The Mitchelle's House.
Millie sat by Jimmy who had only just now stopped crying. His eyes were red and puffy, and a light blush that turned the freckles across his nose faint, advertised the chaotic emotions boiling inside the boy.
"Why did you throw her out then?" he sniffled. "You were treating her like a monster."
Millie wore a genuine, kind smile and embraced the little boy.
"I have never hated Maeve, honey. It's true," she lied impressively. "I was just angry at her is all. Mommy gets angry too. You were also upset about Maeve never coming to visit you, right? Well, I was too. She didn't come back to apologise or to see us. She only came back because she wanted something."
These words poked at young Jimmy like thorns. He had asked Maeve where she had been but had failed to get an answer. Her absence had been gruelling these past months. The smile the girl had worn upon seeing Jimmy now seemed fake to the boy. Nomatter how he thought about it, Maeve really hadn't come to see him; a truth like this could only have dragged Jimmy's heart through a cruel wringer, and with good reason.
Maeve had been the equivalent of a nanny for Jim when he was very young. Millie and Gerald were busy people, and the boy's twin brothers had better things to do than take care of their younger sibling. Thus, Maeve had spent most of her time with Jimmy as he grew.
She fed the boy, cleaned him and entertained him, at times missing school when Millie 'failed' to hire someone to take care of Jim on weekdays. As one would expect, under such circumstances, Maeve had no choice but to grow fond of the little boy.
Her bond with Jimmy only continued to grow as he blossomed into the cute, affable, warm-hearted bundle he was now. When no one was present to tear them apart for one reason or the other, Maeve would play games with Jimmy, share little snacks the little boy had been given by his parents and even sleep together. They were thick as thieves.
Over the last several months, Jimmy couldn't possibly have forgotten Maeve or what she meant to him, but seeds of doubt had been successfully planted in his heart about Maeve's feelings towards him.
"What… what did she want?" he asked, his voice cracking. Jimmy could feel himself turning warm with fury.
Millie's lip curled upward at the sight. She stroked his black hair.
"Something none of us can give her, honey," she said. "Something no one at all can give."
A few minutes later, Millie left Jimmy in his room. She gave a deep sigh.
Her expression quickly changed as she walked towards the lounge where Gerald was. The large man was seated on the sofa, his eyes staring blankly at the television. He was battling monstrous thoughts.
Millie's calm visage crumbled. She sat on Gerald's lap and poured out her anxieties.
"We shouldn't have gotten so comfortable!" she hissed in his ear. "We should have just—"
"There's nothing we can do about that now. Everything is already on the table," Gerald said while pinching the bridge of his nose.
Millie was shaken.
"We allowed that thing to get so close to Jimmy! What if she had—" she began.
"She couldn't have. We had measures in place, didn't we?" Gerald cut her off and looked her in the eye. "What's done is done. Now, all we can do is wait and hopefully..."
He broke off, but his intent was clear.
***
"You were right. We definitely didn't need to hire a hauling company for this. Whoo! It feels like you're just staying for the weekend," said Bridget as she parked the sedan in the driveway.
"That's a comment you should have made when you were helping me load my stuff in the car," Maeve said with a frown from the passenger seat.
"I was making room for your stuff in the backseat and trunk," Bridget defended herself with a bright smile and a cackle as she got out of the car.
Bridget had picked up Maeve after she had gotten off work. She had been so pleased by her friend's decision to move into her parents' house that she had forgotten to chew her out about casually ditching work – again.
As to what had possessed Maeve to change her mind merely a day after she had shot down Bridget's invitation, Bridget herself didn't want to know yet. She hoped her bright mood would last a bit longer.
The night sky was a dirty canvas with the same, consistent layer of innumerable shards of twinkling brilliance that perfected the darkness after every eve. A half moon gave sullen light below, but the artificial radiance humanity honed on its own over centuries rejected it, mocking it.
The view of the Single-Family home in front of the two ladies gave a better homey feel than Maeve could have imagined. It had been a while since she had been here. Again, the idea that she needed to not be alone for now was reinforced in her mind. She took a whiff of the clean air as she carried her bags.
The untended lawn, the lights beaming from inside the house, turning its brownish hue on the outside to a dirty gold, and the scattered toys and shoes on the porch gave Maeve a warm feeling. Only she knew Millie Mitchelle would never have tolerated any of it.
Maeve almost found herself smiling. Almost.
'I should have done this a long time ago,' she thought, pushing back the feeling of unease that bubbled within her.
"Come on, you b-word. Hurry up," said Bridget with a skip in her step. She almost fell with the heavy satchel she was carrying.
Maeve sighed and grunted, "Yeah, yeah."
As they approached the front door, two figures dashed out. One was a young man with long, lank hair that hung in atrocious bangs over his eyes. The other was a small boy of no more than six years of age, with a shape that looked distinctly like a beach ball.
Maeve stopped in her tracks when she saw him.
The round boy rushed over to Bridget while wearing a bright smile while the young man crossed his arms and leaned on the door frame.
"Did you bring me anything today, Bridget?" asked the boy energetically.
The short girl sighed and passed her satchel to him.
"Just carry this in, will you?" she commanded and the boy nodded furiously. The wind nearly swept out of his lungs as he heaved the satchel, but he managed somehow. He then to turned to Maeve and beamed.
"Wow! Your friend has beautiful yellow eyes, Bridget!" the boy said.
Maeve first tilted her head in confusion.
'Yellow eyes...?'
Her thoughts spun for a moment, and then realisation hit her like a bus.