Catch of the Day (Gideon's Cove #1)(95)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

THE BLESSING of the Fleet is held annually the third weekend of May. The boats fly their flags, the town decorates our three public buildings, local organizations sell hot dogs and lobster bisque on the green. The high school band plays, the chorus performs a few patriotic songs. Little Leaguers, the fire department, the board of selectmen and our three living veterans march in the five-minute parade. Then on Sunday, every boat in the harbor lines up and motors to Douglas Point, past the granite memorial for lost fishermen. They continue up to the dock, where the local clergy blesses them and prays for a safe and productive year.

Last year, Father Tim had been new in town, and I’d still been getting over the embarrassment of my mistake. In order to show what a good sport I was, I threw myself into the planning committee with a vengeance. I baked cookies for the first communion class to sell, donated my efforts to the Saturday night spaghetti supper at the church hall, helped decorate the podium on which Father Tim and the Congregational minister stood to sprinkle holy water on the passing boats. I may be an idiot, I was trying to convey after humiliating myself in front of the town, but at least I’m a hardworking idiot.

This year, I can admit that maybe Father Tim and I used each other a bit. He got a lot of work out of me this past year, and I, as I can now see quite clearly, got more than a guilty thrill concerning him. It’s safe to be in love with someone you know you’ll never have. Nothing is really risked when you know you can’t lose. He was a distraction, an excuse, and a friend. No more, no less.

Saturday morning of Blessing Weekend dawns foggy and warmer than usual, and by 10:00 a.m., the sun is shining, the air is clear and it’s a perfect spring day. May is the month of blackflies, but a strong breeze off the water keeps them away, and only the most determined bugs are able to draw blood through their tiny, painful bites. As Christy, Will and I walk down to the green, Violet in the carrier on Will’s back, the smell of outdoor cooking—chowder and bacon, hot dogs and hamburgers and smoke—hits us in a thick, mouthwatering wave.

This weekend seems like a thank-you to the residents for not moving away to an easier place. Our sense of neighborhood and friendship is strong at the Blessing. People call greetings to each other, shake hands as if it’s been weeks, not hours, since they last met. Couples hold hands, children dance with excitement. When are the lobster boat races? Can we get a balloon? I’m hungry! Everywhere, people smile and laugh. Music drifts in snatches on the breeze.

I wave to friends, customers, neighbors…there’s virtually no one I don’t know by name. Now and then, I catch a glimpse of Father Tim in his all-black priest clothes, but he is swamped with teary-eyed well-wishers.

Main Street is closed off to cars, and people stroll the block and a half of the “downtown,” stopping to sample a cookie from the Girl Scouts, a muffin from the PTA. The chrome on Joe’s Diner glistens from the cleaning I gave it yesterday. Octavio, Georgie and I hung out bunting while Judy smoked and squinted in approval. I feel a little thrill of pride looking at it, even though it’s closed.

“Ow,” Will says, reaching up to pry his hair from Violet’s dimpled fist. “Let go, sweetie.” He shifts the backpack as Violet knees him in the spine.

“Want me to take her, Will?” I offer. “You won’t pull Auntie’s hair, will you, pumpkin?”

“You sure?” Will asks gratefully.

“Sure,” I say. “I’ll take Violet and you two can stroll around alone for a while, what do you say?”

“I say thank you,” Christy says, unsnapping the harness. “You’re the best, Maggie.” She holds the pack with Violet still in it as Will slides his arms out, then straps it on me.

“Agga,” Violet says. “Agga bwee.”

“She just said Aunt Maggie, clear as day,” I say. “Did you hear? What an honor.” Violet takes a fistful of my hair and tugs in affirmation, I’m quite sure.

Will and Christy laugh. “Meet you in an hour?” Will says. “We’ll buy you lunch at the fire department.”

“Sounds great,” I say.

With Violet on my back, I don’t feel so obviously single. We stroll around, stopping to admire the display of art projects from the first grade students, and I brace for the inevitable assessment that is an integral part of Blessing Weekend.

“Hey, Maggie!”

And here we go. It’s an old high school classmate, Carleigh Carleton. She went to college in Vermont, as I recall. She also had a wicked crush on Skip.

“Hey, Carleigh,” I say.

“Oh, my God, you had a baby?” she shrieks, her eyes popping. She never was that attractive.

“No, no, this is my niece, Violet,” I tell her.

“Oh, sure. Christy’s baby. That makes more sense!” Carleigh’s smile is full of smugness and condescension. “I have three myself. Are you still working in your grandfather’s diner?” What she means is, Are you still stuck in the same job you’ve had since high school, since Skip dumped you? Haven’t you gotten married yet, Maggie? Don’t you know the statistics for a woman over thirty?

“Yup,” I say. “And what about you, Carleigh?” I pretend to listen as she tells me of her fabulous life, which is probably not nearly so fabulous in reality. But that’s what Blessing Weekend is for, in a sense. Pretense. Leaving Carleigh, who has gained another fifteen or so pounds since last year, I note with deep satisfaction, I wander through the crafts tent on the green.