M. J. Iuppa

The Catch

65 years of marriage to a fisherman who only caught one fish a day, Maeve never retired from her routine. She cooked and washed dishes and kept the clothes clean. Alvard thought she was intoxicating from the first day he winked at her at Millard’s Grocery. She squinted at him. “Got something in your eye?”Alvard smiled– head cocked in an acute angle, “Ahyup, something pretty like you.” In that instant, Maeve was hooked for keeps.

Every day, Alvard would remind Maeve that he was the best fisherman in all of Maine, and she was his catch. She blushed and worked all the harder– never catching on to Alvard’s confidence game. This made Alvard a happy man. He was taken care of, day in and out, without any worry.

One late winter night, Maeve was finding it difficult to move from the stove to the sink to the washtub. She sat slumped forward at the rock maple table and said, “ Alvard, Ah don’t think, ah can do it anymore.” Alvard looked hard at Maeve, but didn’t see her shortness of breath. Instead, he said,“ Well hadn’t counted on that now.” Quicker than an eye blink, Alvard propped her up at the stove, so she could cook his supper. Once supper was ready and eaten, he shuffled her back to the sink to do the dishes. While she washed the pots and pans and plates, he threw his shirts and overalls into the basket, so she could do the laundry next. Alvard wasn’t one for change. Neither was Maeve. But after a week of his help, she grew pasty – so gray, he could almost see through her. Yet, Alvard refused to believe that she wasn’t well.

Next day, without a struggle, he carried her from bed to the stove to cook his breakfast. She felt lighter than ever, but he didn’t think much of it as he sat down at the kitchen table.

“The Weathah's be'n pretty good. Ah’ll be on the boat today. Can you keep moving without