Catch of the Day (Gideon's Cove #1)(68)
“Where were you the other day? I called you and even swung by, but Octavio said you took the day off.”
I tell her about Malone, how he came over and slept on my bed like a good dog himself, how he took me to the festival, how incredibly nice he was the whole day.
“So you guys are…what? Dating? Back together?” she asks. She takes a cookie from the tin on the coffee table and bites into it. “These are great, aren’t they?”
“Yes, they are. And I guess we’re sort of…well…yeah. Dating. I guess so.”
Christy cocks an eyebrow at me. “You’re not sure?”
I sigh. “Well, it’s weird. He’she was great, he really was. But it’s not like…”
“What?”
“Well, he’s still kind of a stranger. When we were at the lumberjack thing, I asked him a couple of questions, you know, normal things, like if he’s close with his daughter. What his first name is.”
“You still don’t know?” Christy interrupts.
“No, I don’t. And he never really tells me anything. So we’re together, but I don’t know if we’re just sleeping together or if we’re actually going somewhere relationship-wise.”
“Well, here’s a great idea. Why don’t you ask him?” my sister suggests.
I grimace. “Yeah,” I muse, taking another cookie. It may be my fifth. “No.”
“Why not, dummy? It shouldn’t be a mystery. You have a right to know what he’s thinking. I mean, what if he just wants a warm body once in a while and here you want marriage and children? I think you should ask.”
I consider this. She has a point, of course, but then again, she’s never confronted the challenge of engaging Malone in conversation, let alone relationship conversation. “Maybe.”
I think about it as I walk home. The night is cool and misty, the damp air soft and gentle against my cheeks. Of course, my reluctance to talk to Malone stems from the fear that he does indeed just want a warm body. Then again, if that’s the case, I shouldn’t be wasting my time with him. As usual, Christy has a point. How irritating.
MY FATHER COMES IN for breakfast the next day, alone. He sits at a booth, which is fine, since the place is deserted this morning. Since six o’clock, I’ve had a grand total of four customers. I’ve paid my monthly bills, sent in my order to the food suppliers and cleaned the bathroom, and it’s only nine o’clock. Judy left at eight, disgusted with the lack of patrons for her to ignore, and Georgie only comes in three times a week.
“Hey, Dad,” I call from behind the counter. “What would you like today?”
“Maybe just some coffee when you have a chance, dear,” he says. He looks out the window, his face somber. I come over and pour him a cup, then sit down.
“Is everything okay, Daddy? You look”
“Your mother and I are getting divorced,” he interrupts.
My mouth falls open, but no sound comes out, just a little wheeze. Dad shifts in his seat, then looks at the table, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, pumpkin.”
“Whatyoubut”
Dad sighs hugely. “I know. We’ve been married for thirty-three years now. Seems silly, doesn’t it?”
My eyes fill, and I grab a wad of napkins out of the dispenser and blot. “What happened?” I whisper.
“Nothing. Nothing big, really. It’s just” He pauses, fiddling with the silverware. “It’s not your mother’s fault,” he continues. “I just don’t want to…I’m trying to say this gently, understand.”
“You just don’t want to live with Mom for the rest of your life,” I supply.
“Right. I’m tired of hiding in the bomb shelter.”
I sit up a little straighter. “Dad, look. I know Mom can be quite a…harridan sometimes. I mean, I certainly get tired of her nagging me all the time, but I thought…” My voice chokes off suddenly. “I thought you loved her,” I finish in a hoarse whisper.
Dad’s own eyes tear up. “I do. I did. But Maggie, the past few years…well, we haven’t been happy. She hasn’t been happy, and I’m just exhausted with trying to guess what mood she’s in and why and how I can make it better.”
“What does she think about all this?”
“She’s furious.” Dad’s mouth tightens again, then wobbles. “She told me if that’s what I want, then I’m even a bigger idiot than she thought and she’d be glad to get rid of me.”
Sounds like Mom, all right.
Mom was never the kind of cookie-baking, Girl Scout leader mother depicted in most of our childhood books. She took care of us, certainly, fed us nutritious meals and sent us to bed on time. But there was always an edge to her, and while I never doubted her love, I often doubted that she liked me very much. Christy dealt with her better. She was the quieter, more studious, more helpful child, while I tended to be a little sneakier, disappearing when the kitchen needed cleaning up, drifting into the bathroom when the groceries had to be unpacked. And with Jonah, the classic little boy, always grubby, always making messes and losing things, Mom’s thin patience had evaporated completely. Only after he moved out did Jonah become someone my mother really seemed to enjoy.