was all she could do not to tap her foot while she waited, and it suddenly occurred to her she should have a breath mint.
Digging through her bag, she found them and popped two into her mouth.
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.
“Turn that off,” her father barked. “’Tis rude when we have company.”
“Yes, Da,” she sighed as she walked slowly to the set and switched it off.
“So, as I was sayin’, how is school goin’, Sean? Your folks are very proud of you.”
“Actually, Mr. Donahue, I’m done with my schoolin’. I doubled up and got my degree early.”
“Did you now? That’s fine, lad, fine. So what are you now?” her Da asked, leaning back in his chair and lighting his pipe.
“I have a degree in Civil Engineerin’. As a matter of fact, I have an interview next week. I hope to be workin’ for the government.”
“The government? Now that’s really somethin’ isn’t it, Margaret?”
“Aye,” her mother replied.
Maeve snorted.
“Maeve, offer Sean somethin’ to drink?” her Da ordered with a frown.
“Want one?” she asked blandly, holding up her bottle.
“No, thank you. Why I really came here tonight is…well I’d like to have a word in private with you, Mr. Donahue.”
“In private, you say?” Leaning forward in his chair, her father acted like O’Malley was about to impart a bit of highly confidential, top secret, information.
“Anythin’ you have to say can be said right here,” Maeve snapped, glaring at Sean.
“Lass,” her father protested. “What’s gotten into you? I swear you’re as prickly as a porcupine. Now mind your manners. If Mr. O’Malley desires a private conversation, that’s what he shall have, and I’ll not hear any more of your sass,” he warned sharply.
“Yes, Da,” Maeve said, lowering her eyes so she didn’t have to see the satisfaction in Sean’s.
“Margaret, get us two glasses and we’ll adjourn to my study. We can talk there without bein’ disturbed,” he continued, staring meaningfully at Maeve.
“One of you is already disturbed,” she mumbled. “I’ll get the glasses, Ma.” She thought she heard Sean snort as she left the room.
* * *
Two hours later, Sean and her father came out of the study, her father obviously having trouble walking straight.
“I’ve given your hand in marriage to young Sean here,” he announced heartily.
“What?” she and her mother demanded in unison.
“Did I mumble?”
“Well, aye, actually you did,” Maeve replied, her hands on her hips.
“I said I’ve given my permission for Sean O’Malley to marry you,” he informed them with a huge grin as he staggered to his chair.
“How much whiskey did you have to pour down his throat to get him to agree to that?” she demanded, looking at Sean.
“When a man gifts another man with a bottle of whiskey, ’tis not his place to tell him how to drink it,” Sean answered with a grin.
Maeve rolled her eyes and sank to her knees before her father, taking his hands in hers. “Da, I can’t marry him,” she said earnestly.
“Canna or wilna?” he asked, slipping heavily into the brogue as he always did when drinking.
“Both.”
“You’d shame me in front of the entire town?” he demanded. “What’s wrong with O’Malley anyway? He seems a fine young lad with a good head on his shoulders.”
“He’s too bossy and arrogant,” Maeve insisted, glaring at Sean who stood leaning against the door casing, grinning.
“Ach, so is your mother and I married her,” her father cried, waving off her objections.
Maeve sighed and put her head down, waiting for the outburst. It wasn’t long coming and after her Ma had given her Da quite a large piece of her mind, she stormed from the room.
“I should have taken a stick to her years ago,” her father said sadly.
“It’s never too late,” Sean offered helpfully.
“Shut up, O’Malley,” Maeve said under her breath. “Don’t encourage him when he’s in this condition. She’ll likely clock him a good one. Come on, Da. Let Sean help you up to bed and then he and I will hash everythin’ out.”
“You won’t shame me, not after I’ve given me word?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
“I won’t shame you, Da. Now go up to bed and don’t worry your head about it.”
“Aye, you’re a good daughter,” he said, trying to rise and falling back into his chair, “even if you are a sassy lass. I have no doubt Sean here will know what to do about that.
“Come on, lad, help me up. Maybe I can fall asleep before her Ma decides she’s speakin’ to me again. Now that t’would be a blessin’,” he sighed, patting Maeve’s cheek.
Sean easily pulled him to his feet and helped him upstairs to his room. Maeve sat back down on the couch, indicating Sean should have a seat too when he returned. A few minutes later, her Ma stormed through the room and stomped upstairs.
“Is that the end of it?” he asked.
“For tonight. She won’t speak to him for several days, and she’ll walk around the house with a wounded air performin’ her ‘wifely duties’, all but one. Then he’ll get sick of it and go out and buy her a gift.”
“What kind of gift?”
“Oh a piece of jewelry she’s been covetin’ or a pretty nightgown. He’ll beg her forgiveness, and she’ll grant it, until the next time.”
“How often does this happen?” Sean asked curiously. His own Da would put a stop to the silent treatment in an entirely different, and in Sean’s mind, a more appropriate way.
“Three or four times a year, usually when he’s had a few too many pints with another bloke who makes him feel less manly. Then he spouts and sputters about how a man should be in charge of his own home, king of his castle and other nonsense. He can never quite pull it off, but he does try.”
“Maeve, did you mean what you said about not shamin’ your da?”
“Aye.”
“So you’ll marry me?”
“Unless I can figure a way out of it without embarrassin’ Da,” she informed him. “Give me a legitimate reason to break it off and you’re gone, O’Malley. Can I show you out?”
Rising, he let her lead him to the door and open it.
“Good night, darlin’,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it. “I’ll be by tomorrow night to pick you up and we’ll go to a movie or somethin’.”
“Tomorrow night I have choir practice,” she drawled, pulling her hand away.
“Then I’ll pick you up after practice. It will be a good time for us to give the Father the news.”
“Suit yourself,” she said, trying to close the door.
“One more thing,” he drawled with a smile. “The ‘pullin’ it off’ thing you mentioned; a man bein’ the boss of his own home?”
“Aye?”
“I can and will pull it off,” he assured her.
“I see, well good luck with that, O’Malley,” she smiled, planting her hand in the middle of his chest and backing him up.
Before he could reply, his nose was mere inches from the door knocker.