the serious damage, but that meant shutting down the whole utility, which also services the sub. We’re in hot water. This sub has got to go out—some emergency in the gulf. She’s mostly serviced. Ah’ve had them workin’ as quick as they can to clean up the mess, but it’s everywhere. The sub’s in dry dock two. The doors are stuck. They caught fire in the explosion.”
“Who do you have in?”
“Multiple crews, machinists, welders, riggers—you name it, we have it.” Carl pointed energetically.
“Well, just get me down there and I’ll take a look at those doors. I need plans, and a few men.”
***
“Look at that beauty. What a whopper.” John nodded toward the fillet of King Salmon.
“Do you like a sweet glaze? I’m thinking butter and brown sugar,” Jenny said.
“We’re easy,” John answered.
“I’m not easy, but yes, that sounds lovely.” Mrs. Coggington smiled, a little bit too wide, at John. They seemed to be getting on well—a bit too well, Jenny noticed. She glanced at their hands; neither of them wore wedding rings.
“So, where’s Mr. Coggington?” Jenny couldn’t help herself.
“Dead. But I was a missus for forty-seven years and I like being a missus now. Anyway, I guess you can call me Molly, since you have invited me to dinner. So very nice of you. I’ve been on microwaved macaroni for weeks now. My fingers ache with the arthritis, you see. It started about ten years ago, and it will not let up. The doctor gave me medication, but it just doesn’t work very well.”
“I have arthritis, too,” John added, splaying the fingers of his right hand and showing her.
“It’s quite a bother, especially when the barometer drops.” Molly sympathized. “I can tell when it’s going to rain, which is basically all the time.”
“This summer has been worse than others. It’s that La Niña business.” John shook his head. “Seems as though it’s permanent. The weather used to be much better.”
Jenny nodded as she put the fish in the oven. “Should only be about half an hour, I think. Wine?”
“Oh no, not with my heart medication . Well, maybe just a taste,” said Molly. She took a seat at the dining table, next to John.
“Just a taste for me as well.” John moved his chair over a little to let Molly in.
Jenny poured them each a half-glass of Chardonnay and lit a new white candle on the windowsill. It would be just the three of them; Kip had already eaten her usual fare—chicken nuggets—and been put to bed.
“So tell me a story about Gerry.” Jenny joined them at the table.
“I didn’t know her. I only saw her in passing, in town,” John said quickly.
Molly took her cue. “What kind of story do you want? I have many.”
“Anything. Something interesting. What was she like ... before?”
“She was quiet, kept to herself most of them time. She liked the beach, and she loved seashells—had quite the collection.”
“I’ve seen them, throughout the house,” Jenny said. “They’re all so beautiful—all colors, even some shark teeth. I didn’t know those washed up on the shore. I wonder where she got them?”
“No idea,” said Molly, gripping her wineglass to still the permanent shaking of her hands.
“They wash up on the shore all the time. You just have to look for them,” said John. He took a sip of wine. “I don’t collect them myself, but many do.”
“She was quiet,” Molly repeated.
“Oh, I know you’ve got more than that.” Molly was holding out on her, Jenny knew it. “What’s with the fisherman saying up front?”
Molly shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Oh, come on! There’s got to be something more there.”
Molly glared at her and raised her eyebrows at John, as if she didn’t want to say in front of him. “I think someone gave that to her. I’m not sure.”
“I see,” said Jenny, relishing the secret female understanding that passed between them—an understanding that was universal, no matter the
“Who do you have in?”
“Multiple crews, machinists, welders, riggers—you name it, we have it.” Carl pointed energetically.
“Well, just get me down there and I’ll take a look at those doors. I need plans, and a few men.”
***
“Look at that beauty. What a whopper.” John nodded toward the fillet of King Salmon.
“Do you like a sweet glaze? I’m thinking butter and brown sugar,” Jenny said.
“We’re easy,” John answered.
“I’m not easy, but yes, that sounds lovely.” Mrs. Coggington smiled, a little bit too wide, at John. They seemed to be getting on well—a bit too well, Jenny noticed. She glanced at their hands; neither of them wore wedding rings.
“So, where’s Mr. Coggington?” Jenny couldn’t help herself.
“Dead. But I was a missus for forty-seven years and I like being a missus now. Anyway, I guess you can call me Molly, since you have invited me to dinner. So very nice of you. I’ve been on microwaved macaroni for weeks now. My fingers ache with the arthritis, you see. It started about ten years ago, and it will not let up. The doctor gave me medication, but it just doesn’t work very well.”
“I have arthritis, too,” John added, splaying the fingers of his right hand and showing her.
“It’s quite a bother, especially when the barometer drops.” Molly sympathized. “I can tell when it’s going to rain, which is basically all the time.”
“This summer has been worse than others. It’s that La Niña business.” John shook his head. “Seems as though it’s permanent. The weather used to be much better.”
Jenny nodded as she put the fish in the oven. “Should only be about half an hour, I think. Wine?”
“Oh no, not with my heart medication . Well, maybe just a taste,” said Molly. She took a seat at the dining table, next to John.
“Just a taste for me as well.” John moved his chair over a little to let Molly in.
Jenny poured them each a half-glass of Chardonnay and lit a new white candle on the windowsill. It would be just the three of them; Kip had already eaten her usual fare—chicken nuggets—and been put to bed.
“So tell me a story about Gerry.” Jenny joined them at the table.
“I didn’t know her. I only saw her in passing, in town,” John said quickly.
Molly took her cue. “What kind of story do you want? I have many.”
“Anything. Something interesting. What was she like ... before?”
“She was quiet, kept to herself most of them time. She liked the beach, and she loved seashells—had quite the collection.”
“I’ve seen them, throughout the house,” Jenny said. “They’re all so beautiful—all colors, even some shark teeth. I didn’t know those washed up on the shore. I wonder where she got them?”
“No idea,” said Molly, gripping her wineglass to still the permanent shaking of her hands.
“They wash up on the shore all the time. You just have to look for them,” said John. He took a sip of wine. “I don’t collect them myself, but many do.”
“She was quiet,” Molly repeated.
“Oh, I know you’ve got more than that.” Molly was holding out on her, Jenny knew it. “What’s with the fisherman saying up front?”
Molly shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Oh, come on! There’s got to be something more there.”
Molly glared at her and raised her eyebrows at John, as if she didn’t want to say in front of him. “I think someone gave that to her. I’m not sure.”
“I see,” said Jenny, relishing the secret female understanding that passed between them—an understanding that was universal, no matter the
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