Page 84 of Two Hit Wonder

"Be honest with me now." Glinna set down her mug. "How do you actually feel? Not what you think you should feel. What do you actually feel?"

Maeve stared at the cold fireplace. The ashes from her last fire were still there, gray and dead.

"Guilty," she said finally. "About Ellie. The way I reacted when she told us. She's sick and scared and I made it about me. I said things I shouldn't have said."

"And?"

"And she deserves an apology. A real one."

Glinna nodded slowly. "Good. That's good. Ellie needs to hear that from you. What else?"

"The rest…" Maeve shook her head. "I don't know how to feel about the rest. They lied to me. All of them. Even Iona knew things she never told me. And I understand why, I do. But it doesn't make it hurt less."

"And the punch?"

Maeve flinched. "I don't remember doing it. I can't even picture it. But I must have, because Cam wouldn't lie about that, and Iona's never denied it. So somewhere in my brain there's a version of me that hit the woman I love, and I can't find her. I can't apologize to Iona properly because I don't even remember what I'm apologizing for."

Glinna was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, "You know, you can’t be a sponsor without being an alcoholic."

"I know that," Maeve said, though she’d never known the drinking Glinna. Glinna had been sober for years by the time Maeve came along.

"My mother’s engagement ring," Glinna said. She looked down at the floor, then up again, defiantly.

Maeve frowned. "I don't understand."

"I stole it." Glinna's voice was matter-of-fact, but her hands were tight around her mug. "When I was drinking. I was young, barely more than seventeen, and I needed money for booze. So I took my mother's engagement ring and I pawned it."

Maeve stared at her. In all the years she'd known Glinna, in all the meetings and the late-night phone calls and the cups of tea at this very kitchen table, she'd never heard this story.

"My dad went to buy it back," Glinna continued. "But it was gone, sold on for a hell of a lot more than I got for it. My mother cried for three days. She forgave me eventually. Said she understood, said it was the disease, said I wasn't myself. And she was right, I wasn't. But I still did it."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I'm forty-two years old and it's still the worst thing I've ever done." Glinna met her eyes. "I've been sober a long time. I've raised six children, I've kept a farm running, I've done things I'm proud of. But that ring is still there. I still think about it. Not every day anymore, but often enough."

"That doesn't help."

"I know. But here's the thing." Glinna leaned forward. "The only good thing about hitting rock bottom is knowing that the only way left is up. You can't fall any further. The worst has already happened. Now you get to decide what you do next."

Maeve shook her head. "I've ruined everything. That's what I do. I destroy things. First the band, then my whole life, now this. Whatever this was supposed to be."

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

Glinna stood up, brushing off her skirt. "Or maybe not. Maybe you just think you ruined things. Or maybe you deliberately ruined things and you were looking for an excuse to come back to a safer world. You've got some thinking to do, Maeve MacDonnell. I'm not going to sit here and tell you what to feel or what to do, because frankly that's never worked on you. But I'll be back in the morning, and we can talk more then."

"You're leaving?"

"I've got six children who'll burn the house down if I'm gone much longer, and you need time to sit with this." She paused at the door. "Also, Hamish came home saying a new word and I need to have a conversation about when it’s appropriate to use and when it’s not."

Maeve winced. "Sorry."

"You will be. I'm sending him to you tomorrow for vocabulary enrichment. We'll see how funny swearing is when you're explaining the concept of appropriate context to a seven-year-old." She pulled on her coat. "Get some rest. Eat something. I'll see you in the morning."

The door closed behind her, and Maeve was alone.

THE SONG LAY on her desk, half-written lyrics scattered across three different pieces of paper. She'd been working on it for hours now, but hadn’t added a single thing.