Read Online Unholy Matrimony by Peg Cochran - Free Book Online

Taylor.”
    “What? Don’t start with that again.” Lucille slammed the plate down on the counter. “As soon as we find that little so-and-so I’m getting Father Brennan to perform the ceremony.”
    “I’m not marrying Taylor, okay?” Bernadette jumped up from her chair. “Tony is coming home”—she waved her phone in front of Lucille’s face—“and we’re getting back together.”
    Lucille felt a rush of gratitude and quickly sent up a prayer of thanks. “You and Tony are getting married!” she called after Bernadette, who was already out of the room.
    Bernadette spun around. “Of course not. We’ve decided we don’t believe in marriage. It’s an artificial rite created by man.”
    “Artificial? What do you mean artificial? People have been getting married for thousands of years,” Lucille yelled after her.
    Then she sent up a prayer to St. Dymphna, patron saint of those contemplating suicide, because right now she really felt like killing herself.
     
    • • •
     
    Even before Lucille began to boil the water for the pasta, Louis and Millie had taken their places at the table, hands folded patiently on the pristine white cloth. Frankie had put the extra leaf in and had then disappeared down to what was left of the rec room. Lucille could hear the noise of some sporting event on the television drifting up the stairs.
    Lucille had marinara sauce simmering on the stove. Mrs. Esposito next door had had real luck with her tomatoes this year and had given Lucille a basketful. She’d been planning to do stuffed shells, and Frankie kept asking when she was going to make manicotti again, but Lucille was too tired. Besides, everyone was getting a free meal, weren’t they?
    It’s not like any of them were such a big help. Angela was always the first to jump up and start clearing the table. She probably thought Lucille hadn’t noticed that she never went beyond stacking the dirty plates on the counter. As soon as it was time to wash the pots and pans and serving dishes, she would make some excuse for leaving. You couldn’t expect Grandma Theresa to help at her age, or Father Brennan of course—it wouldn’t be right, a man of the cloth doing the dishes. There was no reason Frankie couldn’t do a little something, but by the time dinner was over he was usually asleep in the armchair in front of the television. And Bernadette? Lucille figured she would fall over dead the day Bernadette offered to help.
    Flo usually stuck around, putting one of Lucille’s aprons over whatever dress she had worn to church and at least helping to dry.
    Lucille was stirring the sauce when the bell rang, the front door opening simultaneously.
    “Yoo-hoo,” Angela called from the foyer.
    “In here,” Lucille tossed over her shoulder. As if Angela didn’t know where to find her.
    Angela bustled into the kitchen as her husband and son went down the stairs to join Frank in whatever game he was watching. They had brought Grandma Theresa with them, and she immediately went to sit down at the table with Louis and Millie.
    “I didn’t see you in church,” Angela said. She peered into the pan of sauce on the stove.
    “I overslept.”
    Angela frowned. “Really, Lucille.”
    Lucille spun around, the wooden spoon in her hand. “I don’t need no grief from you today, okay, Angela?”
    “There’s no need to get huffy about it.”
    Lucille clenched her teeth and ripped the top off a box of ziti. She dumped the pasta into the pot and winced as a drop of boiling water splashed onto her hand.
    “You’re cooking the pasta already?” Angela’s frown deepened. “Everyone isn’t even here yet. It’s going to be overcooked.”
    “It’s not going to be overcooked,” Lucille said firmly.
    “Fine, fine, whatever you say.” Angela rummaged in her handbag, pulled out her compact and dabbed some powder on her nose. “Everyone was talking about the murder in church today.”
    “Sheesh, it hasn’t even made the papers