Dear Diary,

Another great night at dinner. Mrs. Langdon asked for something nice for dinner, so Moira decided on Spaghetti alla Vongole. I helped her with it, of course. I served it to them and went back to the kitchen to help Moira clean up. In the midst of washing the dishes, a plate flew past my head and smashed to pieces on the cabinet door. I turned around and she was angry as hell.

"Too much garlic!" She yelled in her southern accent. "I hate garlic!"

She stormed out and went to her room.

Violet closed her journal and tucked it in the drawer of her of her nightstand and turned the lamp out. It took her a while to get to sleep because she couldn't stop thinking about how different her life was and what could have happened if she didn't run away from home without a plan and without finishing school.

Violet was up at five the next morning. She pulled on her black dress and highlighted it with her perfectly white apron. She quietly walked downstairs and into the kitchen where she met Moira. The old woman turned and offered Violet a nod. Violet returned it and set about getting to work.

All morning the two women set about the house cleaning each room until no speck of dust existed. When that was done, Constance has come downstairs wrapped in a baby blue and lavender purple silk robe and stepped into the kitchen.

"Anything for breakfast, ma'am?" Moira asked.

"Just some tea, please, Moira." Constance waved her hand dismissively.

Moira set about her task while Violet was leaning over the counter, wiping it clean. She avoided eye contact with her boss after the events of the night before where Constance almost knocked Violet out with a sharp throw of a plate. Violet was more than grateful that she missed, but a little hesitant about her possibly missing her intentionally. She didn't even apologize, but then why would she? Violet was just the help. No one who mattered beyond the kitchen and the laundry.

Tate had just checked into the small hotel when he arrived in Clover Hill. It was the same as he remembered. The last time he'd been in this small town was when he was ten. He remembered the friendly neighbors, the birds singing in the morning and the ugly sound of his mother doing her latest husband just down the hall from his bedroom. He wondered who she was with now.

He walked into his large suite and took his bags to the bedroom. The receptionist offered for the bellhop but Tate declined it, saying he was more than capable of taking two light cases himself.

He found a large bottle of whiskey in the small liquor cabinet beside the door that connected the living room to the dining room. He poured himself a drink and took a swig from the bottle. Driving long distances made him antsy, so he used alcohol to calm him down. He heard his phone ring in the back pocket of his jeans. He fished it out and saw the caller ID. He smiled and answered it.

"Hello Kyle," he said.

"Tate, my man! Are you still coming tonight?"

"I just got in. I'm going to grab a few hours sleep, a shower and I'll see you at the church."

"Ah, you're a pal, Langdon. See you later."

Tate hung up and put his phone back in his pocket. He wondered how he managed to get so far with his writing at such a young age. He started writing poetry when he was eleven and worked up to short stories when he was sixteen. By the time he was nineteen he had finished his first novel. When he was twenty he was given the award for Best Young Writer of the 21st Century. He was still surprised that his high school crush had started expressing a great interest in him. He spent his entire high school life crushing on her, gazing at her, watching the way her lips moved when she spoke. Now he was getting married to her. Nothing could make him happier.

A knock came from the door. When he opened it, he found a man standing in the hallway.

"Mr. Langdon," he said, "this is the dinner menu for this evening. Do you require anything special, sir?"

Tate shook his head. "Not at the moment, Anthony, but thank you."

Anthony nodded and left. Tate closed the door and headed for his room, where he fell into an exhausted sleep.

That evening, Constance and Larry were expecting the McClaine family over for dinner that evening. Apparently she had been well acquainted with them and their daughter, Hayden. Violet and Moira were asked to keep quiet in the kitchen unless they were out to serve drinks or snacks. Moira had just put the roast beef in the oven and began working the fresh vegetables. Violet was peeling three dozens of potatoes for real mashed potatoes. After slicing her fingers a few times, she finally got the hang of it. She kept thinking if she would ever get the hang of her job. Serving someone to earn a living for herself didn't seem like the life she'd imagined. Then again, what kind of life could you have as a teenage runaway.

"Moira?" Violet called.

"Hm?" The woman never stopped to look at Violet.

"How long have you worked for Mrs. Langdon?"

That seemed to stop the woman's work. She set the knife down and looked around as she thought. Violet couldn't stop staring at her ghostly eye. As creepy as it was, she found comfort knowing that she wasn't so different after all.

Before she left home, Violet would go to school and have girls make fun of her. She dressed in long dresses, loose-fitted cardigans and funky hats. She smoked, which angered some girls, and she cut her wrists on a regular basis. Even in the present she still did it. She would wait until she was done for the night to sneak into the bathroom, pull out a hidden razor and sliced a line or two into her ivory skin.

"I have worked for her for nearly...thirty years."

Violet's brows rose.

"Why for so long?"

Moira shrugged and went back to her cutting and assorting of the vegetables. "She's not so bad when you get the hang of things."

Violet had finished peeling and gently planted the potatoes the boiling water and went over to help Moira with everything else. She reached over for a carrot but Moira told her no, it was her job. Violet just sat there and watched Moira work.

"How long until she learns my name?" Violet groaned.

