Maine - J. Courtney Sullivan [146]
“You shouldn’t call them anything,” Maggie said. “Let’s change the subject.”
Alice’s face grew stony, a look that said she was going to the dark side. The Kellehers never did know how to handle her.
Before Alice could respond, Ann Marie whispered urgently, “Canadians! Call them Canadians.”
Alice made an expression as if to say that it was silly, but she would indulge them.
“Fine. Canadians need to shape up. Better?”
Maggie shook her head. “I guess.”
“And why do Canadians have such filthy mouths?” Alice asked. “I stumbled onto something on the radio this morning. And well, why?”
“I don’t know,” Maggie said, looking weary.
“Ann Marie?” Alice asked.
“No clue, Mom,” she said.
Ann Marie flagged down the waitress and ordered another rum punch, even though her first one was still half full.
She called Pat from the phone in Alice’s kitchen before bed. She was feeling slightly drunk and sorry for herself. No one ever told her anything. She tried to be an agreeable person, but what did it get her?
When she told him that Maggie hadn’t left, Pat said, “Well good, then come home.”
“No, I’ll stay,” she said. “There’s still so much to do around here.”
She felt like a prisoner. She knew it was an overreaction—anytime she wanted she could get in the car and go. But then what would she do for the next ten days? Patty had gotten another sitter for the kids. Her sisters were dealing with her mom. It was a bit disturbing how easily she could slip out of her own life without causing anyone much trouble. And anyway, all of her dollhouse furnishings were being sent here.
“Whatever you think,” Pat said. “I miss you, though. The house is too quiet without you puttering around.”
She smiled. “What did you have for dinner?”
“I’ll plead the fifth on that.”
“Patrick!” She knew it. He had gone to McDonald’s. He was never allowed to eat fast food when she was present.
“I promise it won’t happen again,” he said. “Forgive me, I’m a weak man.”
“Okay then,” she said.
“Little Daniel called this afternoon,” he said.
“Oh?”
“He said he misses his dear old dad and thought he might come over for dinner some night this week.”
Good boy. “Well, isn’t that sweet?”
“It really put a smile on my face, I have to say.”
“I’m glad.”
The exchange cheered her. She vowed to start tomorrow off right, to focus on the good. Before sleep, as always, she prayed. For her children and grandchildren, her mother and Alice, for Pat and the loved ones they’d lost. She said a special prayer for Maggie, who seemed so alone. She thought of her niece in the cottage next door, and had half a mind to go over there and tuck her in. Instead, she closed her eyes and listened to the crashing waves through the window.
Four days passed, more or less pleasantly. She went to the Cliff House and took copious notes on the chicken (very good) and the beef (a little tough) and the shrimp (her favorite) for Regina. She cooked dinners, some of which she froze for her mother-in-law to eat later in the summer. She jogged on the beach and helped Alice in the garden and chatted with her niece, who seemed overburdened—by her breakup, Ann Marie supposed. The arrangement was strange; not at all what she had expected, but that was life. Soon enough June would be over, Maggie would go back to New York, and Pat would be here, along with Steve Brewer.
On her fifth morning in Maine, Ann Marie woke with a jolt to the sound of the garbage disposal and Alice’s voice coming from downstairs. It was only six thirty.
Alice sounded bright, happy.
“That’s what I meant,” she was saying. “I don’t know if maybe one of the little ones put a marble down there or something.”
“A marble?” came the amused voice of a man.
Ann Marie sat up in bed, straining to hear. Who was that? Her heart began to thump. She pictured Alice innocently answering the door, allowing some psychopath who claimed to be a plumber inside. Next, he’d be killing them both with a wrench and making off with their jewelry.
She pulled on her robe and went downstairs.
“Mom?” she said