Catch of the Day

“Any questions?”

“Nope.”

“You’re getting a raise this week.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” he agrees.

Octavio is excellent at getting raises. Last year he got a whopper by not talking about that guy I’d met, and now he’ll get one for just being kind. “I wish I were as cool as you, Octavio,” I say.

“Keep trying,” he answers encouragingly.

At eight-thirty, Father Tim comes in and slides into his usual booth. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. “Good morning, Maggie,” he says gently. Rolly and Ben halt their conversation shamelessly, and the board of education members in the corner drop their discussion on cutting the art program. It’s to be expected?I’m the best show in town.

“Oh, Father Tim,” I sigh. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. I hope I didn’t embarrass you, though I certainly embarrassed myself.”

He smiles ruefully. “Not to worry, Maggie, not to worry.” He allows me to pour him a cup of coffee. “Maggie, sit with me a moment, won’t you, dear?”

I obey. He smells like damp wool and grass, the smell of Ireland, though he’s been in America for six years now. His hands are elegant and smooth, and I hide my own hands in my lap, conscious as always that they’re rough and red, the hands of a much older woman.

“Maggie, I’ve been thinking about our little problem here,” he says in a low voice. His eyes are kind, and my heart squeezes with painful, hopeless love. “This…this crush on me, it’s getting in the way of things, isn’t it?”

I nod, feeling the blush creep down my neck. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“I’ve given it some thought, Maggie, dear, and I wondered if I might help you in some way.” He takes a sip of coffee, then cocks his head. “What would you think if I set you up with some proper men?”

My mouth drops open. “Uh…well…um…Excuse me?”

“Well, Maggie, I think it might help you, ah, move on, shall we say, if you’d a nice man in your life, don’t you think?”

Humiliation sloshes through my limbs. The priest is trying to fix me up. Oh, God. “Um…I…”

“Proper men, as I said. Believe or not, I know a few.”

“Okay, um, well, what exactly do you mean by proper men?”

Tim leans back in the booth, takes a sip of coffee. “Well, Catholic would be the best place to start, of course.”

“How optimistic you are,” I say. “Single Catholic men in Gideon’s Cove. I can think of one, Father Tim, and he’s eighty years old and a double amputee. Plus, he’s already proposed, and I turned him down.”

Father Tim chuckles. “Ah, Maggie, ye of little faith.” He pauses and glances toward the counter. “Would you mind if I grabbed one of those muffins? I haven’t had breakfast yet.”

A pang of guilt makes a direct hit. Here he is, hungry and unfed, trying to solve my problems. “Sure, Father Tim! Of course! Whatever you want. Would you rather have pancakes? Or an omelet? I can have Octavio make you something more substantial than a muffin.”

“Well, now, that would be lovely. If it’s no trouble, that is.” He tells me what he wants and I call the order to Octavio.

“Judy,” I ask. “Would you bring this out to Father Tim when it’s ready?”

Judy sighs hugely, then nods, undeterred from reading the paper. “Can I have some more coffee?” Rolly asks.

“Why don’t you just help yourself?” she answers, gesturing in the direction of the coffeepot. I hop up and refill his cup, then return to Father Tim.

“All right then,” Father Tim says. “Now, bear with me, Maggie, because I know that when it comes to dating, you haven’t had much luck. But you’re also a bit on the fussy side, aren’t you?”

“Well, I don’t really think so,” I answer. Am I? Granted, I’m not Chantal, whose male friends require only a beating heart, but I don’t think I’m really fussy, either….

“I think it’s better if you keep an open mind. I’ll have the gentlemen give you a call, and you can arrange a meeting and have a chat. How’s that, dear?”

After Gifted Roger, I think I’d rather feed myself to sharks than go on another blind date. “Yeah…no,” I say.

“Maggie,” Father Tim says, frowning slightly. “Let me be blunt.” I wince, but he continues. “You’re a lovely girl, but I think you need a little help when it comes to dating.”

From a priest? I yelp in my head.

“We can’t have you embarrassing yourself every time we run into each other, now, can we?” Father Tim whispers, smiling sweetly.

I slide lower in the booth. My fists are clenched so hard in mortification that the skin over my knuckle cracks. My knee bumps Father Tim’s, and I jolt upright in my seat.

“Think of it as your penance, Maggie,” he says, eyes twinkling. “For overindulging last night.”

“What about forgive and forget?” I mutter. “Turn the other cheek? Go and sin no more?”

“Save it, lass, you’re with a professional. I won’t take no for an answer.”

I sigh. Rolly spins on his stool toward me. “I think you should try it, sweetheart,” he offers.

“Thanks, Rolly.” I close my eyes. “Okay, Father Tim. But you have to promise that they’ll be good, okay? Real possibilities.” I think for a minute. “Hey, what about Martin Broulier? He’s single, isn’t he?” Martin works out of town, a seemingly nice guy in his forties, maybe, not bad-looking. His wife and he divorced about a year ago.

Father Tim’s face brightens as Judy trudges over with his plate. “Thank you, Judy, darlin’, thank you. That’s lovely.” He takes a bite and closes his eyes in pleasure. “About Martin, no. He’s divorced.”

I frown. “Can’t we be Vatican II about this?”

“Well, Maggie, you couldn’t get married in the church, and we wouldn’t want that, would we? It wouldn’t be a true marriage. Unless he can get an annulment, that is.”

