Catch of the Day (Gideon's Cove #1)(47)

These lectures tend to bounce off me like hailstones bouncing on the roof of a car…tiny pings, but no real damage. Doesn’t mean I like them, of course. But today, she seems more worked up than usual.

“Why do you hate the diner, Mom?” I ask. “It was your dad’s.”

“Exactly,” she snaps.

“So? Now it’s a family business. It’s a nice place. I might even win best breakfast in Washington County. I’d think you’d be kind of happy about that.”

“Oh, that silly contest is pointless. And yes, it was my father’s. He worked there seven days a week so I could go to college, make something of myself. Not so my own child would go back there, like some high school dropout. You pay that cook of yours more than you make yourself! Why, Maggie?”

“Because he has five kids, Mom,” I tell her patiently.

“So? If he doesn’t have the sense to use birth control—”

“Okay. That’s enough. I’m leaving. Love you, even though I’m not sure why.” I get up and open the cellar door. “Daddy, stay down there. It’s not safe up here. Love you, you big chicken.”

“Love you, too, baby.”

“I only want what you want, Maggie,” my mother says, her voice a little gentler. “I want you to meet—”

“—someone like Will.” I say the words along with her. “I know, Mom. He’s a great guy. But Christy got him, okay? In fact, you’re the one who picked Christy for him. You didn’t pick me.” I shrug into my coat, my movements quick and angry. “And yes, I want to marry someone nice and have kids, but if it doesn’t happen, it’s not the end of the world, right? I’ll be that helpful spinster daughter everyone dreams of, bringing you a bedpan, changing your sheets, spooning gruel into your mouth. I’ll even give you that nice morphine overdose when the time comes, okay? In fact, I’m tempted to give it to you now. Gotta go.”

I tell myself that I don’t mind, but my hands clench the handlebars of my bike in a death grip. I pedal slowly and carefully so my dog can keep pace. I realize my eyes are tearing. It might be the wind.

Back at Joe’s, Colonel flops down into the bed behind the register and yawns. I squat down to give him a hug, kissing his beautiful white cheeks repeatedly. “I love you, puppy,” I tell him. “I love you, best boy.” He licks me gently, enjoying the salt deposits on my cheeks.

“Hey, boss,” Octavio calls. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Judy approaches me. “Four more ballots, Maggie,” she says, fishing some papers out of her apron. “I think we’re gonna win this year.” Judy showing optimism is a near-biblical event, so my mood must be written clearly over my face.

As I’m doing the last bit of cleanup, I decide to drop in on Christy. Before the thought is fully formed, she sticks her head in the diner door, and I can glimpse Violet’s stroller just behind her on the sidewalk. “Maggie? Want to run some errands with me?” my sister asks.

“Sure,” I say. “Just let me finish scraping the grill.”

I finish my chores and wash my hands, grimacing at the grease under my fingernails. But my hands are a little better. The painful cracks that appear at my fingernail line are healing. I’ll have to find out where Malone got that cream.

Christy is waiting on the sidewalk. “I heard you’re wasting your life, slaving away for nothing,” she says.

“It’s always been a dream of mine,” I tell her. “Can I push Violet?”

“Sure.”

The thrill of having identical twins in town has never left the good folk of Gideon’s Cove. Colonel walks beside us like a guard, and we make a bit of a parade (or freak show, depending on how you look at it). School is getting out, and several kids beeline for my dog, one pretty young girl cooing at the sleeping Violet. Two ladies from church stop to admire the baby and advise Christy to bundle her up a little more. “Thanks, I will,” Christy tells them as we continue. “She’s wearing a onesie, tights, a turtleneck, a wool sweater, corduroys, socks and a coat,” Christy mutters to me. “I may be cooking her as it is.”

The barber comes out to greet us and give Colonel a cookie. From inside his shop, Christy and I hear a roar of laughter…there’s the usual gang of older men—Bob Castellano, Rolly, Ben—and, strangely enough, our dad. Apparently, Dad left the bomb shelter and is hanging out with the guys.

“Your father sure is funny,” Mike, the barber, tells us fondly. “What a riot that guy is!”

Christy and I exchange a glance. Riot is not the usual word that leaps to mind when thinking of our henpecked, quiet dad. Mike goes back inside, but Christy and I linger a minute in silence. Dad waves, smiling, and continues regaling the other men.

“That’s kind of nice, seeing Dad with some friends,” Christy comments.

“Sure,” I agree. Odd, but nice.

We go into the little pharmacy to get some diapers. Colonel waits outside, patient and trusty as a statue. As I am separated from my dog and pushing the carriage, a few people call me Christy, and I answer as if I were. Christy smiles and pretends not to hear as she peruses the aisles for shampoo and chocolate.

“Tell Will I said hello,” says Mrs. Grunion.

“I sure will,” I answer.