11 - Maeve
I finally popped the question in Kathleen’s kitchen, at tea time, using as much diplomacy as I could, given how she eluded most questions about her life. But a house could not lie, and the children’s room has been kept in a spotless state.
The kitchen had that old-fashioned feeling with cupboards painted the color of the sky about to rain on you, a cloudy gray. A countertop made of dozens of white ceramic tiles uplifted the mood. I spotted a square brown bottle of fine whisky on a high shelf, probably waiting for an emergency. A fine sheen of dust told me it was rarely used.
A half-moon table, painted in the same cloudy gray as the cabinets, was propped against the side window. Three chairs, with solid no-nonsense legs and high backs, attended the gray table. Next to the wind
