The sun had long since gone down, and temperatures cooled to a nice evening. Maëlle had been gravitating towards the river that abutted the back of the property ever since the her change, and being out in the countryside and nocturnal had given her freedom and inclination to meander about every evening after the moon rouse and good folk had gone to bed. Which is a good thing because moving through the forest quietly was well out of her ability, which sparked the yell from the waterside, “Would you mind parking your herd of elephants a bit further back, they’re scaring the fish!”

Maëlle didn’t take much heed. “You never catch anything anyway you old codger.”

“That’s because I take pity on your morose existence half the time and fish down here” Albert mumbled as Maëlle batted away more Spanish moss and started to look for a place to sit on the riverside. Albertfloated a few feet out, the single light on his outboard motor boat pointed directly down to the river surface. “Mosquitoes are out bad too, hope you brought something or you’ll need a blood transfusion in the morning.”

Maëlle just chuckled, her skin as far has she found, was impervious to the vampiristic buggers. Albert wasn’t technically blind, but he couldn’t be far from it. Maybe it was years of night fishing, or refusing to ever visit an optometrist (I can’t afford them damn bills, and don’t get me started on insurance!), or maybe just age, Maëlle pegged him somewhere between eighty-five and five hundred, but Albert was completely ignorant of Maëlle unusual deformities.

“Would you stop pacing around? You’re making things worse now.” Albert grouched as he pulled in his line and rebaited the hook. Looked to be with last night’s leftovers.

Maëlle continued to overturn stones and shoving logs to find a comfortable place to sit where she could lounge a bit in the water, she found it more relaxing that way.

“Well, if you would stick to one fishing spot, I wouldn’t always have to be finding ground not occupied by snakes or mud.”

“You go where the fish go, I swear, how do you grow up out here and keep yourself this ignorant of basic life skills.”

“I find all my fish nice and simple in my freezer, breaded and ready for the microwave.”

“That ain’t fish, that’s cardboard. You wouldn’t know a fish if it bit your toe off.”

  “Do I really have to listen to this? I haven’t eaten, I have no clean clothes, and am now sitting in the mud. It has been a lovely day.”

“You think that’s rough? My hemorrhoids are flaring up, sitting in this boat ain’t helping any, I couldn’t sleep last night cause I got up every five minutes to go to the bathroom, and now I have to hear you bellyache about laundry. I miss the old days when I fished in peace.”

“Just face it, you’re a miserable old man, and I’m the only person who listens to your bitching these days.”

A soft harrumph could be heard from the boat. It was their way. They were each lonely, dissatisfied people who made other people just as unhappy as they were. Luckily for them, they each felt as discontent as they thought they could possibly be, and hence had no depressing downward spiral effect on each other. They spent the night bemoaning each their own life. For two such completely selfish personalities, they actually managed to make each more human by the contact. They were acquaintances who never pretended to be more than what they were, miserable people hiding from the world, and therefore must be called friends for lack of a better term. To voice her complaints, to meander through them with such detail and repeat the inflections in her own mind and aloud over and again, to only come to the conclusion that this was a trial she would certainly not escape easily or gracefully, was a new burden on Maëlle. However, the balm of company is such that after bemoaning their existence until an obscene hour of the night then each departed to his or her own house, not per say happier, but more apt to deal with the world in a less hostile mood.

Maëlle had no idea what came next. She was laying in her bedroom again. It was early evening she thought. She couldn’t be sure but she pegged it at six thirty nine. She checked the phone on the night stand. It was seven twenty one. Shoot. Way too late to call Colefax again. Maëlle had already forgotten that she decided to wait until Max visited the grocery store to call and order Colefax to cart her away. Her stomach quickly reminded her of this fact as it gurgled and gulched that it hadn’t eaten last night or today yet. This was a problem. No sounds emitted from downstairs so Maëlle had no idea where the kid was. Actually, Maëlle realized she didn’t truly know if the girl was a kid at all, maybe she was in her late twenties, she hadn’t really been focused on that type of details in their one and only face to face meeting. This was all beside the point, right now the question was how would Maëlle get food. After much deliberation, Maëlle decided she wouldn’t be kept from food in her own house. There was something to be got in the kitchen and she would have some dinner, or more accurately breakfast, despite the home invader.

