Catch of the Day
Page 27“Maggie,” he says, “I just wanted to apologize in person for not meeting you that night.”
“Not at all,” I answer. “I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to talk to you this morning. The joint’s been jumping since six.”
“That’s okay. I really enjoyed talking with Father Tim,” he says. “And I wanted to say again that I’m really grateful for how nice you were about everything. Under different circumstances…” His eyes tear up.
“Well, listen, now, don’t cry. You’re welcome,” I say. “You’re a nice guy, Doug. Take care.”
By the time I turn off the Eat at Joe’s sign in the far window, my feet are throbbing, my face is oily, my hands are raw and my back hurts. Needless to say, I’m in a bit of a mood. Because I would hate to snap at Georgie, I send him home early (Judy’s long gone), and Octavio and I clean up in silence.
“Everything okay, boss?” he asks as he shrugs into his jacket.
“How long have you been married, Octavio?” I ask, wringing out the dishrag.
“Eight years,” he smiles.
“You and Patty seem really happy,” I say.
“Oh, we are.”
“I have a feeling I’m never going to find someone,” I say, and suddenly that tight-throated feeling is back.
Octavio gives me a thoughtful look. “What?” I ask him.
“Malone came in today,” he says. “Never seen him here before.”
I snort. “Yeah. He came in to thank my brother. Jonah gave him a hand yesterday.”
“Hmm.” Octavio is a man of few words. “Well. Good night, boss.”
“Bye, big guy.” And it’s only four o’clock.
It’s beautiful out, finally, fifty degrees or so. The trees have the soft fuzz of buds on them, the palest green imaginable, and the wind is salty and gentle. Unfortunately, I’m too busy today to take a bike ride or even a decent walk. Instead, I bake some brownies for tomorrow’s dessert offering. Then I load up the car and head over to the firehouse.
I get paid to cook their monthly dinner, and though it’s not much, it’s one of those fees that helps, especially during the off-season. While I’m able to pay all my bills each month, there’s usually not a lot left over. Mornings like today’s are few and far between. I know I should have a cushion in case something goes wrong, but I’m tapped out. Winning the best breakfast title would help, even if it was just to get people from neighboring towns to take a drive in on the weekends.
“You okay, pup?” I ask him. He looks at me with his beautiful eyes, but his tail doesn’t wag. “Who’s my pretty boy?” I croon, kneeling to stroke his head. There. His tail swishes. I give him a piece of roast beef and get to work.
What’s Malone doing tonight? I wonder, then immediately purge the thought from my head. Malone is a callous user, and I’m no better. My behavior toward him has been embarrassingly slutty, says a chastising inner voice sounding exactly like my mom. Fools rush in where angels fear to bed, she’d say. And in this case, she’d be correct. I snap on the radio to drown out my self-condemnation.
The boys?sorry, firefighters?start filing in around five-thirty, Jonah among them. He waves to me but is engrossed in a conversation with the head of the truck committee…the firefighters are convinced that Gideon’s Cove needs a ladder truck, though we’d also need a new structure to house it, which would be just fine with the boys?sorry, firefighters.
I set up the Sterno burners and bring out the trays of food, basic, hearty fare?roast beef, horseradish mashed potatoes, green beans, pesto chicken, pasta and sauce. Twenty or so guys usually show up. Chantal pokes her head in the kitchen.
“Hey, girlfriend,” she says.
“Hey, Chantal,” I answer. “I forgot you’re a member here.” I grin as I say it.
“Best thing I ever did,” she sighs dramatically. “Community service and all that crap. Not to mention the best-looking guys in town.”
“I didn’t realize sleeping with the fire department was community service,” I retort, pouring the sauce over the ziti.
“Oh, it is, it is. Don’t let her talk you out of it, Chantal,” Jonah says, coming in and putting an arm around my laughing friend. “And here’s a fireman who needs your special skills.”
“You’re disgusting,” I tell him. Chantal purrs.
“Wanna test some hose?” Jonah murmurs, ignoring me.
“Jonah, leave us,” I command, and for once, my little brother obeys. “You want to go out later on, grab a beer or something?” I ask Chantal. Her eyes are still on my baby brother. His ass, to be precise. “Chantal!”
She jumps. “Oh, sorry, Mags,” she says. “I’ve got plans.” Her voice changes. “Hi there, Chief,” she coos, her voice dropping into a sultry croon.
“How’s my little recruit?” Chief Tatum croons back. “Practice any search and rescue lately?”
“Okay, I can’t take anymore,” I say, sounding quite peeved even to my own ears. “Come on, Colonel. I don’t want you hearing this kind of talk, anyway.” Chantal and the fire chief don’t seem to notice.
I bring some ziti to Mrs. K. and heat it up for her. Then I help her find her comfortable slippers, “not those horrible ones that make my bunions ache.” But I’m edgy and irritable tonight and make my visit quick. Faced with my long flight of stairs, Colonel turns to me, and I boost him all the way up.