Maybe I’ll check Martin out on my own, outside the auspices of the papal police here. Father Tim continues. “No, I’ve a few ideas. I spoke with Father Bruce at St. Pius, and we’re sure we’ll come up with something.”

Great. Two priests plotting my love life. Sadly, they’ll probably be better at it than I am. I have nothing to lose, I suppose, having tossed away my dignity many times before. In fact, maybe this will work better. Having your friends pick out someone for you isn’t a bad way to meet a man. Father Tim knows me, he likes me?surely he’ll pick someone decent.

“Yeah. Okay,” I say, my enthusiasm rising. “Thank you, Father Tim. I mean, after last night, I can’t believe you’re even talking to me, let alone fixing me up on a date. God, I was such a jerk! I’m so sorry. Again.”

“Water under the bridge, Maggie,” he says around a mouthful. “Georgie! How are you, lad?”

“Hi! Hi, Maggie! Hi, Tim! It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it, Maggie? It smells so nice in here! I love the smell in here, don’t you, Tim?” Georgie slides in next to me and buries his face against my breast. “Hi, Maggie!”

“Hi, Georgie,” I say. “How’s my best buddy?”

Father Tim and I exchange fond smiles over his breakfast, and for the first time in a while, I feel some real hope.

THE FIRST DATE is less than pleasing for both parties involved.

I’ve agreed to meet Oliver Wachterski at a bowling alley outside Jonesport. This way, I think, we’ll have something to do in case we hate each other.

I get to the ratty little building, which is packed. Once inside, I realize that I’ve neglected to ask Oliver what he looks like or tell him what I look like. Instead, we’ve just agreed to meet somewhere at Snicker’s Alley. The pleasing crash of bowling pins thunders around me, and I wander around a little, being a few minutes early. I walk past the game room, music and gunfire twisting together in a rather interesting cacophony. I don’t see any men by themselves; instead, there are fathers and team members and buddies.

I stroll the length of the alley again, pretending to look simultaneously amused and nonchalant. Ah, the bathrooms. Fascinating. I stop at the end of the alley, where a cute little family is ensconced. The older kids, both girls, watch as their little brother heaves the ball onto the lane with both hands. He must be only four or five, a small kid, and the ball rolls with hypnotic slowness toward the pins. It hits the left bumper, then drifts back to the center.

“Won’t be long now, pal,” calls the dad. “Getting closer!”

“I think you might get a strike, Jamie,” says the younger sister.

The parents are sitting at the scoring table, holding hands. The woman looks at her husband, smiling, and he gives her a quick kiss.

“No!” the little boy cries out. His ball has stopped in the center of the lane. “No!” He bursts into tears.

Immediately, the older girl picks him up. “Don’t worry, buddy! That’s really special when that happens! Hardly anyone can do that, right, Melody?”

“That’s right, Jamie. You get extra points for that!” The girls exchange a conspiratorial big-girl smile over Jamie’s head.

The alley attendant comes over and ventures out to retrieve the ball. He has a sticker for the boy, which cheers him up immensely. “I won a sticker, Mommy!” he shouts.

I smile. What a wonderful family, I think, studying the parents. They seem to be perfectly ordinary people, neither handsome nor ugly, fat nor thin. And yet they obviously love each other and have tenderhearted kids. How is something so simple so hard to get?

Someone taps my shoulder. “Maggie?”

I turn. “Oh! Oliver?”

He nods. “Nice to meet you.” He’s nice-looking, even features, lovely brown eyes that hint at smiling. My heart rises with hope.

“Hi. Yes, I’m Maggie Beaumont. It’s really nice to meet you, too. I was just watching this cute family. The boy’s ball didn’t make it to the pins, and the sisters picked him up and they were all…” I realize I’m in danger of entering the city of Babble-On. “Well. They were very nice.”

“Want to get some shoes?” Oliver asks. He’s smiling.

“Sure.”

We rent our shoes and find our lane, number thirteen. I forget if thirteen is lucky or unlucky, so I decide that it is indeed lucky. We’re between a group of serious league bowlers and another family with young kids.

“So you own a diner?” Oliver asks.

“Yes, I own Joe’s in Gideon’s Cove.”

“I’ve never been there,” he says. “But now I have a reason to come.” He has dimples when he smiles, and I blush in pleasure.

“Why don’t you go first?” he asks.

The first few rounds are fine. We cheer for each other and chat easily. It’s when I mention Christy that the first warning shot across the bow is fired.

“You’re an identical twin?” he asks.

“Yup.” My smile fades at the speculative look on his face…slightly lecherous, eyebrows raised, smirk on his lips. The boys in high school used to make the same face.

But he says nothing, and when we sit together for a moment, he casually puts his arm around my shoulders.

“This is fun,” he says. His hand brushes my neck, and my skin breaks out in gooseflesh. Not the good kind. He leans in for a kiss. I don’t stop him, but I don’t really want…ew. Very wet. Very spitty. Tongue already? Okay, enough. I jerk back.

“Yes. It’s fun. Bowling…well, I’ve always liked bowling. Okay! Your turn! Tie-breaker, so put on your game face! You’re the Red Sox, I’m the Yankees. Actually, I want to be the Red Sox. Okay? So watch out! Give it your best shot.”