Cece is trying to remember why it seemed so entirely necessary to throw it all away, but she can’t seem to. “I’m still figuring stuff out,” she says, as much of a warning to Jonathan as to herself. She almost tells him about her potential job interview in the city but stops herself. Exercise some self-control, she thinks. It wouldn’t kill you. The rum still on her lips, the sun warming herface—she is doing her very best not to do something incredibly stupid.
Jonathan is close, the powdery smell of laundry detergent and sunblock, his chin perfectly dimpled. “We’ve got time.”
From somewhere, Lorraine’s laugh on the wind. Cece can’t help herself, leaning in for a quick kiss, the sun splotchy on her eyelids. His lips are soft and forgiving. The rum’s telling her to keep going, to get in his car and drive to Rhode Island without a second thought, but she pulls back. “Hope that was okay.”
Jonathan chuckles. “Do you remember our first kiss?”
“On that trail in Central Park.”
“Yeah, and that runner screamed at us for blocking the path.”
“That’s New York for you. Then again, I’m pretty sure we were standing right in the middle.”
Jonathan squeezes her hand and slides into his car. “Let’s get back there.”
Cece watches him leave. There, Cece thinks. How do I get back there? How do we get backthere?
July
9
Cece arrives at the docks early, the sun chasing away the gray dawn sky. What transpired over the weekend has lent her fresh perspective on her situation, and while she’s prepared to give the job her best (her father didn’t raise no quitter), she’s also prepared to be let go.
On the dock, it’s only Santiago. Davi, it turns out, has been recalled by his mother due to a poor showing on the PSAT. No more helping his father until his grades improve.
“He must be disappointed,” Cece says, thinking back to those terrible years of test preparation: handwritten index cards with archaic vocabulary words, algebraic equations, and mazelike word problems.
Santiago gives a shrug. “She doesn’t want him to end up doing this for the rest of his life. Can’t say I blame her.”
“Does Richie know?”
Santiago nods and pulls a cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket. “You’re with me today.”
“Out on the water?”
“Where else?”
Cece digs her tongue into the back of her teeth to hide her excitement. Act like you were expecting it! Like you deserve it. “When do we start?”
“Right now,” Santiago says, returning the unlit cigarette to the pack.
“What did Richie say when you talked to him?”
“He asked me whether I thought you were up to the job. I told him I didn’t think so, but we’re down a man, so here we are.”
Had Santiago been overruled? Cece wondered.
“Richie wants you learning everything about the operation today, so pay close attention. You’ll still have to wash the bags, too, when we’re finished.”
Finally! Cece thinks. It doesn’t matter that she wasn’t able to convince Santiago or Richie of her capabilities. She’s getting her shot—thank you, Davi—that’s all that matters. Now she just needs to make it count. “Sounds good,” Cece says and takes a step toward the boat.
Hand out, like a crossing guard, Santiago stops her. “A single fuckup today—a knot tied wrong, a buoy missed, an oyster damaged—you’re gone. Understand?”
Cece squints into the rising sun and gives him her best smile. “Loud and clear.”
“Good.”
He doesn’t waste any time running through his departure checklist. He speaks quickly while they move around the deck of the skiff, showing Cece where to top up the oil, how to check the fuel lines, filter, and battery terminal for corrosion. He flipsswitches on and off, illuminating the dashboard in an array of yellow and green. “This is your radio,” he says. “First aid and life jackets are under there.” He taps his stubbled chin and looks over the boat, like he’s misplaced something. “You also want to check your other fluid levels: steering, hydraulic, and coolant. All of that is right here. Questions?”
