Page 17 of Enemies to Lobsters
Ike startles, backing away with an unfamiliar look on his face. His jaw is tight. He nods, quickly replacing the undecipherable expression with a smirk and a wink. “Won’t happen again.”
∞∞∞
An hour later, after I’ve dropped off my smug grandparents—that will be their only descriptor until I sign the divorce papers in three hundred and sixty-five days—Stevie hops in my car.
“Hey, Diana Wentworth.” She buckles her seatbelt. “Want to go to Marlow’s? Comfort food?”
“Ugh. I amnotchanging my name.” I back out of her driveway. “And we can do takeout, but you’ve lost your mind if you think I’m going into the diner.”
She snickers. “Come on. No one knows you married Ike except me and your grandparents. Don’t you miss Marlow?”
She’s playing dirty now. Marlow is my only other ally in Cape Georgeana, and I do miss her. But I’m still wearing the white dress that will forever be a wedding dress in my mind. I’m going to have to donate it now, or burn it. It’s too conspicuous for a casual lunch.
“Comfort food, Di.” Stevie croons. “Soft, pillowy bread layered with meat. Andwhoopie pies,” she says with wonder, like she doesn’t live in the land flowing with whoopie pies. “How long has it been since you’ve had a whoopie pie?”
She knows my weakness.
“Fine. Marlow’s.”Ugh. “But you’re running interference. No one can find out about the marriage, okay? They hate me enough. This town doesn’t need to know I stole their golden boy.”
A few minutes later Marlow’s teenage brother, Brady, seats us in a booth in the corner, handing us a few plastic-covered menus we don’t need. “Marlow’s checking a delivery. She’ll be out when she’s done.” He doesn’t take our drink order, or even wait for us to settle onto the red pleather seats. Nepotism must've gotten that kid his summer job.
Seconds later, Marlow careens through the chipped turquoise swinging doors from the kitchen. “Girl, you married Ike Wentworth?” she shrieks, skidding to a stop beside our table. Silverware clatters. Whispers start. Marlow plops into the booth, winded. “What?” she asks when I run a hand down my face.
Stevie looks sheepish. “Sorry,” she says with a wince.
“I wasn’t going to tell anyone.” It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud.
Marlow looks confused. “The guy who just delivered our paper products told me about it. He heard from Sharlene in the county clerk's office.” She shrugs. “I figured the word was out.”
Stevie’s eyes are full of laughter, which she wisely holds inside. “I guess it is.”
One hour. It took one whole hour for that rumor to circulate. That’s a record, even for this town.
“I heard about it from Nellie,” a guy in the next booth chimes in. “If you want my opinion, it’s past time Ike fixed up that old dump.” He stuffs his sandwich in his mouth, chewing as he assesses me from top to bottom. “But he could’ve done better. Sure, you’re a Cape Georgeana eight, but you’re probably only a five in New York.”
This. This is why I never come back here, and why tourists don’t stay long. A coastal town in Maine should be silly with visitors this time of year. Instead, they have a guy with a chip-flecked goatee rating innocent bystanders.
“I can’t believe you felt comfortable saying that out loud, Kevin.” Stevie shoots lasers out of her eyes at the guy. “A man who sunbathes in a leopard print Speedo has no business rating Diana York, or any woman.”
“He does that?” I don’t bother lowering my voice. I’ll lower my voice when the Kevins of the world lower theirs. “Ugh.”
“In the town green,” Marlow adds. “In broad daylight. Despite multiple warnings from the police.”
“I have nothing to be ashamed of.” Kevin puffs his chest. He obviously spends time in the gym, but the muscles don’t make up for the shards of Fritos in his facial hair.
“Yes, you do,” a woman across the diner interjects.
Kevin goes back to his sandwich, red-faced and muttering.
“Anyway.” Stevie turns back to us, shaking her head at Speedo Kevin. “We’re going to get her settled in the lighthouse after this if you want to help.”
“Aw, man. I wish I could sneak away. It’s just me and Brady here.” Marlow frowns. “Have fun setting up the love nest. I want to come see it when you’re all moved in.”
“It’s not a love nest.” How could I be more clear about the terms of this marriage? “This is business.”
“Yeah, it is,” Stevie croons. “The business of looooove.”
Chapter 9
