Catch of the Day (Gideon's Cove #1)(33)

“She’s blushing,” Father Tim observes. “Must have been some date last night.”

“Date? What date?” Chantal asks. No, thank God, she doesn’t know.

“Well, actually, I’m sorry to say that Doug isn’t quite ready for a relationship,” I say. I busy myself by refilling the creamers behind the counter. “Still kind of in mourning for his wife.”

“I can relate to that,” Chantal murmurs. I roll my eyes, but Father Tim is tricked and pats her hand.

“Poor dear,” he says, and Chantal sighs hugely, her br**sts rising dramatically in her low-cut shirt. Father Tim’s compassionate expression doesn’t flicker, nor does his gaze drop a millimeter. The man is a saint.

At lunchtime, the bell over the door tinkles and I look up to see my sister, Violet and my parents. “Good morning!” Christy says.

“Fashoo,” says Violet, reaching out a plump hand for me to smooch.

“That means ‘I love you, Auntie Mags,’” Christy translates, pulling off Violet’s pink coat. My parents likewise take off their coats and line up like penguins at the counter. For some reason, no member of the Beaumont family ever sits at a booth.

“How was your date last night?” my mother asks without preamble. “Did you finally meet someone with potential?”

“Oh, it was fine,” I answer, feeling that heat creep up my neck again. “Doug is very nice, but he’s not ready for a relationship. His wife died about two years ago.” There. Nothing I said was untrue. An image of Malone’s slight smile causes a sudden cramp in my abdomen.

“Well, he should get out there anyway,” Mom says, irritated that a daughter remains single. “A rolling stone gathers no dirt.”

“Well said, Mom,” Christy says. Our dad smiles into his coffee cup.

“Don’t laugh. Maggie’s not getting any younger. Before long, Maggie, you’ll have problems getting pregnant, and then where will you be?”

I stare at her, stunned that the woman whose womb I began my life in could be so cruel.

“Jeezum, Mom,” Christy says.

“It’s true,” our mother states.

“You’ll meet someone when the time is right. Don’t worry,” my father says in a rare show of defiance to Mom. He pats my hand. My mother snorts.

“Hey, Dad, you know who I ran into last night?” I say, grateful for the chance to change the subject. “You know Malone? The lobsterman?”

Dad looks blank until Christy says, “You know, Dad. His boat is next to Jonah’s.”

“Oh, yes. Dark-haired fellow? Quiet?”

Pathologically so, yes. “Yeah. Did you have him in school?” Dad taught biology for thirty years and knows just about every person who ever went to school in Gideon’s Cove.

“Sure. I think he transferred in midyear. Why, honey?”

“Oh, I just was wondering what his first name was. He wouldn’t tell me.” I realize I have erred as Christy’s left eyebrow lifts. No one else notices.

“Hm. Let’s see. Malone. Skinny kid, tall…not a bad student toward the end, but way behind at first. I think there was trouble at home, to tell you the truth. Was it Michael? No, no, not Michael, I’m thinking of the Barone kid. I think it was an Irish name. Liam? No, no, that’s not right. Brendan. It was Brendan. Brendan Malone. Or no, that was Brendan Riley. Hmm.” Dad thinks for a minute, then shrugs. “Sorry, honey. As I recall, everyone just called him Malone.”

“Oh, well. Not important. I was just curious.”

Christy looks quite speculative, and I turn away to wait on Ben at the counter, since Judy is doing a crossword puzzle.

Our mother offers to take Violet for the afternoon, claiming that she never gets to see her only grandchild (here with a significant look at me, the daughter who has failed to reproduce). She ignores the fact that she sees Violet almost every day. Once we’re alone, Christy pounces.

“So, why the sudden interest in Malone?” she asks, pretending to help me as I pack my car for meal deliveries.

“Oh, I just ran into him last night,” I say, feigning nonchalance.

“Mmm-hmm. And?” she prods. Damn this twin thing. She knows far too much.

“Okay. I’ll tell you, but you can’t tell anyone else.” Knowing she won’t, I give her the story from last night—Skip, Annabelle, Malone—but for some reason, I don’t tell her the ending.

“So he drove me home. Jonah brought me out to get my car this morning and, unlike some siblings, he didn’t ask prying questions.”

“Well,” Christy says. “That was awfully nice, pretending to be your date. Wicked nice.”

“Mmm,” I murmur. “Listen, I have to go. Do you want to come? It’ll be fun. They’ll have Colonel and you.”

“Double the pleasure, double the fun,” my sister says. “Sure, I’d love to.”

And it is fun. The fourteen people on my route are always overjoyed to see Colonel and me, and when encountered with my mirror image, they nearly wet themselves in delight. We bring in the meals, tidy up at one house, check a prescription at another, chat with the clients, let them pet my gentle dog. I urge Christy to show pictures of Violet, and a lot of old faces break into tender smiles at the sight of my beautiful niece.