Chapter 15 #2
Walking with her mother out to the curb, Cece waits for the inevitable criticisms of her continued work at Rayburn and now-infamous job interview in the city.
Sure, Kim’s happy about her decision to reconcile with Jonathan, but there’s no way she’ll let Cece give up on a stable and profitable career without a word.
She’d pushed Cece too hard, spent countless hours helping her with summer enrichment program applications and supplemental college essays, turned a blind eye to Barry’s maniacal swimming practice regimens in the name of character building.
But the moment passes without incident, and it occurs to Cece that for once, her mother is more preoccupied with her own life than her daughters’.
“What do you mean he sounded weird?” Cece says. She’s fifteen minutes away from her parents’ house, navigating the familiar back roads in the dark, eyes squinted, nostalgia around every corner.
“He just seemed out of it,” Wynonna says. “I cannot believe Mom just left him alone. You said she was only supposed to stay in Boston for a few nights.”
“I guess she extended her stay.”
“It’s selfish, Cece. She’s acting like a spoiled teenager.
” There’s muffled commotion on the other end of the line.
Cece only picks up bits and pieces. “You put them down, Devin. I’m talking to my sister…
She’s going there now to check on him…I know it’s not ideal!
” More shuffling. A sliding glass door. “Sorry. I’m back. ”
“I’ll update you when I get there.”
“Thanks for checking up on him. I told Devin earlier this is untenable. He can’t be left alone.”
“He’s not infirm.”
“Is that what Mom said? It sounds like something she’d say. You don’t understand, Cece. People dad’s age, they can go into a steep decline without anyone to socialize with. It’s not a matter of supervising him, but he needs people around to keep him active, physically and mentally.”
Cece does her best to calm Wynonna down and assures her she’ll report back when she sees their father.
The lights are on when she pulls into the driveway.
Ringing the doorbell, she arches her aching back and bends down to touch her toes, sending lightning through her hips.
After listening to Wynonna’s panicked voicemail, she’d rushed home to let the dog out before getting on the road.
Barry wasn’t returning her calls, and Wynonna had quickly shifted into worst-case scenarios.
Nothing from inside the house. Worry grips Cece. Maybe her sister is right.
After trying the doorbell again, Cece picks her way around the side of the house, the usually pristine landscaping looking shabbier than usual, hedges jutting into the pathway, grass tall and unruly between the bluestone pavers.
From the backyard, an alien orange glow against the night sky.
Cece nearly trips over herself as she runs under the rose-covered arbor to find her father standing, hands buried in sweatpants pockets, gazing into the blazing firepit.
“Cece? That you?”
“What are you doing, Dad?”
“Summer bonfire,” he says, like it’s the most commonsense thing in the world. “Remember how much you and Wynonna used to love these?”
“You haven’t been picking up your phone.”
He holds up his phone, light dancing off the screen. “No juice.”
“Wynonna was worried. I came down to check on you.”
“Tell your sister to stop worrying. I’m not geriatric just yet. Let’s go inside. You must be starving. Let me just put this fire out.”
Cece examines her father while they head indoors.
He looks grungier than usual, hair unkempt, stains of all color and size on his pants.
Does he have a musk? An odor? She wonders when he’s showered last. The kitchen appears to be relatively clean, a few dishes in the sink, crumbs on the island.
Wynonna will be happy to know their father is doing just fine.
He opens the fridge and peers inside. “What do you wanna eat?”
Cece perches atop a stool. “Did you already eat dinner?”
“Hard to say,” Barry says, head buried in the fridge, his voice cavernous. “Can’t remember. We don’t have much. There’s yogurt if you want that.”
“When was the last time you went grocery shopping?”
Barry doesn’t say anything, distracted by the undecipherable date on a packet of cold cuts.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“When did you go to the supermarket last?”
Barry seems to weigh the risk versus reward and then puts the deli meat back and closes the fridge. “Your mom got some stuff before she left…I just remembered there are some frozen meals in the basement freezer.”
“What have you been eating for the last few days?”
“Your mother made a few things before she left, and those frozen meals have been getting me through. I ordered pizza last night. Had it delivered. Forty dollars for a whole pizza. Highway robbery.”
Cece’s alarm starts to grow. Perhaps Wynonna is right. Barry can’t be left to his own devices. “I’m not hungry, Dad. Don’t worry about it.”
“Let me just go down to the basement and see what’s in the freezer.”
While Barry plods down the rickety wooden stairs, Cece does some snooping in the refrigerator. Pizza isn’t the only thing Barry seems to have ordered. Chinese take-out boxes line the shelves. There’s a carton of expired milk and a few suspect-looking jars of olives. Cece calls her sister.
“It’s not terrible, but it’s not great either,” she says.
With Wynonna’s urging, Cece digs through the recycling bin in the pantry and uncovers a treasure trove of empty Campbell’s soup and deviled ham cans emitting a sweet metallic smell.
“It’s like a 1950s time capsule,” Cece whispers.
“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?”
Abandon feels 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 the docks in Noank come into view, Cece can hear them—the protestors.
The group is small but loud—twenty or 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 loud crack sounds, 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 this is all 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?”
“There was a pipe involved, but I talked him down.”
Richie chuckles. “He runs hot.”