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So she could bite her lip and suffer through a bruised wrist and a cut foot.
No problem.
There was nothing she wouldn’t do for her uncle.
Sadness flooded her along with resolution. She’d continue to take care of him. It was the very least that she owed him.
7
Two hours later, Maggie limped tiredly down the stairs. Her foot was throbbing along with her wrist.
Crap. She was falling apart.
But at least Uncle Willy was sleeping now. And he’d likely wake up with no recollection of what had happened. That was a blessing. She knew he’d be devastated if he ever found out that he’d hurt her.
She’d found a box in a storage room down the end of the corridor and had carefully picked up the pieces of the broken vase and put them in the box. And she’d managed not to cut herself again.
So, yay her!
She walked toward the back door, intending to take the glass to the rubbish bin outside. She froze as she saw a familiar figure enter the house.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
He stared at her for a long moment. “Why aren’t you asleep?
“Uh-uh. I asked first.”
A frown crossed his face.
“You know, you’re going to give yourself crow’s feet if you keep frowning like that. Actually, never mind. Too late.”
“Why are you sneaking around in the dead of night?”
“I am not sneaking.”
He gave her a look of disbelief.
“I was moving quietly so as not to disturb anyone. I was being considerate. Of course, I don’t expect you to recognize that, seeing as you’ve never been considerate of anyone in your life.”
“Little Misfit, you are close to pushing me too far.”
Hmm. That sounded like an invitation to push a bit more . . . and why was he calling her little? She wasn’t that small.
But as she opened her mouth, a wave of exhaustion washed through her. What was she doing? She didn’t usually go around antagonizing people for fun.
She needed to have more control than this.
“Why were you sneaking around?” he demanded.
“Again, I wasn’t sneaking. Sneaking implies that I was doing something nefarious. If I were, I wouldn’t get caught. I walk lightly. Not all of us are built like elephants. I was taking this out to the bin.” She rattled the box she held.
He glanced down at it.
“I broke a vase. See? No grand conspiracy. I’m not trying to discover any state secrets. I doubt they’re hiding in the bin. Although maybe I’m wrong. And if I did find them, what would I even do with them?”
“You’re rambling.”
Because she was bone-dead tired. And if one more person insulted her, yelled at her, or asked her to do something, she just might cry.
