Page 55 of Enemies to Lobsters
I duck to kiss her temple. “Okay, sweetheart. Let’s get you downstairs so you can feel human.”
A few minutes later, Diana is tucked against my side on the couch, sipping from a mug full of broth while I scroll every streaming app ever invented in search of something we can agree on. This has become our evening ritual—we take an hour to decide on something, then one of us falls asleep within minutes. The afternoon light is pouring in through the wide windows this time, though, and Diana doesn’t usually snuggle quite so close. I am fully awake and alert.
I can’t remember the last time I spent a day doing nothing. I shove away the nagging guilt, reminding myself that I’m taking care of my wife. If Cape Georgeana is currently burning down I can’t be held responsible.
“Ooo, Captain America.” She sighs the words.
I scroll past it. “You have a thing for Chris Evans?” I never understood the appeal.
“I have a thing for men who save the world.” She nudges me. “Like you, Mr. Everything. That would be your superhero name, by the way.Mr. Everything.” She sighs again.
“Okay, you are not yourself right now. I’m picking the movie.”
I scroll for another minute or so until I find the perfect show. Somehow I manage to press play with a straight face. She’s going to love this.
“Quigley Down Under?” She laughs weakly into her mug. “A bold choice. You think you can handle the competition?”
I relax against the back of the couch, and she curls up beside me. She fits perfectly. “I can take him.”
Chapter 26
Diana
Bang, bang, bang!
What is happening? And why am I so warm? I vaguely register the sound of a door crashing open in my dream. I want to roll over and let unconsciousness whisk me away. I’m so tired. So unbelievably exhausted.
“Knock, knock!” a cheery woman’s voice calls through the fog.
I don’t have the strength to open my eyes, but memories of the last twenty-four hours resurface and yeah—I’m never eating crab again. Or shrimp. Any sort of shellfish is off the table. The thought of eating anything fish-adjacent makes my body revolt. King Triton will be thrilled. And I’m craving more sleep.
“What” — the woman gasps in shock — “What is happening here?” She sounds ticked. What a strangely vivid dream.
Then I register the pressure on my abdomen. I think it’s an arm. I’m stretched out across the couch, and I feel Ike’s unmistakable form wrapped around me like a warm, weighted blanket. His beard scratches my temple when he sighs in his sleep.
Well, I’m awake now.
Ike and I must’ve crashed sometime in the middle ofQuigley Down Under. Feeling the weight of his arm against my stomach and the rise and fall of his chest against my back, I have no regrets. I don’t know what time of day it is, or what actual day it is, but I’m curled up innocently with a handsome man who happens to be my husband. My stomach isn’t actively revolting at the moment. Life is good.
“Isaac Patton Wentworth.” The woman in my dreams is using his full, legal name now. Ruh-roh. “What do you think you’re doing sleeping with that woman?”
That woman? It’s Diana Wentworth to you, lady. Technically, I haven’t changed my name, but she doesn’t know that. The irritation jolts me awake. What an annoying dream.
When I blink my eyes open, there’s a woman with a mass of dark, gray-streaked curls looming over the couch, her hands on her hips. It’s Ike’s mother, Shelly. I haven’t seen her in years, but the judgy face? The school sweatshirt with the glaring Kraken under a CGHS in big, blocky letters? That’s definitely her. I wish I had time to appreciate the fact that Shelly Wentworth and the Kraken on her sweater are wearing matching expressions. I’m in trouble. Once a school principal, always a principal. She wasn’t even my principal, but she still carries that terrifying weight of authority. I bolt upright—I try to, anyway.
“Not so fast.” Ike’s voice is groggy behind me, and how on earth is he so strong? He pulls me back against him. “I like you right here.”
I elbow him in the ribs. “Ike.Your mother is here,” I hiss.
He chuckles, nuzzling my neck in his sleep. “That’s not funny, sweetheart.”
Shelly glares. I’m not making a great second impression on the former principal of Cape Georgeana High School. Her misdirected grudge about the stadium lights is holding strong, I see.
I wince. “Ike. Your mother is here,” I repeat, grunting as I work to extricate myself from his strong grasp.
His mother folds her arms across her chest. “Yeah, Ike. Your mother is here, and she’d like to know why she had to hear from Tina Murphy that you married the woman who ran over your mailbox out of spite.”
In one fast movement, Ike is standing, and my butt lands on our beautiful hardwood floor.