Adding insult to injury, the soup, bread, cheese and pie that I made for Malone are sitting in front of my door. I let Colonel inside and then go back and grab the food, slamming the pot on the counter. Frickin’ Malone. Let him starve, then. Who cares?
Maybe my mother is right, I think as I dump the soup down the drain. Maybe the diner is a dead end. It was something I fell into. Granddad put us to work at a young age, washing dishes, clearing tables, working our way up to waiting tables. But is it something that I really want to do for the rest of my life?
I stare out the window toward the harbor, thinking.
The answer is yes.
Maybe it’s not the most illustrious career in the world, but what Joe’s Diner does?what I do?is give a center to our town. A meeting place. Anyone can come in, even if they just want a cup of coffee, and spend the morning catching up on news, seeing their neighbors. There’s Dewey’s, of course, but that’s only open at night, and it has a different attitude. People go there with more of an agenda?meet someone, have a few drinks, and if you’re hardcore, get drunk. But Joe’s is a social center in a town that desperately needs one. And the fact that it’s an authentic Mahoney design doesn’t hurt. I wonder if I could get it listed on a national register or something.
But my mother’s constant nagging has dented my armor lately. When I picture growing old at the diner, I picture a husband and kids coming in and out, or me going home to them. I don’t picture me alone, soaking my swollen feet in Epsom salts every night with only a series of increasingly smelly dogs for company.
I throw a pizza into the oven, wait for it to heat, then eat listlessly. How many dates have I gone on in the past month or so? Four? Five? And let’s not forget Malone, not that we dated, of course. Just sex. Best sex of my life, in fact.
Time to call Christy, I think when the self-pity disgusts even me. I punch number one on the speed dial.
“Hey, it’s me,” I say when Will answers.
“Hi, Maggie. How are you?”
“Okay, I guess. You guys still going out tomorrow? Same time as usual?” I ask. Thursday is my babysitting night.
“Actually, I’m not sure. Christy’s not feeling great. There’s a stomach bug going around, and I think she caught it.”
“Oh, dear. Well, if you need anything, let me know. Tell her I said I hope she feels better fast.”
“Thanks, honey. Will do.”
When Christy met Will, it was instantly clear to both of them that they’d met their soul mate. Six months later, Will, then a resident in Orono, took a rare night off and asked me out for dinner. Alone. He took me to a nice restaurant, and though he was exhausted from a long shift, he was nonetheless funny and charming. While we were eating dinner, he took out a velvet box and handed it across the table to me.
“Um, I think you might have the wrong twin,” I said, wincing.
“I know who you are,” Will smiled.
“So is this a test run or something?” I asked.
“That’s so nice,” I said, my eyes growing misty. At the time, I was quite sure I would soon find someone just as wonderful as Will.
“But I know how close you are, and I know I’m asking…well, not exactly to come between you, because I know I could never do that, and I never want to. But I’m asking you to share Christy with me. I need your blessing, Maggie.” His eyes were teary.
In the box was a beautiful garnet ring, Christy’s and my birthstone.
Of course I gave him my blessing. The thought of my sister spending her life with a man who adored her…well. Who could say no?
I haven’t met anyone like Will. There may be no one like Will in the whole world. The best I’ve come up with is a tearful widower, a sullen lobsterman and a priest. “Well, crap,” I say. I offer the crust of my pizza to Colonel, who eats it delicately. “You feeling better, pal?” I ask him. He puts his head on my lap.
The Red Sox have a travel day, which is just as well. They’ve been playing with all the skill of blind, one-legged five-year-olds lately. I click around aimlessly until nine-thirty or so, then decide to just call it a night. It’s not lost on me that going to bed with my dog is the best thing that’s happened all day.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
COLONEL WON’T GET off the bed in the morning. He wags his tail listlessly but doesn’t even raise his head when I ask if he wants to go out. I check the clock; it’s too early to call the vet.
After yesterday’s rush, the diner is back to normal?my regulars sit at the counter, Ben, Bob and Rolly. Stuart is at his booth at the window, reading the paper. But I’m worried about Colonel, and as soon as the clock hits eight, I make the call. They tell me to come in tomorrow.
“He’s probably just feeling his age,” the nice tech tells me. “He’s in great shape for an old guy. How old is he now, fourteen?”
“Thirteen,” I say.
“That’s pretty good for a big dog like him.”
“I know. But he’s just not himself.”
For the rest of the day, I hop back and forth between the diner and my apartment. I manage to coax Colonel off the bed and outside so he can pee, but he laboriously climbs the steps as soon as he’s done. I help him back onto my bed and give him some water. “What’s the matter, boy?” I ask, stroking his head. “We’ll go see Dr. Kellar tomorrow, okay? He’ll help you out, Colonel.”
I have to throw together a couple of lasagnas for a funeral and bake a few dozen cookies, but all day, I’m itching to get home to my dog. It’s the awful plight of a pet owner: knowing something is wrong with your loyal companion, unable to figure out what. Could he have eaten something that’s made him sick? Did he get hurt somehow? Does he have cancer?