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again,” said Bill, yawning and stretching.
    Lucy gave him a sharp look. “Sometimes I think you’re on Toby’s side. Don’t you care that your grandchild is going to be illegitimate?”
    “Not really,” he said, with a shrug, as he stood up. “I don’t think it matters all that much.”
    Lucy also got up, and they stood facing each other across the bed. “Of course, it matters. People should be married before they have children. That’s just the way it is. Bringing a life into the world is a big responsibility. What kind of parents will they be if they can’t even decide to get married?”
    Bill sighed. “They’re going to be fine parents. What matters to me is that the baby is healthy. That’s what’s important.”
    “Babies need stability to thrive,” said Lucy. “That’s why marriage is important: to create a stable home.”
    “Marriage doesn’t create a stable home,” said Bill, padding across the floor to the door, where he turned. “You know that as well as I do. Sometimes I think the real reason you want Toby and Molly to get married is so you and the girls can plan a wedding.”
    Lucy smiled, thinking of the three women she was going to meet for breakfast: Sue, Pam, and Rachel. They had been friends ever since they were young mothers, a tight group who minded each other’s kids, got together for potluck suppers, and shared tears and laughter. When the kids got older and they found themselves drifting apart, they started getting together for breakfast every Thursday to keep in touch. They eagerly followed reports on each other’s children, and Lucy would have liked nothing better than to announce that Toby and Molly had finally set the date.

    The buzz was louder than usual when Lucy arrived at Jake’s Donut Shack. Old Dan’s death was big news, especially to the crowd of unemployed fishermen and construction workers who began the day with a leisurely breakfast at Jake’s, then drifted over to the Bilge, where they remained until it was time for dinner. Even if they didn’t read the Pennysaver , and Lucy suspected most of that crowd was not subscribers, word had spread quickly about the gruesome find in the harbor. The story had even been picked up by the morning radio and TV news, but they didn’t provide any more information than Lucy had in her three-inch brief.
    The crowd at Jake’s all knew each other, and conversation was often general, including the whole room. “You know what this reminds me of?” asked one gray-haired fellow seated at the counter, who Lucy knew was a retired lobsterman. “That old ‘set her again’ joke.”
    “What joke’s that, Walt?” asked someone, giving him an opening to continue. Lucy stopped to listen, as did most everybody else.
    “Well,” began Walt, “there was this lobstahman who took his wife out in the boat with him one day to help set the traps. Now a woman doesn’t belong in a lobstah boat, everybody knows that, but maybe he wasn’t feeling good or something that day. Anyhow, as you’d expect, it wasn’t long before she began to scold him, telling him he wasn’t doing this or that right, and as it happened, whether by accident or on purpose I can’t say, but it so happened that she fell right out of the boat and into the water.”
    The gang at the counter nodded and laughed knowingly.
    “Well, this poor lobstahman was kinda sad and depressed about it all, ’cause even though she was a scold, she did keep him warm at night, and now all he had was the dog, a smelly old Labrador, with whiskahs longer than his wife’s.”
    By now the crowd was having a great old time, nudging each other and slapping their knees.
    “So, like I said, being kind of depressed, he went for a walk along the beach with an old buddy who helped him set lobstah traps now and again, and what to his amazement did he see, but his wife’s body, washed up on the shore, with twelve or thirteen big lobsters hanging on her. As you know, it wasn’t a pretty sight,