Wynonna doesn’t see a problem with any of it. Unlike Cece, who initially found it all infuriating and mildly controlling, Wynonna thinks it makes him seem genuine and thoughtful. “He made you happy, Cece,” Wynonna says, “maybe not all the time, but most of it, and that’s pretty good these days.”
“Is this why you called? To take his side?” Cece says bitterly, even as she remembers the good times: Jonathan spending the day on the bunny hill with her at Stowe during a family ski trip; Jonathan going across town to pick up dinner from her favorite Indian spot when she had to work late; Jonathan listening to her father’s old swimming stories at Christmastime, all with a smile on his face. It seemed impossible to wholly villainize the man. Of course, there was good in those four years, even if Cece doesn’t want to admit it, lest it confuse her.
“We’re sisters. I’m always on your side. Whether you think so or not. Breakups are hard, even when they make sense.”
Cece says nothing, fearful of the weakness pooling in her stomach like a clandestine lake, vast and unseen. Questions invade her consciousness like nosy specters: Was she asking for too much out of a romantic relationship? Has she ruined the only good thing in her life? Would Jonathan take her back?
Wynonna’s now talking about how she can’t ever imagine Cece being fired. She knows how much the job meant to Cece. She knows how hard Cece’s worked for her career. And she isn’t wrong. But Cece doesn’t have the energy to share her sister’s outrage, her gripes and grievances, so she gives a few assurances and slides off the phone, sending love to Devin and the boys, whose faces she can’t quite recall, and promises to call next week.
After depositing her dirty yardwork clothes in the hamper, Cece takes a long, cold shower, doing her best not to think, just concentrating on the water drumming her eyelids. Cece’s never been one for meditation or the latest trends in mindfulness, but right about now, she could use some expertise.
Hair dried, armpits freshly scraped, Cece sits cross-legged on the twin bed and stares at her phone:I’m worried about you. Is this really what you want?
Want. Such a fickle word. Had she been too rash? Is she being too cruel? Why does Jonathan’s concern elicit such anger? Why is she so hell-bent on making a clean break…What exactly is it he’s done?
Cece doesn’t want to remember the specifics, pushing the ring into Jonathan’s palm and telling him it was over, insisting on staying at a Holiday Inn Express while she got the movers sorted.She hadn’t handled the situation with grace or maturity, but Jonathan hadn’t given her a choice, refusing to believe she was unhappy, unsatisfied with her reasons for wanting to break up.
The truth is, Jonathan’s response to Cece’s firing had given her a preview, the veil had been lifted, ever so slightly, and Cece hadn’t liked what she glimpsed for her future. It was a good future, a stable and productive future, but it was also a stifling one, a future in which she might find happiness, but only if she forgot herself. And how does one say this to their partner of four years, a man whose only fault is that he is himself? Cece certainly didn’t know how, and so she’d fled, U-Haul trailer in tow, up to this cramped cottage in New London, where she presently finds herself somehow still slightly hungover and wondering if she’s really thought all this through, and whether seeing Jonathan might not be such a bad idea after all.
Cece’s fingers hover over the keyboard, tantalizing and seductive. In seconds, she can communicate every wish and whim and expect an immediate answer. What a terrible gift. I’m okay, everything is fine, she thinks to herself, sliding the phone under her pillow and closing her eyes for a midday nap, the sound of Lorraine’s rusty loppers starting up again. Everything is fine.
4
Santiago is waiting for Cece when she arrives at work on Monday. She’s expecting more of the same: no real responsibility, mucky plastic crates stacked ten high, ready to be cleaned. Davi is already down by the docks, walking the length of the boat and eyeing the sputtering outboard engine, a black cloud painting the sky ominous. From the doorway, Santiago glares at Cece while she puts on her rubber waders and roots around in a drawer for safety goggles. Ignore him, she thinks. He’s just pissy she’s still showing up. No doubt he assumed she’d quit once the novelty of the job wore off. The pressure washer isn’t where she’d left it. A tremor pings at the back of her neck. It has to be here. Had someone moved it? Did she forget to lock up? Santiago hasn’t budged, his beady eyes tracking her every move. Dread seeps in. Cece turns slowly to face him.
“Where is it?”
He crosses his sinewy arms over his chest. “What?”
“The pressure washer.”
“You didn’t hear? Some ninny forgot to turn the water offwhen they were done with it on Saturday. Do you know what happens to that piece of machinery when you don’t cut the water source?”
Cece, chin to her chest, shakes her head.
“Lemme tell ya,” Santiago says almost gleefully. “That pressure builds up and has nowhere to go. Eventually all the seals and gaskets get blown out.”
“Is that what happened?”
“You betcha. We dropped it off to get repaired this morning, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s completely shot.”
“I’m sorry,” Cece says, because it’s the first thing that comes to her mind. “I could’ve sworn I disconnected the water.”
“Sorry?” Santiago chuckles and tugs a cigarette from his shirt pocket. “Sorry’s got nothing to do with it.”
“Please don’t tell Mr. Rayburn. I’ll pay for the repair myself.”
“You’ve got that kind of money?”
Cece doesn’t have that kind of money; she doesn’t have a clue how much such a repair will cost, but she can’t have Richie finding out about this after he took a chance on her. “I’m good for it.”
Santiago smirks and heads toward the boat, stopping halfway and turning to say, “That’ll be difficult on account of Richie being the guy who’s tryna fix it.”
He’s nearly out of earshot when Cece asks him what she should do.
“Nothing,” he says. “The last thing we need is you breaking more stuff. Maybe you can organize the tool wall or go get us lunch when it’s time.”
Watching the boat labor out of the harbor, Santiago’s and Davi’s bodies suddenly lithe and gleeful on the water, Cece slumpsagainst the rank crates. How could she have screwed up something so simple? All she’s done is confirm Santiago’s doubts.