Moira chuckled. "Quite some time. She'd be calling me another name if I had one."

"You have a last name?" Violet never knew this. The old woman was introduced to her as just plain old Moira.

She nodded. "But I don't tell anyone outside immediate family."

Violet smiled.

...

The McClaine's had followed Constance and Larry into the dining room where dinner was laid out. Constance had asked Moira to fetch a bottle of white wine from the fridge. Violet was just bringing in the last of the vegetables when she noticed a familiar face. She didn't stop to examine her because it didn't take much to put the face somewhere. It was her. It was the girl her father had cheated on her mother with. Violet immediately felt hatred and loathing towards her. She contributed to her broken family.

"Harmon," Constance said, shaking her shoulder. "Kitchen," she whispered, "now."

Violet straightened and walked back to the kitchen. As she entered she saw Moira pouring glasses of wine. Violet walked over and picked up a few glasses, much to Moira's surprise.

"I'll help," Violet said. There was a look in her eyes that Moira hadn't missed but she wasn't going to say anything.

The two maids walked back into the dining room and served the wine. Violet handed glasses to Constance, Mr. McClaine and-oops, she spilled the last glass on Hayden. Hayden squealed in surprise and jumped to her feet. She quickly wiped at the wet spot and glared at Violet. Violet couldn't help the smile that formed on her face.

"You bitch!" Hayden shouted. "Do you have any idea how much this dress cost me?"

Violet crossed her arms and smirked. "Maybe that'll teach you to mess with someone's marriage," Violet snapped.

Hayden's eyes widened in shock as she realized what the maid was talking about. It didn't take her long to figure out who this girl was because Hayden had only ever been involved with one man who was married.

"Hayden, dear, what is she talking about?" Hayden's mother asked.

Hayden was speechless. She opened her mouth the speak but closed it again, unable to get any words out.

Without another word, Constance got to her feet and grabbed Violet by the arm, shoving her into the kitchen. Violet stumbled through the doorway and almost fell over, but thankfully catching herself on the counter.

"You stupid girl," Constance hissed. "Can't you do anything right?"

Violet straightened herself out. "That girl is the reason my parents aren't together anymore!"

"That's not my problem, Miss Violet." She laughed. "You're just a teenager who doesn't know half the shit she should about being on her own. I should know."

Violet folded her arms across her chest, fighting tears. All she could think about was how much she ruined her life. But then she thought about how her life would have turned out anyway. Would her parents still have divorced? Would her mom still have run off with that cop?

"I don't care about your family or your issues, Harmon. Here, you clean my house, cook my meals and do as I say, out of my way," Constance added viciously.

Tears sprung to Violet's eyes. "I hate you you cold, heartless bitch!" She ran past Constance, grabbed her coat and left.

"Congratulations!" Tate cheered among his other friends when he found Kyle Greenwell somewhere in the church.

"Thanks, man," Kyle said, pulling Tate into a manly hug. "You coming to the reception?"

"You bet. I just have to stop by my room and then I'll head over."

"Nice. See you there." Kyle grabbed his bride around the waist and hauled their way through the large crowd of people.

...

Tate stepped into his room and went in search of his car keys. Since the church was around the corner, he didn't see the need to drive over. He found them sitting on top of the fireplace. He headed for the door but was stopped when his cell phone rang. He saw the caller ID and smiled.

"Hello Chloe," he answered.

"Hello dear," Chloe said flirtatiously, "how is my favorite boy?"

"I'm good. I'm just grabbing my keys and heading over to Kyle's reception."

"When are you coming home?" she whined.

"Chloe I told you I would be gone for the weekend."

He hated it when Chloe got needy; it got in the way of his career. He loved Chloe, more than his writing, but he was trying his best to balance the two out so one wouldn't conflict with the other. But it seemed that no matter how hard he tried, Chloe always seemed to come first. And it was beginning to get on his last nerve.

"The wedding is only tonight, Tate. You could come home tomorrow."

He rolled his eyes. "Darling, this is for a friend. I'm also visiting my hometown, cut me some slack."

"Cut you some slack?" Chloe snapped loudly. "I always cut you slack, Tate."

"No you don't. If I need time to myself you come crawling to my front door or start blasting my cellphone until I answer. I'm doing this for a friend, give me that."

"You're making me sound like a stalker," she said quietly.

Tate groaned. "Would you stop? I'm sick of you trying to keep me from things."

"How do I do that exactly?"

"Right now!" Tate raised his voice, annoyed. He found it so unbelievable as to how she couldn't see what she was doing to him. How could one person be in so much denial? As much as he loved Chloe, he sometimes couldn't wait to get away for a bit.

"Now?"

"You're badgering me about coming home early when I told you that I was here for my friend's wedding."

"And now you're seeing your old town?"

"Yes! Damn it, Chloe, I'll see you Sunday, Monday-whenever I see you." He pressed 'end' on his phone and placed it back in his pocket. He leaned against the wall and took a few deep breaths.

He thought about having a few drinks alone, so he walked over and opened the liquor cabinet. He opened the bottle of whiskey and started drinking. He immediately began to feel better. Tonight was going to be a good one.