Catch of the Day (Gideon's Cove #1)(77)

“No,” she sulks. “It’s not neat, Maggie. Mom is moving. Moving far.” Her tears slip down her cheeks.

“I know you’ll miss her,” I say. “But she deserves a chance to do something different, Christy. She’s not obligated to stay around and watch our lives anymore.”

My sister stares out the window for another minute. “Oh, shit, you’re right,” she says, swallowing a mouthful of scotch. “You’re right, you’re right. I guess I just feel abandoned. And sorry for myself. I mean, I’ll miss her, Maggie! And so will Violet. She loves Mom so much.” Christy’s face scrunches up in misery, and I reach across the table to squeeze her hand.

“Here now, what’s this?” Dewey asks. “Maggie, why are you crying, hon?”

“I’m not,” I say. “Christy is.”

“Oh, dear, dear. No crying in my bar, sweetheart,” Dewey says. “And the day I can tell you girls apart will be a banner day, let me tell you.” He pats her head and walks back to the bar.

Christy gives me a watery smile. “Man, I was such a bitch back there, wasn’t I?” she asks.

“Yes,” I answer, smiling. “A right bitch. I’m so happy.”

“Happy? Why?”

“Because it’s high time I got to be the good twin,” I say.

“You. You’re so funny.” She smiles genuinely now, and simultaneously, we reach out a foot under the table and nudge each other. “Hey, what happened with Malone?” she asks, her head swiveling to the door. My heart sinks like an anvil. But no, it’s not Malone. Just Mickey Tatum, the fire chief.

“I broke up with him,” I tell her. There’s a tightness in my throat that the scotch doesn’t alleviate.

“What did he say about Chantal?” Christy asks.

“Nothing. We didn’t talk about it. He didn’t say boo about her.”

Christy sighs. “Sorry, Maggie.”

“Yeah, well, other fish to fry, right? Other eggs to scramble. At least I cut bait before things got too…whatever.” I don’t fool Christy; she smiles sadly, seeing right through me. “I do have to tell you, though,” I say, artfully changing the subject, “something’s going on with Father Tim. Have you talked to him lately?”

“No. Why? What’s up?”

Dewey comes over with a bag of potato chips. “For the beautiful weeping lady,” he says, handing them to me.

“That’s Christy,” I correct, pointing across the table.

“Of course. For the beautiful weeping lady,” he repeats.

“Thanks, Dewey,” she says. “Just the ticket.” She opens the bag and offers some to me, then takes a few herself. “So. Father Tim?” she prods.

“Well, I don’t really know. But something’s weird. He’s been very…tender. And saying things that have sort of a double meaning.”

“Like what?” Christy asks.

“I don’t know. I can’t remember exactly what he said—”

“That’s a first,” she interjects dryly.

“—but just sort of…well. Obviously I don’t quite know.” I can’t bring myself to say the words aloud. Instead, I fidget in the hard wooden chair. “Do you want to go home and grovel in front of Mom and Dad now?”

Christy laughs. “Sure. You’ve been good twin long enough.”

“That’s you in a nutshell,” I say, taking out a few bills and laying them on the table. “Always stealing my thunder.”

Christy grovels, re-assumes her title and we all have apple crisp.

On the way home, I pedal my bike toward the harbor. It’s a windy day, and a Sunday to boot, so most of the lobster boats are in, including the Ugly Anne. Don’t go down there, Maggie, I warn myself. A large seagull glides down, landing a few feet away on one of the wooden support posts, the wind ruffling its feathers but not its composure. I envy that bird.

And if Malone was here? I ask myself. What then? What would I say? How’s Chantal? Are you happy that you’ll be a father again? That is, of course, if Chantal will actually go through with it….

I still can’t reconcile the idea of Malone and Chantal together. For some reason, I thought—

“Oh, for God’s sake, Maggie,” I mutter aloud to myself. I mount my bike once more but remain where I am, one foot firmly on the ground, and continue to stare at the harbor. The wind carries the scent of pine and salt on it, stinging my cheeks, howling in my ears, but I still don’t move. Malone’s face is stuck in my mind, the harsh lines, craggy cheekbones, those tangled black lashes. The way he smiled at me, begrudgingly almost, as if he didn’t really want to like me but just couldn’t help himself. “Right, Maggie,” I snort. “You’re so irresistible that Malone got Chantal pregnant. Live with it.”

“What say, theah, Maggie?”

My shriek causes the gull to startle off, echoing my sound. “Yikes! Billy! God, you scared me!”

Billy Bottoms takes the pipe from his mouth. “Sorry, dahlin’. Just comin’ down to check somethin’. Thought you were talkin’ to me.”

“No, no. No. Not you. Just, you know, blathering to myself. Sorry. Have a nice day.”