Chapter 11
When Santiago pulls into the gravel lot for work on Tuesday morning at Rayburn Oyster Company, Cece is there, seated on the rear bumper of her car, rubber waders on, hair tucked under a baseball cap.
Before he can turn off his truck, she’s standing, gloved hands on her hips, eyes shaded by sunglasses.
Santiago pretends to look for something in his console—probably toying with the loose coins and candy bar wrappers.
Cece watches him intently. He grumbles under his breath, wipes his nose with the back of his hand, and steps out.
Cece puts herself in front of him. She doesn’t want to walk and talk. This is too important. Insist on yourself!
“I figured you’d quit when you didn’t show up yesterday,” he says.
“I had some business to take care of, but I’m here now.”
Santiago leans and spits. “I don’t think that’s how this whole employment thing works, but you can explain yourself to Richie. He’s stopping by later this afternoon to check out the grader. The one you broke, remember?”
Cece turns on her heels and strides to the warehouse without another word.
She waits until Santiago heads out on the boat before enacting her plan.
If successful, maybe she can garner a modicum of respect from Santiago and keep her job.
And if she fails? She fails. It’s not like she can fall any further.
Gathering what she thinks are the necessary tools, Cece approaches the broken oyster grader with baseless optimism.
Santiago’s wrapped it in caution tape, just in case there was any doubt about its functionality.
After some searching, she locates a sticker, faded and peeling, with a customer service number.
It takes a few guesses before she gets someone.
On the other end, a youthful-sounding representative from Sorting Solutions Inc.
named Brian. The morning heat is already palpable, and sweat pops and runs as Cece explains her situation.
And while Brian sounds sympathetic, he reminds Cece that his job is only to order replacement parts and schedule maintenance.
“But you must know how these things work, right?” Cece says, undeterred. “I don’t have time to wait for a technician to come out and fix this thing. Surely you can walk me through some troubleshooting steps.”
“I have a general understanding of the products we sell, but I really don’t think I should be helping you. I’m not a certified tech. I’m just the guy who answers the phone.”
Cece yanks off the fluttering tape and stuffs it in her pocket. “The thing is, Brian, I need to fix this grader before my boss gets here, and if I don’t, I’ll be out of a job.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line, but Brian hasn’t hung up. She can hear him thinking, mulling over her plight.
“Just give me fifteen minutes of your time,” she continues. “And if I can’t fix it, you’ll never hear from me again. If I break it, that’s on me. I won’t mention I called you guys.”
More silence and hesitation, the distant drone of an office air conditioner. Cece holds her breath.
“Is the grader disconnected from the power source?”
Cece wants to shout with glee and profess her immeasurable gratitude to Brian, but she controls herself. “Yes.”
“Okay,” Brian says cautiously, like he’s worried someone might be listening. “I can walk you through a few things.”
Cece explains what had happened when the grader broke. The grinding noise, the rollers coming loose.
“Sounds like a drive chain issue.”
“Okay, so what am I looking for?”
Without being able to show Brian what she’s seeing, the going is slow, and Cece knows she’s way out of her depth, but she’s already gone too far, caught in the current.
There’s no going back. She successfully identifies the drive and elevator chains, and conveyor belts.
They work backward. Process of elimination.
Cece’s hands are slick with grease, but she doesn’t care, checking for bent or corroded teeth, debris, too much slack, too much tension.
“It’s just like a bike chain,” Brian says over speakerphone.
“Look for anything that would stop it from moving smoothly.”
At the sound of a boat motor, Cece’s eyes dart out to the water, but it isn’t Santiago. She’s still got time. “If it’s the gearbox,” Brian is saying, “you’re out of luck. I’m not messing with anything electrical.”
After double-checking all the sprockets and chains and finding nothing, Cece begins to lose hope.
If the problem was an easy fix, Santiago would have done it himself, unless, of course, he wanted to highlight her incompetence in front of Richie.
That’s probably his big plan. He’s invited Richie here today to make a big show it.
Breaking another piece of machinery, plus skipping work on Monday—she’s as good as gone.
Sweat burns her eyes. A horde of gulls yap and circle an incoming fishing boat.
“Maybe we just call it, Brian. I appreciate your help.”
