Catch of the Day

“Do you like lobstering?” I ask.

“Sure,” he says.

“Tough life, though.”

“Great life, too.” He smiles at me. “Okay, look out there, Maggie, we’ve got some porpoises about three o’clock.”

“You know what, Malone?” I ask as we watch the silvery-white flashing of the porpoises.

“What’s that?” he says.

“This is the best day I’ve had in a long time.” I turn away from the wheel to kiss his cheek.

“Watch out there,” he says as the boat veers suddenly. He reaches around me and adjusts us. “Tide’s coming at us pretty strong.” He swings us back around. “Me, too, by the way.”

When we get back to the dock, it’s near dinner time. “Do you want to try out my cooking skills, Malone? Since you’ve sampled my other skills already?” I smile as he makes the boat fast to the mooring.

He straightens up. “I’m sorry, Maggie,” he says. “I need to fix the charger before morning, and it’s an ugly job.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I’m suddenly deflated. Malone climbs into the dinghy and reaches up to help me, and before I know it, we’re back at the dock. Billy Bottoms waves to us from the gangplank, heading for home, but aside from him, no one seems to be around.

“Well, okay. Thanks, Malone. It was, um, a very nice day. Thank you so much.” I feel my cheeks grow hot as we stand there, looking at each other. The old uncertainty about the two of us has returned.

“See you soon,” he says. He pinches my chin. When? I want to ask, but I can tell his mind is on his boat.

“Thanks again. Bye.” I scurry up the gangplank to solid ground and walk home.

There are four messages waiting for me?Christy, Jonah, Chantal and Father Tim. They all want the same thing?to know how I’m doing, if I want company. But for tonight, I think I want to be alone. The sadness I feel over the loss of my pet is tempered with Malone’s surprising sweetness, and I want a night to indulge in both of those feelings. I put a frozen pizza in the oven and then pack up Colonel’s things in a box, letting myself have a vigorous cry as I do. Someday I’ll get another dog, but there will never be a friend like Colonel. But I do have a new friend?Malone. When I needed it most, he really came through.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

IN A SHOCKING NEW DEVELOPMENT to our relationship, Malone actually picks up the phone and calls me a couple of days after our date, just when I’m starting to grow irritated. Jonah had mentioned that Malone had to go down to Bar Harbor for a part, so I had granted him a grace period, but his time was running out. And I miss him, I realize with a bit of a shock.

When the phone finally rings around five on Thursday night, I am washing my kitchen floor, wondering how it gets so dirty when I am the only one who lives here. I actually expect it to be Father Tim, wanting to hit me up for the upcoming bake sale.

“Maggie,” comes the gruff voice.

“Malone! My God! You’re using a phone!” I can’t help the smile that has burst over my face.

“Very funny,” he says. There’s a pause, then, “How are you?”

“Fine. How are you?”

“Fine. So. Are you busy tonight?”

“You cut right to the chase, don’t you, Malone?” I grin.

“Answer the question,” he growls.

“Sorry, pal. I’m busy. I’m babysitting my niece tonight.”

“That right?”

“Yup.”

He sighs. “All right, then. What about tomorrow?”

My grin fades a bit. “Well, actually, tomorrow I’m supposed to have dinner with, um, a friend. With Father Tim. A bunch of us, actually. Church people. You know.” It’s an appreciation dinner Father Tim hosts for the five or six of us who do everything he asks. “How about Saturday?”

He doesn’t answer for a minute. “Sure. Saturday’s fine. Seven?”

“Seven o’clock. Um, do you want me to cook you dinner?”

“No, Maggie,” he says, his voice dropping to a scraping bottom note. “Don’t cook for me.” My body reacts as if he’d said he’d like to just rip off my clothes and take me on the floor.

“Okay,” I answer in a strangled whisper, suddenly needing to sag against the counter. “No cooking.”

CHRISTY IS ALL DRESSED UP in a long, pretty skirt and filmy blouse, and Will looks preppy and handsome as always, blue blazer and Dockers.

“Bye, Snooky,” my sister says, smothering Violet in kisses and a cloud of Eternity. “Mommy loves you! Yes she does! Mommy loves Violet! Aaaah…bwah!” She simulates the noise Violet makes when kissing someone.

“Okay, that’s enough,” I say, prying my niece out of Christy’s arms. “Get out, you clearly need a strong drink. Bye, Will.”

“Bye, Mags. Thanks, as always.”

“Thank you, actually. Violet, honey, it’s Auntie time!”

Violet grabs chunks of my hair and pulls with glee.

For the next hour, we play Farmyard Animals?at least, I do, crawling around on the floor, mooing, oinking, quacking?while Violet chortles and throws plastic toys for me to fetch.

“Mooo,” I say, retrieving the yellow ring.

“Oooo,” she echoes.

“You’re a genius,” I tell her. “Smart baby. Violet is a very smart baby.”

“Banuck,” she agrees.

As I hover over her crib, watching her sleep a little while later, I indulge, very briefly, in a domestic fantasy. Just trying it on for size, I tell myself, blushing. Me, watching the baby sleep. Malone, standing in the doorway. The baby has black hair like her daddy, gray eyes like me.

Then, embarrassed with my private stupidity, I go into the kitchen to see what Christy’s left me to eat. She may not pay me to babysit, but she does feed me well. Ooh. Tuna casserole, our mutual favorite and something our mom refuses to cook, and chocolate chip cookies. Good sissy.

