Page 72 of Enemies to Lobsters
“I would love that.” Shelly beams, appraising me. “No wonder Ike is so taken with you.”
I squirm under her gaze and nod, taking another bite of my burrito. I’m pretty taken with him, too. His voice is in my head again:I want this to be real.I’m elated and terrified by the thought. He wants me. Or does he only think he wants me? Will he leave me eventually?
“You look so sad.” Shelly’s voice is like a warm blanket. “What’s on your mind?”
I sigh. “Ike.” It’s always him these days.
“I can imagine.” She grins. “After last night, I’m sure—”
“He told you what he said? That he wants to stay married?” I ask with a gasp. I slap a hand over my mouth when it hits me—a second too late—that she’s referring to the reception in general. I’m the person who’s hyperfocused on Ike’s declaration.
Shelly’s eyes widen. “He didn’t tell me anything. That doesn’t surprise me, though. When that boy does something, he goes all in. Did he… Does he want to make this permanent?”
I fidget. I walked right into that one. “He does.”
“And what about you?”
She sees me so well, I don’t bother lying. “I don’t want to lose myself,” I repeat the go-to reasoning that is tired, even in my ears.
“You haven’t lost yourself yet.” Her eyes narrow, and she tilts her head to the side. “But that isn’t it. No woman would stay away from a man like Ike without something holding her back. Something big.”
Every woman should believe in her children the way this woman believes in hers. But she sees way too much. She’s absolutely right. I’m not losing myself. I know that. So, what’s stopping me? What am I afraid of? A barrage of memories floods my mind. I see my mother spouting her opinions aboutlife, marriage, me—everything. The woman who left. The woman rejected me, if I’m honest with myself.
I can almost hear my wailing voice from a few minutes ago echoing through the tower.
Rejection. Abandonment.
That’s what this is about. That’s what I’m afraid of.
We listen to the sound of the ocean and the wind whistling around the lighthouse while I think and finish eating.
“I’m glad I got to know you better, Diana.” At the question in my eyes she adds, “You’re not what I thought you were.”
“I’m not a witch, you mean.”
She laughs. “No, you’re not. You’re just… soweird.”
Her choice of words startles a laugh out of me. “Weird?”I’mweird. A resident of Cape Georgeana, Maine, is callingmeweird.
“Oh, yes.” She throws a soft arm around my shoulders. “I mean that in the best possible way. You have a lobster for a pet, for heaven sake. You’re obsessed with Tom Selleck. You climb up here and sing horrendously.” And the frosting on the cake? She gestures to my hodgepodge outfit as evidence.
Hey, now.
“That’s how it all started, you know?” she asks.
After that laundry list of irrefutable evidence that I’m a weirdo like the rest of them, I’m afraid to ask. “How what started?”
“The witch thing. I mean—well, can I be honest?” She presses her lips together, hesitating. When I nod, it comes out in a rush. “My money says Ike started that rumor because he’s had his eye on you for years, and the boy will get attention from you any way he can get it.”
I shake my head, forcing a laugh. “I-I don’t think so.”
She shrugs, obviously holding firm to her opinion. “Anyway, after he spread that particular story, Tina Murphy came overhere with her family, and they heard you chanting in Latin in the lighthouse tower.”
Unbelievable. “First of all, I'm sure it was Italian. Andare you serious?” I shriek.
When she nods, I want to make a hundred phone calls and yell, “I’m not a witch, I just like to sing opera in the lighthouse.” Why is that hard to understand? Let a woman have hobbies.
Shelly smiles. “The point is, you have an inner weirdo, just like the rest of us. Channel her. Let her out. You’re so much happier when you do. Everyone sees it. We’ve watched this lighthouse change, and we’re seeing you change—in the best way.”
