E SPEND the rest of the day as the chief entertainment. Ah, the Beaumonts, always good for some laughs. Jonah is beaming with pride. Chantal does a fair amount of eye rolling, but the pall that’s been hanging over her is gone. She seems happy. I don’t know if she’ll stay with Jonah, but hey. Anything is possible.

“Another grandchild, Mom,” I comment as the two of us sit at a picnic table.

Mom swats her arm; the blackflies are making themselves known. “Yes,” she sighs. “And won’t that be nice.”

“Are you upset?” I ask tentatively. “I know Jonah’s your favorite….”

“Oh, Maggie, don’t be silly. Mothers don’t have favorites. Someday you’ll know that for yourself.” She pats my arm. “I’m not upset. It’s Jonah’s life. I hope things work out for him, but it’s really not my problem, is it?”

“I guess not,” I murmur.

“I’ve reached a stage of life, Maggie, where I finally realized that your kids are going to do what they want. My job is done. You don’t need me hovering, do you?”

“Well, I guess not, Mom. Not hovering. But still, we want you involved.”

My mom smiles, then glances at her watch. “Well, I’ve got to get going,” she says. “It’s a long drive.” She kisses my cheek, and I stand to hug her. “See you next week, all right, Maggie?”

We’ve decided to have lunch twice a month, just the two of us. “You bet, Mom. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me, too. Maybe you can get something done about those roots when you come.”

Oddly reassured that she’s still my insulting mother, I wave as she walks off.

Blessing Weekend is over. Families drift to their cars. Tables are folded, grills extinguished. Noah Grimsley is taking apart the podium. One of Octavio’s kids runs past me, calling out a greeting, and then flits away, quick as a hummingbird.

“I’ve come to say goodbye, Maggie.”

“Father Tim,” I say. A lump rises in my throat.

“I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning.”

“Well. Do you have a replacement yet? For St. Mary’s?”

“Father Daniels will be filling in until they find someone more permanent,” he answers.

“Right.” Father Daniels, now retired, is the priest who gave Christy and me our first communions.

“Take care of yourself, Maggie,” he says, smiling though his eyes are bright with tears. “If you ever need anything…spiritual, that is…”

I laugh and pat his shoulder. “Take care, Father Tim.”

WITH FATHER TIM GONE, the festivities over and everything cleaned up, I go to Joe’s and make myself a cup of coffee. Sitting at the corner booth, I look out at the quiet street.

Father Tim’s era is over, in my town and in my life; the new phase is waiting to begin. And suddenly I feel the overwhelming urge to see Malone. Before I know it, I’m walking, practically running to the dock. The tide is out and the ramp to the water is steep, but the lobster gods have heard me, because the Ugly Anne is pulled right up, not out, not at its mooring, but right there at the end of the dock, as if the fates want me to see Malone. As if it’s meant to be. My feet pound against the weathered boards.

“Malone?” I call out, skidding to a stop. His boat is tied stern to dock, the bow furthest from me. A head pops out of the wheelhouse. Not Malone’s head.

“Hi,” she calls. The new sternman. His daughter.

Her resemblance to Malone is unmistakable—sharp cheekbones, thickly-lashed blue eyes, long and lanky. She’s a beautiful, beautiful young woman. How old did Malone say she was? Seventeen?

Whatever force has propeled me this far suddenly falters. Maloner the Loner is lonely no more. Maybe he never was. After all, he’s had a marriage, has a child, this lovely creature who’s spending the summer with him. He already has his little family. He doesn’t need me.

“I’m Emory,” she says, picking her way gracefully around the coils of rope that litter the deck. She’s wearing cutoff jeans and a tank top and yet she looks like she stepped out of a photo shoot. The lobstermen must be smitten.

I swallow. “Um…hi. Yeah. I’m Maggie.”

“Looking for my dad?” she asks pleasantly. I don’t answer. What am I doing here? I ask myself. If Malone wanted anything from me, he’s had weeks to find me.

Emory raises her eyebrows. “Did you want to see Malone?” she repeats, and I feel even more like an idiot.

“Um, yeah. Actually, it’s no big…deal. I’ll come back—”

“Malone!” she calls. “Someone to see you, cap!”

Malone emerges from the storage area in the bow, wiping his hands on a grease-stained towel. “Aye-aye, skipper,” he says, grinning. He snaps the towel at her as he walks past, and she giggles and leaps away.

God, he seems so happy. Malone of the scowls and lines has what he needs to be happy, and it ain’t me. I briefly consider jumping into the water to escape. Worked for Jonah.

Malone catches sight of me, and the smile on his face falls like a stone. “Maggie.”

I take a big breath and release it. “Yup. Hi.”

He jumps off the stern onto the dock and puts his hands on his hips, and even though his daughter is watching, I can’t help feeling the effect he has on me. My chest feels tight, my eyes hot and dry.

“You met Emory?” he asks.

“Oh, yes. Yup. Sure did. She’s…she’s…beautiful.”

His face softens into a smile as he glances back at the subject of our conversation. I swallow against the lump in my throat. “Yeah,” Malone agrees. “So. What’s up?”

