“Then let’s make it happen. I’m good with money, Cece. Let me do the one thing I’m good at. Let me invest in Rayburn and help you build something.”
Jonathan’s gesture—his absolute support, his unrepentant enthusiasm, his belief—is proof alone of his unconditional love. Is it not?
Cece recognizes thefamiliar sound, the feeling in her gut, before it registers who’s driving by when she and Jonathan emerge from the thicket into the cul-de-sac. Morgan does a circle around the cul-de-sac before slowing down, and Cece finds herself infinitely thankful they left Jonathan’s sports car in Stamford. And even though she hasn’t done anything wrong, or at least anything terribly wrong—a few small lies here and there—Cece is filled with palpable anxiety, ears hot, fingertips swelling, the air suddenly thick. With Jonathan behind her, Cece waves at Morgan—a wave, she hopes, that indicates there’s no need to stop or haveidle chitchat, but of course he does, a broad smile on his face. Quiet follows after Morgan’s cut the engine, putting an end to the possibility that Cece can escape this unpleasant predicament.
“Coming from the cove?” he says, his hand tan and paint-flecked against the turquoise truck door.
Cece is aware of Jonathan’s nearness. A shadow of recognition flickers over Morgan’s face, darkening his features, brows bent, jaw set in a hard line. Jonathan says nothing, waiting for an introduction, it seems, the way Bernard waits by his food bowl before dinner.
“This is Morgan,” Cece says, toes cramping in her sandals. “He’s my neighbor.”
“Jonathan. Pleasure to meet you. I’m…” Jonathan steals a glance at Cece and chuckles. They have yet to discuss the formal title of their current situation, a point of ambiguity Cece had embraced until now. “We’re still figuring that out, but let’s go with friend.”
Cece tries to suppress what must look like relief flooding her face, that is until Jonathan puts an arm around her and pulls her close.
Morgan peers questioningly at Cece, his unruly eyebrows raised in what? Alarm? Jealousy? Pity? Then the look is gone, wiped from his face, like it was never there at all. “Not really neighbors. I live a few houses down.”
“Some truck,” Jonathan says, oblivious to Cece’s nervous canter from one leg to the other.
“It’s a truck,” Morgan says.
Cece doesn’t think Morgan’s going to put her on the spot—he’s not malicious—but she’s not taking any chances, imploringhim with a subtle look:Please don’t say anything; please don’t ruin this for me.
Morgan puts a hand through his beard, his gaze probing Jonathan’s countenance for something. “I better get going. I’ll leave you two to it.”
Before Cece and Jonathan can reply, the truck growls to life, and then its out of sight, only a low rumble and heady hint of exhaust lingering in the air remain.
“Weird guy,” Jonathan says.
Now it’s Cece’s turn to look for something—what, exactly, she has no idea. But Jonathan’s already forgotten the moment, walking to her car.
The street is suddenly quiet, save for the chatter of songbirds, and Cece is filled with gratitude for her luck and Jonathan’s blissful easiness with which he moves about the world.
13
Business is booming. At the docks and on the boat, Cece moves with the kind of quiet confidence that only comes from repetition. A single task—dropping a cage, priming the motors, and sorting oysters—done so many times it’s become an extension of her. There is no thinking, no second-guessing; there’s only the invisible checklist in her head that needs to get done before the sun slips to other side of the world, where other fishermen, just like her and Santiago, are rising before daylight breaks to push their boats from the shallows and cast their nets.
Some days, Santiago lets Cece take the boat out by herself while he stays on dry land to help Davi with his SAT vocabulary words. The prep classes aren’t working the miracles they’d expected, and Santiago has promised his wife they’d use whatever free time they could to cram, a condition for Davi joining them again. Cece is more than happy to work alone, thrilled by this newfound responsibility. It’s a strange feeling to be trusted by Richie and Santiago to get the job done, and she doubles herefforts, working as fast as she can without cutting corners. Pretty soon, she’s finding enough time in the day to harvest the day’s catch, sort the oysters, and maintain the equipment on the docks. “Take it easy,” Santiago says from the shade of the maintenance shed, a stack of oil-stained index cards in front of him. “You’ll put me out of a job.”
Cece runs a forearm across her mouth. “I’m seasonal. Remember?”
“Richie’s gonna need all the help he can get with the expansion over in Mamacoke.”
“I thought that was all tied up in—”
“Bureaucracy,” Davi says with a big smile. “One of my words.”
“Exactly,” Cece says.
“Nah,” Santiago says, and spits onto the hot gravel, “can’t stop progress. It’ll happen. Richie’s got a plan.”
Cece just smiles and heads back to the docks, where she washes down the boat with fresh water and sets up the cages for tomorrow. There’s a distinct pride she’s beginning to take with the work: the appearance of the boat, the timeliness of their deliveries to the distribution center, and the quality of their oysters.
A few weeks later, Richie calls Cece down to the office. Her efforts haven’t gone unnoticed. Product is being delivered faster than ever without any complaints about quality. To boot, Santiago’s put in a good word for her. Even though Richie is delivering welcomed news from behind his slovenly desk, his dour tone and ragged nails tell a different story. His face, already wrinkled and worn, is cavernous today, cheeks hollow, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He wants to know if Cece’s willing to see theother side of the business. “The money and the bullshit,” he says with a weary smile.
Cece looks around at the swollen filing cabinets and stacks of manila folders overflowing, she imagines, with long-forgotten invoices, bank statements, and tax documents. “You mean like secretarial work?”
“Not necessarily. You’d be learning about how the business really functions. The numbers and such.”
