Catch of the Day (Gideon's Cove #1)(86)

“Well, you don’t have to help if you’re in a mood, dear.” She folds her arms and frowns disapprovingly.

“Mrs. K., whatever you need, I’m happy to help. I’m sorry. I’ve had a really shitty day.”

“Would you like to tell me about it?” she asks.

I laugh grimly. “No. But thank you. I’d like to forget it, actually.”

“We could watch a movie,” she suggests, and there’s a hopeful note in her voice.

“I’d love to,” I say. “That would be just the ticket.” I reach down and give her a careful hug. “Thank you, Mrs. K.”

“Oh, how sweet you are! The Fly is on TNT tonight, and I’ve been dying to see it again!”

And so I fix us some dinner, cut the new bunion pad for her as directed and make popcorn. As we watch Jeff Goldblum vomit on and then consume a donut, Mrs. K. reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Things will get better, dear,” she murmurs. “Don’t worry.”

“I love you,” I tell her, and her cheeks flush with pleasure.

“I love you, too, honey,” she says. The Fly goes into commercial break. “Now tell me, dear, when is that handsome man coming back? MacDuff?”

“Malone,” I correct automatically. “We broke up.”

“Oh, dear,” she says. “Well. I’m sure you’ll work things out.”

“I don’t think so, Mrs. K. He’s a little too busy hating me to work anything out right now.”

“Well, then, too bad for him, right, my dear? You’ll meet someone else and he’ll be sorry.”

“Sure.” I’m quite certain she’s wrong.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

THE NEXT DAY, Jonah drags himself into the diner. “My God, you look awful,” I say. “Hung over?”

Jonah’s groan of misery answers for him. “Just coffee today, Mags.”

“Sure, baby boy.” I take pity on him and set the cup gently on the counter. “What’s new, buddy?”

“Oh, nothing. Hey, Maggot…” Jonah glances around. Only Judy is within range, pretending to read a book as she eavesdrops while Rolly gets himself more coffee.

“Judy,” I say. “How about a ciggie break?”

She scowls. “Fine, fine. I always get kicked out when it’s something juicy.”

“At least you won’t have to pretend to be working,” Jonah offers.

“I’m not pretending anything, little boy.” She cuffs him on the back of the head as she walks past. Jonah yelps, then winces.

“This is a bad hangover, isn’t it? Such are the wages of sin, the Bible tells us,” I say with mock seriousness.

“Save it,” my brother mutters. “Maggie, are you seeing Malone?”

“Um, no. No.” My face warms, and I grab a few ketchup bottles for refilling. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know.” Jonah sighs morosely. “I thought you guys were hanging out lately. Anyway, I heard something about him the other day.” His voice trails to a mutter.

“Oh, really? What was that?” I ask, hoping for and failing to achieve a casual tone.

“He and Chantal are having a baby.”

“No! No, they’re not. What—where did you hear that?”

“Down at the dock,” Jonah answers. He takes a listless sip of coffee, then shudders.

“Well, it’s not really my business to talk about this, Joe, but…” Shit, what is the protocol on this? “See, actually, Chantal told me that the father is some out-of-towner. Not from here.”

“Oh.” Jonah stares into his coffee.

“Who told you it was Malone?” I can’t help but ask. “I mean, does everyone know Chantal’s…you know? Pregnant?”

“Yeah. Bunch of guys were talking at the co-op yesterday. Johnny French, Dad, Billy Bottoms, Sam…I don’t know. But yeah. Word’s out on Chantal.”

“You guys gossip worse than a bunch of high-school girls.”

Jonah forces a smile and presses his thumb against his eye socket.

“Want some aspirin, hon?” I ask.

“Sure,” he says. I fetch the bottle and hand him two.

“Don’t feel bad about Chantal,” I say to my brother, remembering his long-standing crush on her. “Maybe the post office has your mail-order bride.”

He gives a halfhearted laugh. “Thanks. Hey, you going to see Mom later?” he asks, standing.

I sigh. “Yeah. You?”

“Said goodbye yesterday. Can’t believe she’s really moving.”

It is a little hard to believe—our mother, she of the Sunday dinners and good china, is moving out of the house she’s lived in for thirty years. Both she and my dad are putting a good spin on things…new start, yadda yadda…but there’s a sadness to both of them these days.

My dad’s in the bomb shelter when I go over. He’s crying as he screws in a perch on a tiny birdhouse.

“Hey, Daddy,” I say, my throat growing tight at the sight of my father in tears.

“Oh, hi, Maggie,” he says, surreptitiously wiping his eyes.

“You okay?”

“Well, I guess so. It’s just a sad day, you know?” he says.