Catch of the Day (Gideon's Cove #1)(61)

“He just died in his sleep, right on my bed,” I whisper.

“Oh, Colonel,” she murmurs, sniffing. I hear Will’s voice in the background, and Christy tells him my sad news.

“Can we do anything?” she asks.

“No, no,” I say. “I’m calling Jonah. He’ll give me a hand. How are you guys doing? Still sick?”

Christy sighs. “I’m still pretty whipped, and Violet’s got it now. She threw up all night, after she ate three helpings of ground-up spaghetti and meatballs for supper. We’ve barely slept.”

I notice that I’m still petting Colonel’s soft fur. “I hope you feel better,” I tell her.

I call my brother and ask if he’ll help me bring my dog to the vet for cremation when they open. Then I call Octavio and ask him to cover for me.

When Jonah comes over at quarter to eight, he thumps up my stairs and hugs me tight, tears in his eyes.

“Shit, Maggie. This just sucks,” he says, looking at the floor. “Maybe he’s with Dicky now or something. They were both awesome dogs.”

We go into the bedroom, and I kiss Colonel’s head once more as Jonah wipes his eyes on his sleeve. Then we wrap him in a blanket and carry him down to Jonah’s truck. Mrs. K. comes out to see what’s going on.

“Colonel died last night, Mrs. K.,” I tell her, and the old woman, who has buried a husband, three sisters and two of her four children, bursts into tears.

“Oh, Maggie,” she weeps, and I hug her frail shoulders, crying again myself.

Jonah and I slide Colonel into the back of his pickup, and I climb in beside my dog. “It’s gonna be cold back there, Mags,” my brother says.

“That’s okay,” I tell him. I hunker down and put my arm over the blanket so it won’t blow off, because that would just be too sad to see.

The people at the vet’s are so kind. They help us carry Colonel in through the back entrance and give me a moment to say goodbye.

“I’ll wait in the truck,” Jonah offers, closing the door softly behind him.

I pull the blanket off Colonel’s head and take one long, last look. He seems cozy, wrapped in the red plaid blanket that we used together on chilly nights. “I’ll miss you so much, buddy,” I whisper, my throat barely able to force the words out. “You were such a good dog. The best.”

I kiss his cheek, my tears wetting his fur. And then I leave.

Jonah drives me home so I can shower and strip the bed. I can barely look at my apartment, so lonely and empty, so I trudge to the diner, where Judy and Octavio cry over the news.

“Won’t be the same without him,” Judy sobs. “Shit. Shit, shit, f**k. I’m going out for a cigarette.”

Octavio makes a little sign that says “We regret to tell you of the passing of our great friend, Colonel” and tapes it to the cash register. Rolly shakes his head sadly, Bob Castellano gives me a whiskery kiss. Apparently Jonah or Christy calls my parents, because they come in around ten with Christy, who still looks pale and a bit shaky. She and my dad, who is crying openly, sandwich me in a hug.

“Thanks for coming,” I whisper. My own eyes are dry for the moment.

Dad blows his nose, then hugs me tightly. “I’m so sorry, honey,” he whispers.

“He was the best,” Christy says, her mouth wobbling.

“I know. Thank you.”

“Well, Maggie,” my mother says, and I brace myself for what comes next. “I’m sorry.”

I blink in surprise. She never tried to hide her disapproval, not being a dog lover herself. She barely tolerated Dicky, another of my father’s saves.

Judy takes care of the two remaining breakfast patrons, shooting us little glances and pretending not to listen.

“At least you won’t have to vacuum up its fur every day,” Mom says idly. “And the diner here will certainly be more sanitary without it.”

Ah, here she is, my real mother. My swollen eyes narrow.

“Mom!” Christy squeaks. “Jeezum!”

“What?” she says innocently. “It’s true. And look at you, Maggie, you’re a wreck. You look awful. All over a dog.”

“Mom,” I say, my voice is pleasingly calm. “Get the hell out of my diner.”

“Excuse me?” she asks. Dad steps back in alarm, and Christy puts her hand on his arm protectively.

“Get out, Mom. I loved that dog. He saw me through some of the worst times of my life. I’m sick of you disapproving of me, sick of you telling me that my life is a dead end, sick of you comparing me to Christy and her perfect life. Get out. Come back when you can act like a mother who loves all her children.”

My mother’s mouth is hanging open, and it’s odd, because at that moment, I love her more than I have in a long time. But enough is enough.

“Dad,” I say, “you really should stick up for me more.”

“I know,” he whispers.

“Christy, sorry. Love you.” I give her a stiff hug. “Hope you feel better. I’m going in the kitchen. Please be gone when I come out.”

Octavio, diplomatic as Switzerland, says nothing as I come in. I open the supply closet and sit down on the floor among the vinegar and canned tomatoes. My breath is ragged, and my hands, I note, are shaking. Tavy gives me five minutes, then opens the door.