“Oh…it’s—well…” Any plans I had have evaporated. To hide the fact that my hands are shaking, I stuff them in my pockets. “Um, well, guess what? It turns out that Jonah…you know, my brother, well, he’s the father of Chantal’s baby. And he just figured it out, and they’re together, I guess. Sort of. So no one thinks it’s you anymore.”

His bottom lip is so full and soft-looking among the black razor stubble. Those irritating lashes drop for a moment as Malone looks at the dock.

“You knew, didn’t you?” I ask. “About Jonah.”

“Ayuh.”

“You could’ve told me, Malone.” My voice sounds soft and trembly.

He sighs. “Chantal didn’t want me to. I thought you should know, but…well. Not my call.” He frowns and looks back at his boat. He starts to say something, then apparently changes his mind.

I give in to my urge to flee. “You know what, Malone? I have to run. But you know, nice seeing you and all. Have a good night.” I wave to Emory, who looks as graceful as a swan even as she stuffs a bait bag. “Bye. Nice meeting you.” She smiles back, very sweetly, and tears burn in my eyes.

Turning to leave, I actually take a few steps before stopping. I came for a reason, after all. “Listen, Malone,” I say, turning around. “Um, I just want you to know that…Listen. I accidentally helped spread that rumor about you and Chantal. I’m sorry for that, and I’m sorry I never gave you the benefit of the doubt. You deserved better.”

I force myself not to look away. His face is unsmiling, not exactly scowling, but not happy, either, God knows. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, too,” I continue, my voice unsteady. “About Father Tim and me, and you and me, and me killing time with you…” I’m babbling again. “Well, whatever. I guess I also wanted to say that…” I take a deep breath. “Malone, I never meant to make you feel…inferior. I think you’re…well. Not inferior at all.” I swallow. “Pretty superior, actually.”

If he were to give me anything at that moment, I’d say more. If he smiled, if he took a step toward me, if he said something. But he doesn’t, just looks at me. Finally, he gives a slight nod. “Thanks,” he says quietly.

And that’s it. I wait another second, then nod and, painfully aware of my every move, walk back down the dock.

Malone doesn’t stop me. He doesn’t forgive me, and he lets me go.

“What was that all about?” I hear Emory ask, but though I hear the rumble of his voice, I can’t make out the words. I run up the gangplank because I don’t want them to know that I’m crying.

OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS, I feel a bit hollow. After all, I’ve lost four people in my daily life—Father Tim, my mom, Colonel and Malone. They were a big part of things, even if only for a while. Obviously, my mother falls into a different category, as She Who Gave Me Life, and though we’re starting a better phase of our relationship, it’s strange to have her gone.

Thank you for everything, God, I say morosely as I clean Mrs. K.’s apartment. I’m glad I don’t have cancer, I haven’t amputated a limb, I’m not blind. I’m not an orphan, I have friends, health, home, all that crap. Then I immediately chastise myself and apologize for calling it crap…but God knows what I mean. I’m not exactly a mystery wrapped in an enigma.

“I think I’m going to take a cooking class,” I tell Mrs. K. when I’ve turned off the Electrolux.

“You’re already a magnificent cook! Pooh!” she cries staunchly, thumping her cane for emphasis.

“Yes, well, thanks, Mrs. K. But I might like to learn a bit more, you know? New sauces, new techniques, stuff like that. I’m trying to jazz up the menu at Joe’s.”

There’s a master class being offered in Machias, twice a week for twelve weeks. I’ve already signed up. French Cooking with a Twist. It sounded fun.

“Well, as long as you don’t change your lemon cake,” Mrs. K. says. “Don’t tamper with perfection, Maggie!”

Maybe at the class, I’ll meet some new people. It would be nice to have someone else to pal around with. It’s starting to dawn on me that getting out of Gideon’s Cove once in a while isn’t a bad idea. Chantal and I are still a little tentative with each other, but our friendship will survive her shtupping Jonah. After all, he may be my little brother, but he is also a grown-up. Theoretically, anyway.

Christy calls me later in the week. “Listen, I know the last time was a disaster,” she says, failing to excite me about what comes next, “but Will knows this nice guy, a drug rep who came into the office last week. Can we give him your number?”

I sigh. I’m stretched out sideways on my bed, a pillow clutched to my side. It’s no substitute for Colonel. I need to get another dog. “I don’t think so, Christy,” I say. “Not for a while. But I’ll let you know, okay?”

“Is it Malone?” she asks. I had told her about my visit to the dock.

“Oh, Christy,” I confess. “It was one of those things…I didn’t realize how much he meant to me until it was too late. Dumb, huh? Stupid Maggie.”

“You’re not dumb,” she chides. “It was a good learning experience. Think of it that way.”

“You bet,” I say with false bravado. “How are you feeling?”

Christy launches into a description of her fatigue and vomiting, then describes Violet’s newest incisor in thrilling detail. I smile. “You still going out tomorrow?” I ask. “It’s my day to babysit.”

“Only if you want to,” Christy says.

“I certainly do.”