    The difference in the house was astonishing Maëlle found just by opening the door to the hallway. The damp and mildewed pile of clothes spilling out of the bathroom into the hallway had been moved and sorted down the hall in front of the washing room, evidence of moping was also present in a faint pine scent. Maëlle had no gratification in this attention, just a delight to see a lack of any other living soul which she hoped would continue for an indefinite period. The hope was soon smashed. On entering the kitchen Maëlle found the invader materialize, eating a sandwich and watching the small counter-top television. Their eyes met; a syllable greeting passed between each—Max turned back to her program. Max said something about sandwich fixings and gestured with her back still turned to a counter with every indication of a comfortable and at easy footing. Maëlle struggled with the knife and packaging, the room full of soft breathing, voices, and a heavy feeling of being watch though Max’s eyes stayed trained on the television ever since their short exchange. Maëlle completed her sandwich and was gone, loudly lumbering her way back to his bedroom with a plate of sandwiches and anxiety.

    ‘It’s over. Nothing happened’ she repeated to herself again and again. ‘The worst is over and now I can go about free in my own house.’

    But the relief didn’t follow the words in her head. Certainly the first meeting was over, but what did she expect from it. The girl to jump up and scream, laugh, run from the room? The shock from the first unexpected meeting days ago began to wear off and Maëlle could reason with herself again instead of rationalize the events of the last two days. Three years, three years she’d relied on Colefax to randomly bring groceries and supplies and he’d adjusted Maëlle’s idiosyncrasies and demands before the transformation. Was she indifferent to Maëlle’s appearance or repulsed now? Maëlle dismissed the question, and its implications, immediately though it did have the beneficial effects of chasing away the anxiety and leaving only a deep mortification for all that had passed. It stopped the spinning thoughts and worries in her head and for that she was grateful.

Colefax was getting on in years and didn’t have the same zeal for the job he once showed. He never got into litigation, and now liked to avoid courts entirely if he could. He wished only to keep a few clients to maintain his current lifestyle and to push off any unpleasant responsibilities to secretaries or interns. This was especially true when dealing with Maëlle. Here was a client he dearly wished to drop, and yet could not seem to find a solution. The girl trusted no one, and if Colefax were to drop her without good cause he truly did believe Maëlle would stop at nothing to ruin any part of Colefax’s life. So to maintain an rather simple life, like most of us Colefax put up with a few uncomfortable truths. Maëlle was his client, and Maëlle never made anything easy. After Maëlle’s illness, the term Colefax had come to use, she’d ordered Colefax to do a certain amount of delivery work, groceries and the like at various intervals. Colefax had tried to suggested a suitable live-in assistant to keep the grounds, prepare meals, and do general repair and cleaning but had been rejected, along with a more reserved assistant of sorts who could run errands pick up packages or supplies and the like and would only be communicated with by phone. As these weren’t to Maëlle’s paranoid tastes, the tasks fell to Colefax and it was not an easy task, finally being allowed power of attorney helped, but not enough. So, once Colefax finally found out what all the late night calls, and hang ups from Maëlle were about, he finally thought his biggest problem might fade into a distant bad memory.

“Actually Maëlle, despite you skepticism I think this might be a great opportunity for you,” said Colefax.

“Wait, what? Are you crazy?”

“Well, from what you’ve been telling me all she’s doing is some basic yard work and cleaning. Not many people what that type of job, let alone volunteer for it without seeing a salary. She probably needs a job and isn’t too particular.”

“Yeah, so what if she’s some sort of freak, or murderer, or thief. I don’t want to end up dead and no one finds out about it for months until hikers find my dead body,” Maëlle continued.

“You are right to be concerned, but I don’t think throwing out this Max girl is the right answer. That must be a nick name, we should find out her legal one. How about this? I’ll write up a work contract, get her settled with a nice salary and we can do a background check, fingerprints, and any sort of confidentiality agreement we want to make sure nothing about you gets out to the public?”

There was only slight grumbling on the other end of the phone so Colefax soldiered on, “Yes, this will work out wonderfully, you can sleep feeling safe and legally secure and will have nothing to worry about any longer. You will find this so much more to your satisfaction that waiting on me to get all the way out there on my busy schedule, don’t worry about a thing. From now on you’re all taken care of and will forgotten how you used to have to rely on a silly old man like myself. Someone your own age will be much more agreeable to you. Just have her drive over to my office tomorrow and I’ll get it all sorted out for you. You sleep well now, bye-bye.” Colefax waited for only the briefest of assertions from Maëlle before hanging up and gleefully began writing up contracts and forms.

