Catch of the Day Read Online Free PDF Page B

tonight.” There I go again, blurting out my news. At least this time I know the guy isn’t a priest.
    “How lovely, dear! I remember when Mr. Kandinsky courted me. My father didn’t approve, you know,” she said.
    I do know. I’ve heard this story dozens of times. To remind her of this fact, I say, “Right. He used to show Mr. K. his gun collection, didn’t he?”
    “My father used to show Walter his gun collection while he waited for me! Can you imagine! ” Her wizened face wrinkles even more as she laughs, a lovely, tinkling sound.
    “Well, Mr. K. must have loved you very much, if he stood for that,” I tell her, smiling.
    “Oh, yes. He did. Would you like me to warm up some meat loaf for you, too, Maggie dear?”
    I lean down again and kiss her cheek. “No, I have a date, remember? But I’ll warm it up for you.” I tuck the dish into the microwave and press the buttons. Mrs. K. often forgets how to use the microwave, though I sometimes smell popcorn late at night. I guess she figures it out for important things. On the counter is a bottle of Eucerin Dry Skin Therapy Plus Intensive Repair Hand Crème. “Mrs. K., is it all right if I try your hand cream?” I ask.
    “Of course! My mother always said, you can judge a lady by her hands. ”
    “I hope not,” I mutter, attacking a cracked spot near my thumb.
    Ten minutes later, I go upstairs to my apartment. Colonel seems stiffer than usual, and I have to boost him up the last few steps. “Here you go, big guy,” I tell him, fixing his supper. I press a glucosamine pill and some doggy anti-inflammatories into a spoonful of peanut butter and turn to him. “Peanut butter blob!” I announce. He wags happily as he laps his medicine off the spoon. “Good boy. And here’s your supper, Mr. Handsome.” Given the state of his hips, I don’t make him sit first.
    Responsibilities finished, I take a minute to flop into my chair and relax. My apartment is small—a minute kitchen, living room, tiny bedroom and fairy-sized bathroom that barely has enough room for me to stand. But I love it. A seaman’s chest, filled with afghans from Mrs. Kandinsky, serves as a coffee table. Pictures of Violet decorate the fridge, and some African violets, in honor of my niece, blossom on the windowsill. Little collections of matchstick boxes and animal-shaped salt and pepper shakers line a shelf that my father and I put up a few years ago. Some old tin pie plates hang on the wall, and instead of hooks, I use old porcelain or glass doorknobs to hang my coats. Six or seven decorative birdhouses hang on the wall, gifts from my dad, who makes them almost as fast as Mrs. K. crochets afghans.
    Well. Time to get ready for my date! I’ve already planned what to wear—black pants, red sweater and a nice pair of suede shoes to slip on at the restaurant. The ice, salt and mud between my apartment and my car would ruin anything other than my faithful L. L. Bean boots in a matter of one step. I shower, dry my hair and take care of my face, then take a look in the mirror, pleased. I don’t often wear my hair down, but it looks pretty and soft, thanks to the new cut and color. My gray eyes look bigger with makeup, and the blush I applied does wonders for my pale skin. I put on a necklace, give my dog a rawhide chew stick and leave.
    Roger Martin, the nurse with whom I am having dinner, called me three days ago at Will’s urging. He sounded pleasant, though we didn’t talk too much. We agreed to meet at The Loon, a nice restaurant in Machias that Christy and Will frequent. Why he needs to be fixed up is a bit of a mystery—but then again, I need to be fixed up, so I try to reserve judgment.
    It takes a while to get to the restaurant from Gideon’s Cove, as the roads are narrow and twisting out of our little peninsula. I don’t mind; I hum along with the one radio station I pick up as I drive. I don’t leave town too often, to tell the truth, and I usually walk around town or ride my