“But how does he seem to you?”
“I don’t know, Wynonna. A little schlubby? Like a man who’s letting himself go a bit while his wife’s out of town?”
“You mean he isn’t showering. He stinks.”
Cece is reluctant to disclose this piece of information but does, nonetheless. “There is a definite stink.”
“And you still think he can take care of himself when Mom decides to abandon him for good?”
Abandonfeels like a strong word, but Cece must admit her sister has a point. “What do we do? I can’t take him, Wynonna. I’m supposed to be moving back in with Jonathan.”
“What? When did this happen?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Okay…This really isn’t ideal.”
“I know.”
“I need some time, but I’ll figure it out. And please, give Dad a multivitamin or something. He’s gonna get scurvy.”
“Right.”
“Cece.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re back with Jonathan. You deserve to be happy.”
Cece hangs up and shuts the pantry door just as her father emerges from the basement, grinning from ear to ear, his arms overflowing with Hungry-Man frozen dinners. Not ideal, she thinks. Unequivocally, not ideal.
Even before thedocks in Noank come into view, Cece can hear them—the protestors. The group is small but loud—twentyor so people with handmade signs lining the entryway of the gravel parking lot:PEOPLE OVER PROFITS;SAVE MAMACOKE COVE;HANDS OFF MOTHER NATURE. A young man with stringy long hair wearing an olive-green T-shirt directs chants through a bullhorn. No sign of Lorraine. Nothing good will come from this, Cece thinks. It’s only a matter of time before the local news shows up. She’s got to hand it to Lorraine. It’s no easy task mobilizing people like this. As she pulls through the main gate, a loudcracksounds, and Cece flinches and ducks for cover. In the rearview mirror, Cece watches yellow yolk run down the back window. There’s no time to be livid, though, as she catches sight of Santiago emerging from the warehouse wielding an enormous pipe. His eyes are white and wild. Davi hangs back, a look of helpless terror holding him prisoner.
Cece guns the car and then slams on the brakes, putting herself in between the protestors and Santiago. The engine still running, she jumps out of the car and lunges in front of Santiago.
“I’m gonna bust them good, Cece. They’re trying to shut us down.”
Two hands pressed against his chest, Cece pleads. “Richie wouldn’t want this.”
“Richie ain’t here. Our jobs, Cece. They’re coming after our jobs.” He brushes her aside easily and keeps marching, swinging the pipe menacingly. If he gets to the protestors, he will hurt them—Cece has no doubt.
“They want you to hit them. Don’t you see? They’re trying to provoke you!” Cece shouts. “They’re doing this because they’re desperate. You assault any of them, and we’re done. You might as well close Rayburn yourself.”
The fire leaves Santiago as quickly as it came. His arms go limp. The pipe clangs to the ground. Santiago turns to leave, but not before spitting a wad of thick phlegm in the direction of the protestors. “Never worked a day in their lives,” he growls as he passes Cece on his way back to the boat. She calls Richie to tell him what’s happening, only to find out there’s a demonstration at the office in Mystic, too.
“They’ve been going strong for about an hour,” he says. “Making a real scene.”
On the other end, Cece can hear the steady chant of protest. “Is there a woman there? In her sixties, curly hair, probably wearing sandals.”
“Sandals doesn’t really narrow it down,” Richie says. “But yeah, there’s someone who fits that description. She’s on the bullhorn.”
So thisisall Lorraine’s doing. Had she always planned to protest the Rayburn locations, or is this revenge for Cece’s betrayal? Her alliance with Morgan?
“An acquaintance of yours?”
“Regrettably, yes.”
“Small town,” Richie says, sounding resigned to whatever situation he’s looking at through his office window. “How’s Santiago? Give the protestors a piece of his mind?”