I’m watching TV when they come back, flushed and cheery. “My God, you guys,” I comment, dragging my gaze away from Donald Trump’s latest victim, “were you doing it in the car?”

“That’s really uncanny,” Will says. “The whole twin thing?creepy.”

“I know,” I tell him. “The fact that your pants are unzipped was just confirmation.”

Will grins, zips and flies upstairs to look in on his precious while Christy flops down on the couch next to me.

“What did you do with Violet?” she asks.

“Oh, the usual. We lit matches and I gave her a few sips of vodka, which she really seemed to like, and then we went up on the widow’s walk, and I let her stand on the railing. It was fun.”

Christy hits me with a throw pillow. “So are you doing okay?” she asks. “About Colonel and all?”

I nod. “I’m okay. It’s weird, though. I’ve never been without him, really. Not as an adult.” My eyes grow misty, but I smile.

“Where were you the other day? I called you and even swung by, but Octavio said you took the day off.”

I tell her about Malone, how he came over and slept on my bed like a good dog himself, how he took me to the festival, how incredibly nice he was the whole day.

“So you guys are…what? Dating? Back together?” she asks. She takes a cookie from the tin on the coffee table and bites into it. “These are great, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are. And I guess we’re sort of…well…yeah. Dating. I guess so.”

Christy cocks an eyebrow at me. “You’re not sure?”

I sigh. “Well, it’s weird. He’s?he was great, he really was. But it’s not like…”

“What?”

“Well, he’s still kind of a stranger. When we were at the lumberjack thing, I asked him a couple of questions, you know, normal things, like if he’s close with his daughter. What his first name is.”

“You still don’t know?” Christy interrupts.

“No, I don’t. And he never really tells me anything. So we’re together, but I don’t know if we’re just sleeping together or if we’re actually going somewhere relationship-wise.”

“Well, here’s a great idea. Why don’t you ask him?” my sister suggests.

I grimace. “Yeah,” I muse, taking another cookie. It may be my fifth. “No.”

“Why not, dummy? It shouldn’t be a mystery. You have a right to know what he’s thinking. I mean, what if he just wants a warm body once in a while and here you want marriage and children? I think you should ask.”

I consider this. She has a point, of course, but then again, she’s never confronted the challenge of engaging Malone in conversation, let alone relationship conversation. “Maybe.”

I think about it as I walk home. The night is cool and misty, the damp air soft and gentle against my cheeks. Of course, my reluctance to talk to Malone stems from the fear that he does indeed just want a warm body. Then again, if that’s the case, I shouldn’t be wasting my time with him. As usual, Christy has a point. How irritating.

MY FATHER COMES IN for breakfast the next day, alone. He sits at a booth, which is fine, since the place is deserted this morning. Since six o’clock, I’ve had a grand total of four customers. I’ve paid my monthly bills, sent in my order to the food suppliers and cleaned the bathroom, and it’s only nine o’clock. Judy left at eight, disgusted with the lack of patrons for her to ignore, and Georgie only comes in three times a week.

“Hey, Dad,” I call from behind the counter. “What would you like today?”

“Maybe just some coffee when you have a chance, dear,” he says. He looks out the window, his face somber. I come over and pour him a cup, then sit down.

“Is everything okay, Daddy? You look?”

“Your mother and I are getting divorced,” he interrupts.

My mouth falls open, but no sound comes out, just a little wheeze. Dad shifts in his seat, then looks at the table, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, pumpkin.”

“What?you?but?”

Dad sighs hugely. “I know. We’ve been married for thirty-three years now. Seems silly, doesn’t it?”

My eyes fill, and I grab a wad of napkins out of the dispenser and blot. “What happened?” I whisper.

“Nothing. Nothing big, really. It’s just?” He pauses, fiddling with the silverware. “It’s not your mother’s fault,” he continues. “I just don’t want to…I’m trying to say this gently, understand.”

“You just don’t want to live with Mom for the rest of your life,” I supply.

“Right. I’m tired of hiding in the bomb shelter.”

I sit up a little straighter. “Dad, look. I know Mom can be quite a…harridan sometimes. I mean, I certainly get tired of her nagging me all the time, but I thought…” My voice chokes off suddenly. “I thought you loved her,” I finish in a hoarse whisper.

Dad’s own eyes tear up. “I do. I did. But Maggie, the past few years…well, we haven’t been happy. She hasn’t been happy, and I’m just exhausted with trying to guess what mood she’s in and why and how I can make it better.”

“What does she think about all this?”

“She’s furious.” Dad’s mouth tightens again, then wobbles. “She told me if that’s what I want, then I’m even a bigger idiot than she thought and she’d be glad to get rid of me.”

Sounds like Mom, all right.

Mom was never the kind of cookie-baking, Girl Scout leader mother depicted in most of our childhood books. She took care of us, certainly, fed us nutritious meals and sent us to bed on time. But there was always an edge to her, and while I never doubted her love, I often doubted that she liked me very much. Christy dealt with her better. She was the quieter, more studious, more helpful child, while I tended to be a little sneakier, disappearing when the kitchen needed cleaning up, drifting into the bathroom when the groceries had to be unpacked. And with Jonah, the classic little boy, always grubby, always making messes and losing things, Mom’s thin patience had evaporated completely. Only after he moved out did Jonah become someone my mother really seemed to enjoy.