“But won’t you be fired?”
“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” Cece says. “I don’t even know what I’m looking at anymore.”
“You said the rollers fell off first, right?”
“Sure, at least I think so.”
“Maybe the chains and sprockets aren’t the problem.”
“I’m all ears.”
Following Brian’s instructions, Cece hefts all the rollers back into place, cuts a long piece of string and lays it flat across the them.
She’s looking for a gap or sag, something that might indicate where the frame could be warped or bent.
Then, toward the front of the grader, she spots it, a small area where the roller track bends inward, like something crashed into it.
It doesn’t matter how it happened, although Cece suspects Santiago (he was the only one who loaded the oyster crates onto the grader).
What matters is how she can fix it. A hammer is the first thing that comes to mind, which seems exceedingly stupid.
Brian seems dubious. She could cause more damage.
Cece acknowledges his concern, but she’s short on time.
Out in the bay, she can see Santiago flipping bags.
It’s slow going with just one person, but he’s making good progress, and he’ll be back on dry land soon.
She thanks Brian profusely before hanging up and fetching the smallest hammer she can find.
After much agonizing and lining up, Cece gives the steel frame a confident whack.
The earsplitting clang draws the ire of a few crows who have taken up residence atop the warehouse roof.
She runs the string across the rollers again.
Almost, she thinks, and strikes the same spot.
This time the string looks straight and flat, the rollers run on the track smoothly.
It doesn’t look pretty—the frame dented and stippled—but Cece isn’t worried about appearances right now.
As long as the grader is up and running, no one will go looking for a problem.
It takes another hour to put everything back in place: chains tightened and greased; bearings double-, then triple-checked; bushings scrubbed; guard covers reattached.
Cece is meticulous but quick in her work.
Richie will be stopping by at any moment.
The grader needs a test run, but when Cece finally looks up, tools scattered around her in the hot gravel, she spots Santiago heading into port.
There’s no time. After hastily cleaning up the area, Cece gives everything a final once-over and heads back to the warehouse.
Cece doesn’t move when Richie’s truck pulls in.
Eyes closed, she’s seeing stars, so she waits, seated on the cool concrete floor, back against a tool chest. Not until she hears Santiago’s nasally voice does she will herself up, with a confident smile across her face, and step back out into the sun.
The men are gathered around the grader, hands on their hips, expectant, like it’s a tamed circus animal, ready to perform a trick.
“What seems to be the problem?” Richie says. “You’re saying someone broke it?”
Santiago grins at Cece as she approaches. “Let me show you.”
Cece can barely look while Santiago plugs in the grader and walks over to the start button.
His finger lingers over the switch; he’s enjoying this, no doubt.
Determined to face the moment, Cece forces herself to watch.
The machinery comes to life with a rattling chuff.
Water sprays, gears churn, belts whirr, rollers roll, smooth like butter.
Triumph wells in Cece’s chest. If only she could call Brian and tell him they’d done it!
Bewilderment paints Santiago’s tanned face. Richie scratches his stubble. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”
“Wait. You’ll see.”
“She’s running fine, Santi. This is a waste of my time.”
“Someone must have fixed it. But I’m telling you, she broke it the other day,” Santiago says and points at Cece.
Now it’s Cece’s turn to relish the moment and watch Santiago flail. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”
Flustered, Richie looks back and forth between them, the grader whirring and thunderous. “Will someone shut that thing off? I can’t hear myself think.”
Santiago hits the kill switch and stands bashfully while water dribbles and drips.
“Now, I understand you two have had your differences, but you can’t be blaming each other and causing problems. I won’t have it—”
“But she broke—”
“Cut it out,” Richie says and holds up a hand. “It ain’t broke. So either you’re trying to make Cece look bad, or she fixed it. Either way, you’re wasting my time.”
Cece compels every muscle in her face to repress the smile that’s threatening to break. This feels good.
“Now, what’s this I hear about you skipping out on work yesterday?” Richie says and glowers at her.
“I…uh…” Cece splutters.
“She was here,” Santiago says. “That was my mistake.”
“I’ll give you the day off, Santi,” Richie says, “if you wanna go get your eyes checked. Maybe you need glasses.”