“It’s not a big deal.”
Lacy buries her hands in her jean shorts pockets. “Isn’t that illegal or something?”
“All right, then. Negative on the donut.”
They walk on in silence, a wonky front wheel pulling the shopping cart to the right. Does Morgan expect her to cook Lacy dinner? Cece realizes he didn’t say exactly how long he was going to be. No matter—she’s helping out a friend in need.
“You’re not a vegetarian or anything, are you? Or have any food allergies?”
Lacy gives her head a shake, deep into her phone, freshly painted nails flitting across the screen like water striders on a placid pond. She’s gone nonverbal now. Not great. For the first time, Cece feels like the curtain’s been lifted, ever so slightly, on Morgan’s life, beyond his eclectic book collection and expert home-cooked meals, beyond his paint-spattered forearms andquiet eyes—to reveal what, exactly? Cece should feel some sense of satisfaction, or perhaps contentment, but she’s surprised to find herself disappointed, even saddened by the state of his life. An unstable job, ongoing custody battle, and a kid…these are not the outcomes of a life well planned.
“Have you ever had nachos for dinner?” Cece asks, hoping to break through to the girl.
“No way. Dad wouldn’t allow it. Does that even constitute a meal?”
Finally. She speaks! “You clearly haven’t had Barry’s famous nachos.”
“Who’s Barry?”
“My dad. And trust me. They’re amazing,” Cece says, detecting something close to a smile on Lacy’s pale lips. They do the rest of their shopping with purpose, Cece ticking off the essentials—ground pork and beef, taco seasoning, Colby Jack, tomato paste, and jalapeños. Her father’s recipe always called for black olives, but Cece remembers how she and Wynonna would always pick them out, and she assumes Lacy’ll do the same.
At the checkout, a teenage boy with neck pimples wearily scans their items, and Cece does her best to ignore the total on the receipt. It’s been a while since she’s gone grocery shopping for two. On their drive home, Cece finds herself apologizing for the state of the car. Lacy shifts in her seat, discarded to-go bags and empty water bottles crinkling beneath her feet. She cranes her neck and surveys Cece’s back seat. “What’s all that?”
Cece had almost forgotten about the heaps of clothes: rubber waders, nylon shorts, long-sleeved shirts, and a sun hat. “Work stuff.”
Lacy looks at her quizzically. “You work at a shipyard, too?”
“Me? No. I don’t know the first thing about fixing boats. That’s my oyster-farming gear.”
“I didn’t know you could farm oysters.”
“To be honest,” Cece says, shifting gears and taking the hill, “I didn’t know much about the business either before I started, but it’s pretty cool. I’ll show you sometime if you’d like.”
“I hope not,” Lacy says. “No offense, but I don’t plan on spending a lot of time down here. This whole shared-living thing is just temporary until my parents sign the new custody agreement.”
They come to a stop at an interminably long red light. Without a steady breeze this morning, the air is heavy and thick. An old Cadillac rolls through the intersection, base thumping. Cece fiddles with the air-conditioning in vain. “Is that what this morning was about?”
Lacy looks like she might give Cece the silent treatment or make a snide comment, but she doesn’t. Instead, the girl turns her attention back to her phone and says, “My mom thinks I should stay with her full time.”
A voice inside Cece’s head is telling her to stop, leave it alone, but something—her curiosity about Morgan, her growing attachment to Lacy—won’t let her. “What about you? Don’t you like spending time with your dad?”
“Sure,” Lacy says, her voice indifferent and distracted, “but all my friends are in Providence. Plus, he’s the one that decided to move away. It wasn’t so bad splitting time between them when he lived nearby.”
Even if she wants to tell Lacy there are all sorts of reasons why people break up, or parents decide to separate and move away,Cece can’t argue with her logic. She should know—thinking about her mother, desperate for a third act in life, or her, abandoning Jonathan at the thought of wedding bells, then returning…for good.
The light flicks green, and Cece coaxes the car into first. Lacy lets out an audible sigh and slips her phone under her thigh.
Proceed with caution, Cece thinks to herself. The girl’s just started opening up to her. “Everything okay?”
“Just my friend Brittany. She’s all into this boy from Bishop, and I keep telling her to be careful.”
“Bishop…”
“It’s a fancy private school. I don’t even know where she met him, but he’s been texting her nonstop, trying to convince her to come to some party…Brittany doesn’t wanna go without me.”
“How would you even…” Cece trails off. This isn’t her territory. “You’re not interested in going?”
“A party? Thrown by Bishop boys? Plus, I’m convinced it’s some kind ofShe’s All Thatsituation. Why else would he invite some random public school girl?”
