Chapter 14 #3
Cece doesn’t see the big problem and chalks it up to a generational divide.
Through the living room shades, the sun is setting, and Cece feels lethargy take hold of her.
Perhaps nachos as a main course wasn’t the best choice.
She goes to the bathroom to freshen up, where she runs the tap and splashes water on her face.
In the mirror, Cece looks different, hair lighter from the sun, nose brown.
The woman looking back at her—makeup-less and weathered—is foreign to her, and Cece wonders whether Jonathan has noticed this change in her features; she wonders if he’s expecting the old Cece (smart business suits and tidied hair) to appear when they move back in together.
Being in this bathroom again…the medicine cabinet slightly ajar, the bristles of Morgan’s toothbrush stubby and frayed.
How different Cece’s circumstances are now.
If only she hadn’t snooped around…The doorbell chiming stops Cece from going any further down that road.
She dries her hands and turns off the light.
From the front door a muffled conversation. By the time Cece recognizes the voice, she’s halfway into the living room and it’s too late. Lorraine stands in the doorway, hair pulled up in a chaotic bun, pen on a string swinging from her clipboard.
“This lady wants me to sign her petition even though I told her I don’t live here,” Lacy says.
Lorraine scowls at Cece. “Can’t say I’m surprised to see you here.”
Lacy looks between them. “You two know each other?”
“No one here wants to sign your petition,” Cece says, stepping between Lacy and the doorway. She suddenly feels protective of the girl. “And you’re just snooping is all. You know Morgan would never sign anything for your cause.”
“I thought he might have changed his mind. Even a broken clock is right twice a day.”
“Now I know who you are,” Lacy says, her voice eerily cheerful and buoyant. “You’re that old, cranky lady who lives down the block.”
Lorraine ignores the girl. “I knew you were desperate, Cece,” she says and peers inside the house, “but this is a cry for help. I can only assume you’ve taken his view on things about Rayburn’s expansion.”
“You’ve got it backward. I recruited him. As an employee of the Rayburn Oyster Company, I was able to make a pretty compelling case.”
Lorraine’s beady brown eyes go wide. “You’re a spy! Richie sent you to live with me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Cece says, relishing the words. “It was a complete coincidence, but once I heard you talking bad about him, I kept my mouth shut.”
“And now what? You’ve been plotting? Reporting my plans back to him? You have been spying on me!”
Cece had never really conceived of it as spying, but seeing Lorraine writhe in anger and humiliation is mildly entertaining; after all, this is the woman trying to put her out of a job.
“Let’s just say you haven’t been the only one collecting signatures.
What? Did you think we wouldn’t be prepared for the town hall? ”
“And to think I let you drink my good wine.”
“Just admit it—this has never been about the cove. You just don’t want more people coming around.”
“This is about protecting our natural resources and maintaining the authenticity of our neighborhood.”
“You think a few rows of oyster bags are gonna destroy an ecosystem? Do you even know what oysters do? They clean the water!”
Lorraine seems to have gotten over the shock of Cece’s betrayal. She pushes the pen through the clipboard. “I’ll expect you off my property by the end of the week.”
“Suits me,” Cece says, her cheeks hot, fingernails itchy.
“Well, I best be going,” Lorraine says and spins in her Birkenstocks. “You two behave, now. We can’t have the cops getting called every time there’s a row in this house.”
“What’s a row?” Lacy asks after Cece’s slammed the front door closed.
“It’s nothing,” Cece says, clutching her hands to make them stop shaking. What’s just happened? Suits me—what had she been thinking?! Now she’ll have to find a new place to live. Lorraine! Cece hates herself for once thinking so fondly of her, for looking up to her!
“Was she talking about when the police came? When my parents were fighting?” Lacy says.
Cece is too drained to lie. “Yes.”
The girl goes quiet, a different quiet from her usual sassy silence.
She moves to the couch, Bernard sniffing at her heels, and plops down into the cushions.
Cece wants to comfort the girl but doesn’t know what to say or do.
There’s so much she doesn’t know about the situation, and even if she did, she’s no mature adult, dispenser of wisdom.
After a while, Lacy speaks, her voice agitated and uneven. “My dad isn’t a bad guy.”
“I don’t think he is.”
“But people in this neighborhood do. People like that woman.”
“People don’t always know what’s really going on. They just pass judgment,” Cece says, the guilt welling in her chest.
Lacy chews her bottom lip. “What I said before. About my dad leaving. That isn’t entirely true.
I mean, he did leave, but that’s only because my mom asked him to…
or at least I think that’s what happened.
I don’t know all the details, but I know it wasn’t all his idea. I mean, it’s not like he abandoned me.”
“No one thinks that.”
“I just get angry, you know? I wish he didn’t live so far away.”
Cece wants to sit next to Lacy and embrace her, hold her close, but she doesn’t know how the girl will react and is wary of crossing boundaries. Lacy already suspects she’s her father’s girlfriend. Cece can’t risk confusing her more. “You can be as angry as you want,” she says. “That’s your right.”
By now the house is dark, and Cece turns on some lights.
