Page 84 of Don't Tell Me How to Die

She still didn’t look back. Suspicion confirmed. Nothing in that fridge was more important than squaring off and dealing with my accusation.

“You’re smirking, aren’t you?” I said.

“I don’t smirk,” she said, her face still hidden, a hint of glee in her voice.

“Turn around and look me in the eye,” I said.

She turned around. Her face was deadpan.

“You rigged this,” I said.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said.

“Last night I told you I was looking for my replacement, and this morning you’re suddenly working at the bar, happy to check out prospective candidates.”

“Maggie, you just asked me to do that.”

“I never would have asked you to come to my reunion.Never! I only decided to ask you to help because you were going to be there anyway.”

“So, it all works out,” she said. “Win-win.”

“One last question then,” I said. “And I want a totally honest answer.”

She nodded, her expression as vacant as a tournament poker player.

“Exactly when did Dotty ask you to work the bar?” I said.

A wide grin spread across her face, and she shrugged. “About five minutes ago. Right after I called her.”

FORTY-NINE

“Before we go in, I have a confession to make,” I said to Alex, after we pulled into the parking lot at McCormick’s.

He came around to my side of the car and put his hands together in mock prayer. “Please don’t tell me you’re thinking about running for Congress,” he said. “Anything else I can handle.”

“You know Duff Logan, don’t you?”

“Sure. Funny guy. What about him?”

“When I was in high school, I thought he’d make the perfect boyfriend.”

He laughed. “You were right. And he did. But for Warren, not for you. Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because we are going to be spending the next few days with eighty-seven people I went to high school with, most of whom you’ve never met, and I wanted to let you in on the only secret I’ve ever kept from you so that you are not tempted to ask them any questions about my questionable past. Got it?”

“Damn,” he said. “I guess now I’ll have to scrap the intro I worked on. Hi, my name is Alex. Just how big a slut was my wife in high school anyway?”

I put my arms around him. “I can’t believe I’m dragging you through an entire weekend of this memory-lane mania,” I said. “Thank you.”

He pulled me close and kissed me.

“Hey—I have an idea,” I said, trying to sound like it had just popped in my head and not something I had decided six hours ago. “We haven’t had any alone time together in ages. Let’s go away next weekend. Just the two of us.”

“Fantastic,” he said. “I put the boat in the water at the end of April, and we’ve only taken her out twice. Why don’t we sail to Block Island for the?—”

“Alex, that’s a father-son weekend. As much as I love cramming my body into a bunk bed, squatting on a tiny toilet, and waking up at four in the morning because that’s when the fish are biting, I’m talking about you and me going somewhere with a few more amenities—like a shower.”

I grew up within spitting distance of the Hudson River, but for me, boats are confining. Alex, who was raised in the Great Plains of Kansas, swears he never feels freer than when he’s cutting through the water with the wind in his sails.