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Sunday

Maisie hadn't slept a wink on Friday after doing the dirty deed.

Her worry only increasing as the sky outside her window changed from black, to gold and pink, to blue and black again, without receiving any response from Calum.

By the time Sunday rolled around, Maisie was a mess.

She felt out of place at church. Her squirming and fidgeting not passing unnoticed by Luke who sat behind her.

Maisie was always still at church. He would know. He watched her. Watched the way she swayed microscopically to the music, studied the way the stained glass reflected on her blonde hair, turning into a rainbow of dancing light, and looked forward with anticipation to the portion of the mass where she turned to shake his hand, his large sweaty palm feeling at home in her small, soft, cold one.

On the Sunday in question however she was too hunched forward almost as if she were in pain. She hadn't done her hair, instead she'd left it balled up in a bun near the nape of her neck, and when her parents and brother turned to shake his hand, she stood unmoving, staring down at her feet.

The air smelled like the usual olfactory chorus of perfumes and colognes mixed with moth balls, wood, burning candles and incense. However it was tainted with the unpalatable stench of guilt. The guilt in the air was dense like a fog and thick like smoke. Nearly impossible to see through and making breathing a chore, the guilt lingered over the pews in front of and behind Maisie. It pushed in above her and beside her and pressed up beneath her, the first of the guilt squeezing somehow both her heart and her throat, twisting her stomach and running through her mind, knocking over everything in its path as she went.

It was this mental absence that Luke noticed and it scared him.

He wanted to pull Maisie against his chest and squeeze whatever ailed her out. But he could not.

It wasn't until his mother stopped to converse with hers that he could make any attempt at consolation at all.

Watching her downcast head carefully, he stuck out a foot and lightly poked the toe of her shoe with his.

Startled, Maisie looked up.

"Are you okay?" Luke questioned, in a voice quiet enough to go undetected by the mothers, yet loud enough for her to hear the words which were only for her.

Surprised, Maisie forced a harsh, vigorous nod.

"Promise?" Luke asked.

Again she nodded, for far too long Luke nodded, before she spoke, "Yeah, I'm fine."

Luke dropped it then, realizing that pushing her would do nothing other than push her away.

The attempt seemed halfhearted from a distant, but for Luke, he'd done all he could. He'd never been one to pry. He cared, far too much for far too many people, but he cared from afar. He didn't get involved, he didn't get dangled in drama or ensnared in the middle of things. He was there, in the corner if you looked, with his arms outstretched ready for you to walk into them, but you had to notice, and hardly anyone ever did.

Their mothers' conversation over the two then went their separate ways with a forced smile one Maisie's part and an awkward wave on Luke's.

The two could sense the discomfort and unease in the air, and hated it, but little did they know it was going to get worse, much worse. It was the peace before the storm.