She lingers in the kitchen to give Lacy space.
She drinks a tall glass of tap water, then another.
Cece feels closer to Morgan than she ever has, like she’s glimpsed the real Morgan, like he’s finally let her in.
Except that he hasn’t. Whatever she’s learned or understands about him is because of Lacy.
And what she knows now—Siobhan’s temper, his money problems, his daughter—only makes everything seem more convoluted.
And even if it were possible…even if they tried…
could such a man, a good and decent man, make Cece happy, with all his material limitations?
The faucet leaks, a steady and ominous plunk.
Why had she gone to the door? She should have just stayed in the bathroom and let Lacy handle it.
Where will she move? Jonathan’s place, of course—he’ll be more than happy to take her back.
It’s the simplest solution. It makes sense.
She can commute from Stamford up to Noank.
The drive will be hell, but she doesn’t see any other option.
It’s around nine thirty when Morgan pulls into the driveway. Cece’s sitting on the porch stairs and finishing her third glass of wine (she deserves it after today), citronella candles burning at her feet.
He takes his baseball cap off and runs thick fingers through his matted hair. He looks worn-out, puffy bags under his eyes. She offers him a seat next to her, which he accepts after lumbering up the stairs, stepping gingerly, as if he might wake his daughter inside.
“Sorry. I had no idea that was gonna take so long. Siobhan’s lawyer is a nightmare.”
“That must mean they’re good.”
“Yeah. That’s what I’m worried about.”
“She’s trying for full custody?”
Morgan glances at her in the candlelight. “Lacy told you that?”
“She mentioned something about it.”
“She say anything else?”
Cece doesn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. “She misses her friends.”
Morgan studies his hands. “Sounds about right.”
“We had a good time today,” Cece says, trying to lighten the mood. “We made nachos, watched a movie.”
“Thank you again. I hope it didn’t put you out.”
“I had a great time with her. She’s fantastic,” Cece says, surprised to find that she means it.
Morgan reaches out to take Cece’s empty wineglass. “I can take that for you, unless you’d like to come in for a nightcap.”
“I better not. I have a double shift on the boat tomorrow.”
They stand up, a polite awkwardness simmering between them.
Cece’s head is heavy. The last forty-eight hours have left her thoughts jumbled and hazy, like she’s looking through smudged binoculars.
Just yesterday, she was ready to declare Morgan just like all other men, jealous and arrogant.
It was easier then, to dismiss his petulance as frivolous and egotistical, but after spending the day with Lacy, Cece’s having trouble letting go.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Yesterday, when we were collecting signatures, were you annoyed with me? About considering the actuary job?”
“I’ve been meaning to apologize. I was out of line. What you do for a living isn’t my business.”
“You sure it’s about that and not something else?”
“Like what?”
Why can’t she accept his apology and move on? What does she want to hear? “You only started acting strange after you met Jonathan, and I told you we were giving it another try.”
Morgan bristles at the question, that familiar exasperation creeping across face. “Look, Cece. You saved me today. I don’t know what I would have done if you couldn’t have watched Lacy, and I’m thankful for it. Let’s just leave it there.”
“I wasn’t ever considering the actuary position in New York.”
“Why didn’t you just say that?”
“Because I didn’t need some guy telling me what jobs will or won’t make me happy. Besides, it’s not like that’s what was bothering you.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you only started acting distant and annoyed since you met Jonathan.”
There’s a part of Cece that knows what she’s doing, poking and prodding, hoping for an argument, a moment where Morgan loses control and says what she suspects but he refuses to admit or say aloud: He’s jealous of Jonathan. He wants Cece to himself; just being friends won’t cut it.
“I don’t think he’s right for you,” Morgan says and puts his palms out, like he’s admitting defeat.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cece says, acutely aware that her plan is already backfiring. She’s the one who’s flailing, whose cheeks are flushed, heart hammering in her ears.
Eyes still, Morgan regards her like a wild animal caught in a trap. “This is stupid, Cece.”
“No. Now that you’ve said it, I want to know. I deserve to know why someone who’s barely known me for two months is an expert on my type.”
“I don’t picture you with someone like that…his whole look. I mean, give me a break. There’s no way he doesn’t absolutely bore you to death.”
“So it’s his money. Someone with money can’t interest me?”
“In my experience, folks with that kind of money aren’t always good people.”
“It’s a moral objection, then,” Cece says, aware that her voice, unfortunately, sounds shrill and deranged. So much for keeping her cool. She’s the one being goaded, it seems; and yet, she can’t stop herself. She wants to break this wide open.
“I’m not objecting to anything. I’m just surprised.”
“Well, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”
“Clearly.”
“And you’re wrong about Jonathan. He’s a good guy.”
“Okay.”
“Stop agreeing with me.”
“What are we even talking about, Cece?”
“We’re talking about friendship. And friends don’t sabotage each other when something good finally comes along.”
“We’ve got different definitions of friendship.”
“Then maybe we ought to see less of each other.”
Morgan yanks his baseball cap on and moves to his front door. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“Great!” Cece says, trying to hide her surprise. What had she been expecting?