The more Max spent time in the house the more time she had to reflect on her own new position, and the more she realized how peculiar it seemed. It wasn’t required, there were other places she could go and family who would help she knew. It certainly wasn’t appreciated by Maëlle who still complained if she wasn’t outright ignoring her. Max wondered why she enjoyed it here easily and concluded it may just be the mundane task of cleaning. Max was strong and healthy and had an active mind ready to be exercised which detested seeing what was a great structure falling into disrepair. It didn’t seem right that something created with such care and resources should be broken and destroyed for no good reason, and Max decided her new goal would be to repair the house to what it once was.

Armed with a roll of trash bags and a broom Max made her way to what she called the library. It only boasted a few shelves of books, but the room didn’t have any other apparent function. Armchairs were placed in groups in front of the fireplace and about the room and in one corner set a massive desk with a shiny computer while opposite was apparently a five foot tower of junk mail. Judging by the state of the room Max was beginning to wonder how long the house had been this way. Dust flew everywhere anytime something moved and no clear surfaces were to be found. Max had just discovered a wet bar underneath the mountain of junk mail in the corner when the doorbell rang. It took Max a few seconds to recognize the sound. The last time she’d heard it, she’d been in the outside world herself. The visitor rang again as Max rushed down the hallway, following up the bell with a firm brisk knock. Max slid to a stop and opened the door just as the bell rang out a third time to find a lone woman on the porch, smiling brightly. Her appearance had more style than sense as evidenced by the three inches of mud on her dark high heels but she seemed determined to make a good impression.

“Ms. Bellany? So nice to meet you, I’m Glenda Stiles, Realtor, and I’ve been ever so anxious to meet you.”

In a manner of seconds she’d been able to place one foot squarely in the front hall, begin a verbal assault of praise and squeals of laughter, and capture Max’s hand in a determined handshake aimed at backing her further into the hallway. Max was completely unprepared to deal with Ms. Glenda Stiles.

“I’m actually the maid” Max forced out finally during Ms. Stiles monologue of the plantations previous owner’s and her personal association, or lack thereof, with them. Max felt silly calling herself a maid, feeling like she should have said ’housekeeper’ instead, but had to admit it did accurately describe her position and she couldn’t put her finger on why one sounded better to her than the other, and it shut up Ms. Stiles for a full three seconds.

“Excuse me? Oh, well if you could just fetch Ms. Bellany for me, I just have some business to discuss with him.”

    “I’m sorry she’s not available to ’fetch’, but I can tell her you stopped by.” Max moved to stand firmly in her way. Ms Stiles moved to the right and peered into the dark dining room. “Such grand furniture in this place, still so historical.”

Max moved to herd her back towards the door again. She looked up the stairs, “Are you sure Ms. Bellany isn’t available? This will be ever so quick.” Max had one hand on the door and the other barred against the doorframe and a less pleased Ms. Stiles finally back on the front porch.

    “Sorry I can’t help you,” Max said closing the door. “You might try calling instead next time.” Max locked the front door with a click and watched Ms. Stiles climb back into her car and drive away.

    “Don’t you dare let anyone in this house,” followed a growl from upstairs. Max turned, but could only see a dim form in the shadows.

    “I wasn’t, but as you saw she was a very persistent woman. If she actually calls later what should I do?”

    “Tell her I’m not available, obviously.”

And that was the end of that Max hoped and she went back to cleaning the library.

