Chapter 7 - MAEVE’S MOTHER’S HOUSE
Maeve’s mother, Kathleen Nolan, lived forty minutes outside Chicago in a house where every chair had a blanket.
She disliked Arthur immediately.
Good.
“You're too quiet.”
Arthur blinked.
Maeve laughed.
Most people found him terrifying.
Kathleen found him insufficiently conversational.
Then:
“What do you do?”
Arthur looked at Maeve.
“Tell her.”
“Hospitality and real estate.”
Kathleen narrowed her eyes.
“That’s not all.”
“No.”
“I have a criminal history.”
Kathleen set down her tea.
“Better.”
Arthur looked confused.
“Better?”
“I don’t like euphemisms.”
Maeve’s mother and Arthur somehow became allies over precise language.
Terrible.
Maeve’s younger sister, Erin, asked if Arthur was really mafia.
Maeve nearly left.
Arthur answered:
“I was involved in organized crime.”
“Was?”
“Yes.”
“Completely done?”
Arthur considered.
“I am legally prohibited from several categories of activity.”
Maeve laughed so hard she choked.
Erin said:
“That’s the most suspicious answer possible.”
Family.
Ordinary.
Beautiful.
Then Kathleen pulled Maeve aside.
“Do you love him?”
Maeve froze.
“No.”
Her mother stared.
Maeve sighed.
“Maybe.”
“Does he love you?”
“I don't know.”
“Ask.”
Annoying woman.
Maeve did.
Weeks later.
Direct.
“Do you love me?”
Arthur nearly dropped his glass.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
He stared.
Then:
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Long enough to know rescuing me has nothing to do with it anymore.”
Good answer.
Maeve nodded.
“I love you too.”
No music.
No rain.
May you like
Bruno snored between them.
Appropriate.
