“Clean up after yourself. Use the hamper, always put the toilet seat down, ask her how her day is and when she says fine, never, and I mean never, take that as an accurate answer. Ask in a different way to get more details or that fine will turn into a molten estrogen fueled volcano.”
“I can do that.”
“And man, you have to make sure she knows you love her and only her every single day. We’re gone a lot and that makes for trust issues even when the relationship is perfect. These are all things I’ve learned over the years. When she says she doesn’t know what she wants to eat, pick her favorite restaurant. Buy her gifts for no reason. Leave her notes,” he goes on, then pauses. “Maybe you don’t leave her notes on the steamy bathroom mirror though. Stick to pen and paper so you don’t scare the shit out of her.”
Sighing, I realize the ways in which Maeve has been ruined by Rena. Sure, it’s her sister by blood, but she would have nothing to do with that bitch if it wasn’t for me. Will I ever live it down? I have to because in a twisted way, I have Maeve because of Rena.
“Set reminders in your phone right now for any sort of anniversaries. Dating, engagement, you get the picture. Be thoughtful beyond the norm. We have to work that much harder because of our op tempo.”
My stomach turns over when I think about leaving. It always sucks leaving Turner, but now it will be a new level of awful.
“We do leave for training soon. I need to make light work of this to-do list of yours,” I admit, as I haul another box into the house. The Sharpie on the side says it’s purses, so I bring it directly to the office where I hear Maeve rustling around in the closet. “Purses have arrived.”
She stumbles out of the walk-in and her eyes light when she sees me and the box I’m holding. “There it is. My favorite box! This closet is going to work out perfectly,” she exclaims. “I’ll shift some of the linens, towels, and things to the hallway closet if that’s okay?”
“Whatever you want. Whatever,” I say, choking up. “This makes me happy, Maeve.” I set the box down and use the box opener to slice the tape. “That you’re here with us. All the time.”
Her gaze flits away from mine. “This is everything I’ve always wanted. Truly.”
It sounds true, but the hesitation in her gaze tells a different story. This has to be a lot on her plate, and I’m not about to question her motives now. Not after what Isaac just explained about making her life and adjustment easy. “Tell me if you need anything. I’ll be working on the kitchen boxes and in the garage.” I pause. “Unless you’d rather unpack the kitchen when your friends arrive?”
She taps her chin. “That’s a good point. Leave the kitchen stuff. When will Turner be back? I wanted to give him something.” Maeve is rustling around the purse box.
I tell her I’m not sure, but will send him her way as soon as he gets in with my parents. No one is happier about the ring on Maeve’s finger than my mom. She even takes full credit for it. She told me if she never left to be with Dad in Florida, I wouldn’t have made the leap into the dating world. I didn’t tell her that I made the decision before she moved out. Maeve drags the purse box into the closet and I hear her busy herself by unloading the bags onto a top shelf. After I check with Isaac to make sure the truck is empty, I head to the garage and shift a few boxes out of the path and then decide to reorganize so Maeve’s garage boxes have a place. There’s one that isn’t taped up and isn’t labeled.
Pulling a flap to peek inside, I immediately know what it is and emotion hits me square in the chest. There’s a folded flag, blue stars staring back at me. Stooping down, curiosity gets the better of me and I move the flag that covered Rexy’s coffin aside to see what else is in here—what Maeve deemed worthy of keeping. There’s a jewelry box with a necklace in it, an engagement ring looped through it. I close the lid and drop the box, feeling guilt for looking.
How long did she wear the broken promise around her neck before putting it away? I close the lid and push the box away, unable to bear the weight of what I’ll find next. I’m aware of the abuse and neglect Maeve went through as a child, but she rarely speaks about her time with Rexy which I imagine isn’t all bad. Curiosity gets the better of me and I open the cardboard box again, just as Maeve opens the door and announces, “Found it!” She’s holding a ratty looking stuffed animal. Her eyes turn to slits when she sees me and the box. “What are you doing?” Maeve swallows hard, then steps forward into the garage. “Are you going through that?”
I put up my hands, palms out. “It wasn’t taped and I was trying to find a spot for it in the garage. I wasn’t sure if there was stuff you’d need, so I glanced in.” I clear my throat. “It should probably go in the house, right?” I can’t meet her eyes.
“It’s fine. I’m not mad. I haven’t gone through that box since I moved into my place. It’s probably time.”
“Whatever you want,” I say, repeating myself again. “I’ll leave you to it, then. What’s with the stuffed animal?”
She looks at it in her hands, like she forgot about it. “Oh, it’s the one thing I’ve had since I was a baby. I wanted to give it to Turner. He might call it junk, though. It kind of is junk.”
Not if I have anything to do with it. “I’m sure he’ll love it. Have you seen that nasty dog he sleeps with?” Maeve smiles, but it falls when she looks at the box. I push it toward her.
“I can carry it inside if you want.”
She continues staring at it. “I should have left it at my house,” she exclaims, raising her voice. “I’ll bring it back there to store it.”
“You can talk about him, Maeve. It’s not going to scare me off.”
She meets my eyes and the sadness hits me heavily. “It’s more about scaring me off,” Maeve says. “I closed that chapter.”
“Just because you close a chapter or even the whole book, doesn’t mean you’re never allowed to talk about it again. In fact, I’d hazard a guess, it’s better to talk about the story. Learn something from it.”
“Do you want to go through it?” she asks, stepping forward to close the distance between us. “Together?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“What if I don’t know what’s good for me?” Maeve looks at the toy in her hand and shakes her head. “What if all I’ve ever done is push the good things away from me because I don’t think I deserve them? What if all of this is a lie?”
Picking up the box, I carry it into the house, brushing Maeve as I go by. I take it into the bedroom and set it on the dresser. I know she’s following behind because she’s sobbing softly. “Is this really about the box, Maeve?”
“Maybe,” she says, wiping under her nose. “Maybe not.”