Albert long held the station as the plantation’s Mr. Fix-it and all around handy man. Anytime an extra set of hands was needed Albert would come down in an ancient peeling pickup truck and his top speed of twenty miles per hour and lend a hand. Albert himself was a shriveled old man by this time, back bowed from years of hard unending work, but his arms and legs were still strong underneath his dark wrinkled skin. A soft spoken and just generally quite he patched things up in a methodical, if extremely slow way. Why Maëlle didn’t concern herself with Albert knowing her condition is anyone’s guess. Possibly it was the number of conspiracy theories that were the only thing that made Albert really talkative. Maybe it was just the fact he’d always worked on the plantation and Maëlle considered him a part of the infrastructure like the driveway or the walls, either way neither one of them made any particular note of it. So when the washing machine broke and neither Max nor Maëlle could fix it by banging it about or threatening it, Maëlle gave permission to call Albert in. Max found working with Albert required an unprecedented about of patience since the old man’s specialty seemed to checking every gear and wire from the simplest to the most complicated in an agonizingly slow pace. Max set quietly buy why while he examined the door , she held the flash light patiently while Albert tinkered with the dials, when they finally had the machine apart and scattered across the floor her mind finally began to wander. Still casually tossing a flathead screwdriver from hand to hand in boredom Max studied the geezer intently, trying to figure out the secrete to his success with winning Maëlle over when so few had, and even fewer had wanted to. The fact that Maëlle actively sought out Albert’s company to visit at night was a bizarre fact so unlike the disfigured recluse Max didn’t know what to make of it. Albert certainly didn’t win him over with any superficial gifts or favors, the man was poor as a church mouse, so that meant Maëlle had his respect in some way. Gaining respect could go a long way in making Max’s life easier, but her recent behavior made that goal more out of reach than when she first entered the house.

“Say Albert, how long have you worked here?” Max asked finally in what she hoped was an offhand tone.

“Oh, I’d say since the Bellany’s bought this place. Well over twenty years.” Unlike many persons of age, Albert didn’t have a tendency to start talking and keep on going. His words were gems that only came to the most diligent of prospectors. For any real information you had to sound out the vein and work tirelessly to uncover the real heart of the matter. Fortunately for Max, the washing machine wasn’t going to be fixed any time soon.

“What happened to Mr. and Ms Bellany?”

“Passed away some time ago.”

Max signed but tried not to sound annoyed, “what happened, do you know?”

“Car accident I think. No alcohol involved, I think some poor kid just hit them.”

Silence stretched forth as Max wondered what to ask next. She felt pursuing the subject so laboriously was morbid when the information source required such detailed questions. Albert surprised Max by speaking up voluntarily, apparently the man’s thoughts just spent an extraordinary amount of time making their way from the brain to his mouth.

“Yep, real sudden the whole thing was. Then again, death typically is. They all tended to get in each other’s way and fight a lot, the Bellany’s. Maëlle’s isn’t the easiest to handle, and she was at that age when folks and their kids disagree constantly. Testing the reins, so to say. Always sad when family doesn’t get to make amends to each other before their time is up though, leaves lots of anger behind.”

    As the unprecedented speech came to a close finally, Max was anxious to keep Albert talking.

“So Maëlle didn’t always have such a bad temper?”

“Oh no, the girl’s always been mean.”

Max waited, but Albert’s earlier speech really was an anomaly.

“But you two are friends, right?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“How’d that come about?”

“I guess Maëlle just wants someone to talk to at night. “

“While you fish?”

“Yep.”

They worked on in silence. Max really wanted to ask how Maëlle came to look the way she did, but was too embarrassed to bring it up. It seemed too personal a question and she didn’t want Albert reporting back to Maëlle that Max was digging into her personal life. Her offenses of late seemed too great to add nosey to them. While she’d gained no knowledge of import, the degree she had to interrogate Albert to get even casual information made Max feel overly inquisitive. A careful observer could probably tell more from Max’s questions than they could gleam from Albert’s answers. Max felt she better understood why Albert was allowed so freely about the plantation. They worked on the washer for a few more hours, mostly in silence.

“I’ll need to go to the appliance store and look at some parts I guess, “Albert admitted finally. “You can do without the machine for a few days I supposes. I’ll make it back on Wednesday.”

Max didn’t object, Albert’s schedule was always his own making and was never a quick fix. To insist on a sooner time would do little, and truth being the laundry didn’t pile up that quickly with only two people in the house. A few days without washing would make little difference to Max and Maëlle wouldn’t notice it at all probably. Max helped Albert load up his tools into the rusty bed of the truck, but as Albert climbed into the tobacco stained interior he had one more surprise for Max. Lighting up a cigarette he said, “Maëlle could use a friend like you. See you on Wednesday now,” and drove off. Max watched him drive all the way down the drive and onto the road, not sure what to make of the old man.