Meg felt giddy—drunk—as the train chugged toward Belfast. Maybe I am still drunk? The hum vibrated within whilst she dreamt of Mary during the entire trip. She touched her lips often, fingering the slight swelling and recalling the pressure of Mary’s sweet lips on hers. It didn’t cross her mind to fret about what they’d done, the line she’d crossed … until she arrived on the doorstep of 50 Moore’s Place.
The hum disappeared but a throbbing head returned, and her mood plummeted to the dark level it reached every Sunday night at home. She entered the house in as black a mood as she’d ever experienced. After helloing from the hall, she stomped upstairs and unpacked, hanging the beautiful dress in the tightly packed armoire the sisters shared.
It was well past Sunday teatime and when she ret
