New Girl in Little Cove by Damhnait Monaghan (book club suggestions TXT) 📗

never stop missing my John. I still talks to him all the time.” She patted her mouth with a napkin, then added, “It’s some good to share memories with people who knew him well.”

It reminded me of what Mom had said. She needed to talk to someone who had loved Dad, too.

“And now,” said Lucille, bringing me back, “I can talk to Grace about him, thanks to you.”

“Why thanks to me?” I asked, then put another forkful of food in my mouth.

“Sure you’re the one got her out of the house.”

I was mid-chew and gestured my lack of comprehension.

“The first time she left her house in years was the night she come here for the party after you nearly drowned yourself trying to save that frigging dog.”

I ignored her use of the word trying and said, “But why did she care about Ruthie?”

“It wasn’t the dog, girl. It was the rescue. That day will stay in people’s memory, Rachel. In your own way, you took on the sea, and you won. And those days are to be celebrated around here. Once Grace left her house that evening, I think she realized what she’d been missing hiding away at home all those years. I guess Mass was the last barrier she had to break through. Now she’s done it, and that’s down to you.”

After dinner, Lucille washed the dishes while I dried. The radio was on low, emitting a steady flow of jigs and reels.

“What’s happening with your contract?” Lucille asked, handing me a soapy pan.

“What do you mean?”

“I wondered if you might stay on next year.”

“That’s what Judy was asking me after Mass today.”

“Course she was. They’re lucky to have you. What did you say?”

“That I’d think about it.”

“Hmph,” said Lucille, whatever that meant.

When the kitchen was tidy, Lucille made tea and we sat back down at the table. She brought me up to date on the hookers and Linda’s wedding plans, while I half listened. It was all very familiar, sitting there while Lucille talked the ear off me, but after a while, I realized that something was off. Then it dawned on me. There was no ashtray on the table, and the spot over the stove where Lucille kept her cigarettes was bare. She hadn’t smoked the entire time I’d been there.

“Did you quit smoking?” I asked.

“Yes, girl,” she said. “Thought you’d never twig to it. I asked Linda about a birthday present, and she said the only thing she wanted was for me to give up the smokes.”

I jumped up from her chair and hugged her tight.

“Jaysus, girl,” she said. “You nearly spilt me tea.”

I glanced around the once familiar kitchen to see if there were any other changes. There was another tear in the linoleum and a new rug was tossed on the daybed. It consisted of wide stripes of blue and green, with a big splodge of yellow in one corner at the top. When I admired it, Lucille was dismissive.

“Pah,” she said. “I ran out of blue and green rags, so I had to add that yellow bit. The sight of it’s got me drove off me head.”

“Well, I love it. It’s like an abstract painting—all sea and forest and sun.”

“You’re cracked, my dear. Cracked.” She laughed. “Abstract painting, I never heard the like. Wait ’til I tell the girls.”

But when it was time for me to leave, Lucille thrust the rug into my hands. “Take it,” she said. “You got me thinking.” She gestured at the yellow splodge. “Maybe that’s hope.”

30

By chance, I had discovered that the Clayville district high school had a swimming pool that members of the public could use outside of school hours. I’d been swimming my whole life. As a toddler, my photo was in the local newspaper, accompanying a fluff piece about children’s swimming lessons. At university, I worked as a lifeguard. I was even asked to swim competitively, but for me, swimming had always been about release and solitude. I might have started out angry or sad, but as I worked my way up and down the pool, my mind would clear and I would begin to relax.

To gain access to the swimming pool, I had to write my name and address in a dog-eared red book and pay the attendant five dollars for ten weeks of swimming. It seemed a pretty fair deal.

I changed quickly and pulled on my goggles, slipping into the pool. A used adhesive bandage floated past; I scooped it up and put it on the side. In the lane next to me, a woman in a bright orange swimsuit was doing lengths, and before I knew it, we were matching each other stroke for stroke. When I came out of the shower later, she was in the change room, and we chatted briefly as we dried off and dressed. She introduced herself as Maggie Vincent and it turned out that she was a history teacher at the high school. We agreed to meet at the pool the following Friday.

By the time I got back to my place, I was starving. I made a cup of tea and grabbed a cookie while I contemplated dinner. Then the phone rang.

“Rachel?” The voice was tremulous and I didn’t recognize it.

“Yes.”

“It’s Biddy.” I could almost hear the pain in her voice.

“Has something happened?” I asked, putting down my mug and tensing. “Is it Lucille?”

“No,” said Biddy. “It’s me.” These last two words were almost whispered.

“What is it?” I asked.

“We hit a moose.”

“You hid a moose? I don’t understand.”

“Eddie Churchill was driving me into Clayville this morning and there was a moose in the road and, well, we hit it.”

“Oh my God, are you all right?”

“A bit banged up,” she said, adding that her head had been knocked against the car window. “And I’m right worried about Eddie. He’s gone off to St. John’s in an ambulance and they won’t tell me nothing because I’m not his next of kin.”

I thought about kind Eddie Churchill,