Catch of the Day (Gideon's Cove #1)(38)
By three o’clock, I’m irritated with myself. By five, disgusted. By eight-thirty, I’m mad at Malone, and by ten, I hate him.
He didn’t drop by the diner. Or my apartment. And he hasn’t called me. I throw myself onto my couch with punishing force.
It seems I’ve made the mistake of far too many women…assuming that last night meant something. Something more than a physical sensation, that is. Colonel comes over and nudges my feet until I move them, then climbs carefully onto the couch. “Naughty boy,” I tell him automatically, sitting up a little to give him more room.
What do I really know about Malone? I search my memory, sifting through the reams of gossip that I’ve heard in ten years of diner work.
Malone was a few years ahead of me in school…four or five, maybe. I can’t remember us being in high school at the same time, and as my father pointed out, he moved to town at some point during his teenage years. Maybe from Jonesport or Lubec, somewhere north of here. I know he married young, maybe just out of high school. I can’t remember his wife’s name, but I do remember the buzz when she left him.
I had just taken over the diner, was struggling through a crash course in restaurant management, dealing with things like inventory and ordering and how not to burn people’s food, so I don’t have a clear memory of it. But it was quite a little scandal in our town, and people gossiped about it fiercely. She left while he was away, as I recall. He came home to an empty house, found out that his wife had taken their daughter to Oregon or Washington with another man. There were rumors that Malone had knocked her around, that he couldn’t get joint custody because of it, rumors that she was a lesbian, rumors that she joined a cult. The usual nonsense from a small town.
Aside from that, I haven’t heard much about dark, silent Malone. He works hard, that’s widely known; first one out, last one back. His haul is usually the largest of the year, despite the fact that he only hires a sternman to help him during the summer and does the rest of the season alone. He is or has been president of the lobstermen’s association around here. Once in a while, the local paper will mention him speaking out against over-regulation and fishing rights, but again, I haven’t paid too much attention. Malone never meant anything to me, other than being the slightly scary guy who gave me a ride last year.
“We know he’s great in the sack,” I tell Colonel. “And that he doesn’t know how to use a telephone.”
As irritated with myself as I am with Malone, I pace around the apartment. I put the TV on, then turn it off. Maybe I’ll paint my toenails, I think, then immediately dismiss the idea, as it takes patience and I have none. Time for Christy. I snatch up the phone and hit speed dial. “Hi, it’s me,” I say. “Hey, I was just, you know, reading this book about a woman who’s sleeping with this guy, and the sex is really good and she thinks it means something, but he never calls her. What do you think?”
“Ah…do you mean about the plot or…”
I choke. “Shit! Father Tim! I’m sorry! I thought I hit the button for my sister…”
He laughs. “Not to worry, Maggie, not to worry.” He pauses. “It sounds like your book makes another strong case for marriage first, don’t you think?”
I flush with guilt. “Oh, I guess. It’s just that that hardly happens anymore. Waiting for marriage.”
“And no doubt that explains why the divorce rate is so terribly high. More people should be like you, Maggie. Willing to wait to get to know someone before rushing into a purely physical relationship.”
I grimace, so very, very glad that Father Tim can’t see my face. “Sometimes,” I say, trying to get it through my thick head, “you feel such a strong attraction to someone that you think it must be a sign.”
He pauses. “I…I really wouldn’t know.” His voice is gentle.
“Of course not! I’m sorry…It’s just that sometimes…you know what? Forget it. I was just thinking of someonewell, this person in the book.” I stop talking, picturing Father Tim at home, maybe in his bedroom (not that I’ve ever seen it), his kind and laughing eyes, his ready smile. “Father Tim,” I ask tentatively, “do you ever wonder if you made the right choice? You must get so lonely sometimes.”
Father Tim is quiet for a moment. “Well, sure, of course. Don’t we all? Of course I sometimes think about what life would have held had I not been called to the priesthood.”
I sit up straighter. “Really?”
“Sure, now.” His voice is wistful. “It’s a common enough complaint in my vocation, loneliness is. Every once in a while, I find myself picturing what it would be like to have a wife, a few children…” His voice trails off.
“Uh-huh,” I breathe, afraid that saying more will break the intimacy of the moment, simultaneously thrilled and horrified to get this glimpse behind the curtain, as it were. To see the great Oz revealed.
“But those thoughts are fleeting,” he says, his voice stronger. “For me, it’s like dreaming you’re the president or an astronaut. I love the life I have as a priest, and those daydreams are just that…bits of fluff that pass right out of my head.”
Moment over. “I guess it’s only human to wonder,” I say. “And you know, Father Tim, even if you don’t have, you know, a family…well, we all love you here in Gideon’s Cove. You’re a wonderful priest.”