Page 16 of Two Hit Wonder

Maeve's head snapped up. "That's not fair."

"Maybe not." Glinna set down her mug. "But it might be true. You've been up here fifteen years now, Maeve. And I love you, you're family, but have you ever asked yourself whether this is a life you've chosen or a life you've settled for because it's safe?"

"Safe is underrated."

"Safe is necessary, at first. When you're fragile. When you're putting the pieces back together." Glinna's voice was gentle now, the voice she used when she was about to say something that would hurt. "But you're not fragile anymore. You're strong. You've been strong for years. And I'm starting to wonder if all this safety is protecting you or just keeping you small."

Maeve didn't answer. Couldn't answer. The words felt like a hand reaching into her chest and squeezing.

"You've never lived anywhere else as an adult," Glinna continued. "Not sober, anyway. You came here when you were twenty. Barely out of your teens, still raw from everything that happened. And you've been here ever since. How do you know this is what you want if you've never tried anything else?"

"I know myself."

"Do you? Or do you just know who you are when you're hiding?"

The question hung in the air between them, heavy and uncomfortable.

Outside, there was a sudden commotion. A crash, a tearing sound, and then Eejit bleated in what could only be described as outrage.

Glinna frowned. "What was that?"

They both stood and looked out the window.

Eejit had somehow gotten tangled in Maeve's washing line. She'd pulled the whole thing down, probably trying to eat one of the shirts, and now she was wrapped in rope and clean laundry, thrashing in circles and making the situation exponentially worse with every movement. A pair of knickers hung from one horn like a flag of surrender.

"Oh, for the love of…" Maeve was already moving toward the door.

"Leave her, she'll sort herself out," Glinna said, but she was laughing.

"She absolutely will not sort herself out. She'll strangle herself and then I'll have to explain to your children why their sheep is dead."

The chase that followed was nothing short of absurd. Eejit, despite being thoroughly tangled, could still move remarkably fast when she wanted to. And she wanted to. She seemed to take Maeve's approach as a personal challenge, dodging around the garden with the washing line trailing behind her like some sort of odd parade float.

"Come here, you maniac," Maeve grunted, lunging.

Eejit swerved.

"I will turn you into a jumper, I swear to God."

Another lunge, another miss. Maeve's foot caught on a trailing end of rope and suddenly she was going down, hard, landing on her backside in a patch of mud that definitely hadn't been there this morning.

She sat there for a moment, stunned.

The cottage loomed above her, silhouetted against the gray sky. Stone walls, slate roof, the window where she'd sat this morning pretending not to see Iona coming up the path. Her home. Her sanctuary. The place she'd built her careful, quiet life.

This is what I want, she told herself firmly.

But unbidden, she thought of Iona's eyes. The way they'd softened when she'd said goodbye. The hope that had flickered there, even at the end. The way her name had sounded in Iona's mouth, like something holy. Like something lost.

What if she hadn't left? Fifteen years ago. What if she'd stayed, and fought, and figured out how to be broken and loved at the same time?

"Got her," Glinna announced.

Maeve blinked. While she'd been sitting in the mud having an existential crisis, Glinna had cornered Eejit against the garden wall and was methodically untangling her from the washing line. The sheep submitted to this indignity with poor grace, glaring at Maeve as if this was all somehow her fault. She was probably taking the shepherd’s pie personally, Maeve thought.

"You're free to make your own decisions," Glinna said conversationally, still working at a knot. "About the band, about your life, about whatever you want. But if you don't decide what to do about the cottage renovations, you're going to be sleeping on Charity's bedroom floor. And she's going through a phase where she wakes up on the hour, every hour."

Maeve let her head fall back against the mud with a groan.