The second I got inside, a gorgeous smell hit me. Oh, mommy. Their rotisserie chicken. I don’t know how they did it, but Stop & Shop had the best rotisserie chicken, and it was cheap, too. I wasn’t starving anymore. I was desperate. I got the biggest chicken I could find, inhaled through the plastic lid and nearly swooned. At the self-checkout I added a bag of peanut M&M’s, sharable size, ran my credit card and stuffed the M&M’s in my purse. Didn’t even use a bag for the chicken, just carried it out to my car. As I got in, it started to rain.
By the time I got back home, the chicken would be cold, its skin puckered from the steam under the plastic lid. No time like the present. I popped off the plastic top, pulled off a drumstick, and my God, it was so good. I closed my eyes, groaning in satisfaction. Oh, that fatty skin! The rain picked up, drumming on the roof of my car, and it was damn cozy in here, water streaming down the windshield. I tore a chunk of breast meat off and stuffed that in my mouth, too, my fingers greasy, some juicy deliciousness running down my chin. Did I have a napkin? I did not. A tissue? Nope. The sleeve it was. Another incredibly satisfying chunk of breast meat. Try not to choke to death, Lillie. I managed to chew a little bit more, then tore off the other drumstick.
Someone knocked on my window, and I jumped, screamed and nearly dropped my precious chicken.
It was Ben Hallowell. There was a very slight smile on his face.
I turned on the car and rolled down the window. “What?” I said, mouth still full.
“Just taking in the sights,” he said. “Nothing like a woman tearing apart a carcass in a parking lot.”
“The Cape is considering me for a tourism ad.”
He gave a gruff laugh. “Everything okay?” he asked.
“I’m just hungry.” I tore off another hunk. “Want some?”
“You know, I’ll pass,” he said. I shrugged and shoved it into my mouth. Oh, yes. Eating it hot had been the right decision.
“How are you doing these days?” he asked. Though it was raining, he didn’t seem to mind. Then again, he was a fisherman.
“Good! What could possibly be wrong?” I answered.
“How’s your son?”
“Great. So happy his father married Anne Boleyn.”
Ben drummed his fingers on the roof of my car. “Hey, since we’re both here, you want to go to the Ho and get something to eat? They have forks and everything.”
The Land Ho! was a stone’s throw from here, and they did have the best chowder in these parts. I hesitated. I could go back to my house, eat ice cream and then hide treats around the house and time Zeus to see how fast he could find them （don’t judge me, it was fun）。 I could obsess over Bralissa and their unborn child. Or I could hang out with Ben, who, though as chatty as a barnacle, wasn’t a bad person.
“I need to call my dad and ask him to feed my dog,” I said.
“Let me do that. You enjoy your dinner,” he said, raising an eyebrow. He stepped away and made the call. I took his advice and had a few more bites of chicken. I could still have clam chowder, I thought. Maybe a hot dog. And definitely dessert. If the Ho had apple pie, I’d get that. Their pie was killer.
“Your dad said he’ll get a pizza and watch TV at your house until you come home,” Ben said, coming back to my car.
“Okay. Get in, sir.” I moved my bag to the back seat. There were Zeus’s nose prints all over the passenger windows, since my dog liked to sit in the front, but Ben wouldn’t care.
Ben got in, and I handed him my decimated chicken. “Mm-mm,” he said.
I laughed a little. “Shut up. It’s been a day.”
As we pulled out of the parking lot, it occurred to me that the last time Ben and I had driven together, I’d wound up in a coma with several torn organs.
Had it really been that long? Twenty-four years? Crikey.
Since it was the off-season, we got a table easily, in the back near the jukebox. I went to the ladies’ room, washed my greasy hands and chin and joined Ben. The Ho was famous for being famous—it wasn’t anything superspecial in the culinary world, but you’d never have a bad meal here, either. The tables were small and covered in red-and-white-checked tablecloths. Newspapers hung from a wire that separated the bar from the restaurant. Signs from local businesses hung from the ceiling, and Cape-oriented license plates from various states were hung everywhere. NAUSET. CPECOD. CAPE01. WHYDAH. EXIT 12. PTOWN. It was a tourist place in the summer, a townie bar in the off-season.