Catch of the Day (Gideon's Cove #1)(76)

“So what happens next?” he asks, his back to the rest of us as he runs the water. “Is one of you moving out?”

Mom and Dad’s eyes meet across the table, perhaps for the first time today. Christy’s eyes fill, and she lowers her nose to Violet’s silky hair to hide the fact.

“Well, actually, yes,” Mom says carefully. “Not just yet, but I’m thinking of moving to Bar Harbor.”

“Wow!” I exclaim. “That’s quite a change from—”

“You’re moving?” Christy shrieks. “You can’t move, Mom! Are you crazy? Are you out of your mind?” Jonah and I exchange a startled glance, but Christy keeps going. “No! You can’t! It’s—It’s—Bar Harbor is so far!”

“Not really,” Mom says. “It’s just an—”

“It’s an hour and a half, Mom!” Christy yells. “Don’t you care about Violet? What about your only grandchild? And your children! Don’t you want to see us more than once a month?”

“Christy,” I begin, but she cuts me off.

“No, Maggie. It’s selfish. You’re being unbelievably selfish, Mom.” She smacks her hand down on the table.

Our mother looks down at the tablecloth without comment. Dad is pulling his silent routine, and I feel a sudden tug of annoyance with him. Staying on the sidelines only gets you so far in life, and in a flash, I can see how hard it must have been for my mother—married to a man who never dissented, never voiced his unhappiness, just bobbed along with the tide until he was so miserable that he had to leave or drown.

“Is that what you want, Mom? To live in Bar Harbor?” I ask.

She sighs. “Well, in some ways, yes. I think it would be nice to be in a bigger place. Spread my horizons, expand my wings, so to speak. So Bar Harbor would be a step in the right direction.”

“Then what?” Christy demands, shifting Violet. “Move to Paris? London?”

“Australia, I was thinking,” Mom mutters, and I smile.

“Australia!” Christy yelps. It’s almost funny to see—the former social worker acting like a spoiled twelve-year-old. Violet grabs a handful of tablecloth and stuffs it in her mouth.

Mom sighs. “I’m kidding, Christy. Okay? Just relax.”

“My family is falling apart, Mom. I can’t relax. And I can’t believe you guys aren’t going to even try to work on things! Get some counseling, for God’s sake. Go see Father Tim! But moving is absolutely ridiculous.”

“Jesus, Christy, shut up,” Jonah says. “They’re adults. They can make their own choices.”

“What do you know about being an adult, Jonah?” my sister snaps. I haven’t seen her so riled since Skip dumped me.

“He’s right, Christy,” I say quietly. “Mom and Dad have been married for a long time. If they want something different now, well, they’re in a position to know. We’re not. If Mom wants to live somewhere other than Gideon’s Cove, she can. It’s her life.”

“Well, nothing’s going to happen for at least a few weeks,” my mother says. “Your father and I aren’t getting divorced right away, just separated. And we’ll see how things are after that.”

“Dad’s gonna be my sternman,” Jonah informs us. Dad offers a tentative smile.

“What? Dad! Are you crazy?” Christy says. “A sternman? What do you know about lobstering?”

“That’s neat, Dad,” I say. “Christy, you need a drink. Mom, can we leave Violet here for an hour or so? Dewey’s opens in ten minutes, and I think Christy and I should talk.”

“Of course,” my mother says, reaching for her grandchild.

“Enjoy,” Christy snaps. “You won’t be able to—”

“Shut up,” I say, dragging her forcibly from the room.

We ride in silence to Dewey’s, Christy driving with sharp movements, braking hard, jerking the steering wheel. She stomps into the bar in front of me, not making eye contact as we sit at a table in back. The bar is nearly deserted—it’s four on a Sunday—and Dewey is still taking chairs down.

“Dewey, can we get a couple of…what do you want, Christy?” I ask.

“I don’t care,” she mutters.

“Scotch, I guess, Dewey.”

“Sure thing, girls,” he calls. He pours us our drinks and brings them over, then hustles off to fill the register.

“So what’s your problem?” I ask my sister.

“Our parents are acting like idiots,” she says.

“What happened to all that nice compassion you had last week? Poor Mom, getting knocked up, abandoning her dreams…” I take a sip of my drink and instantly remember the last time I had scotch—with Malone, the night Colonel died. I shove the thought aside.

Christy takes a sharp breath, and her eyes fill with tears. “I didn’t know she would leave, Maggie! How can she—and Dad’s going to become some stinky, weird old guy without her. A sternman! For crying out loud.”

“But aren’t you a little bit…I don’t know, proud, in a way? That our parents are doing something new, that just because they’re middle-aged doesn’t mean their lives are carved in stone? I think it’s kind of neat.” Christy shoots me a death glare. “A little neat, anyway,” I amend.