Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
After sending Blaise the interview questions, Cece pushed her laptop away and sat back, fingers tapping lightly on the cover. Blaise was all set for Thursday’s recording, and that felt good. Like the first brick in what she hoped would become a real foundation.
Now came the harder part: Figuring out who else she could interview.
The obvious choices were the Queen Bees.
Paige was willing and could talk about reinventing herself after her terrible divorce.
Maude had her website business and this unexpected second chance with Ollie.
Even Essie had wisdom and family drama to spare, but certainly she had interesting stories from her days as a middle-school principal.
Cece wasn’t sure Althea would do it, but there was a woman with tales to tell. Might be worth asking.
But Cece didn’t want the podcast to seem like she’d built it only for her friends. She wanted it to feel bigger than that. More like the Colony itself—full of interesting people of a certain age with surprising stories.
She reached for her reading glasses, settled them on her nose, and pulled out the stack of past issues of The Buzz she kept in a basket under the coffee table.
Yes, it was old-fashioned to print them out, and yes, it was old-fashioned to rely on physical copies, but she’d come up in the newspaper business, and she had a soft spot for paper.
Even with the rustling, Peanut, who was asleep in her cat tower, only stretched and didn’t bother to open her eyes.
“All right,” Cece murmured, flipping open the first newsletter. “Who did I talk to this year?”
She skimmed the articles, pausing at handwritten notes she’d scribbled in the margins months ago.
Harriet Lorimer—she’d survived a hurricane twenty years ago that had wiped out everything, but she’d rebuilt her entire life here and now organized relief drives for other hurricane victims.
Audie Crandall—he was a retired engineer who’d invented something for the defense department he couldn’t talk about because it was still classified. Now that was a rabbit hole she wouldn’t mind crawling into.
Nina Patel—the immigrant baker who’d opened the new gluten-free stand at the farmers market with her daughter. Sweet woman with a real rags-to-riches story. Starting a business from scratch could be a great episode.
She flipped to another issue.
The garden club ladies, who were still arguing about the Great Orchid Mix-Up. Probably too chaotic, but entertaining. Could she handle interviewing more than one person at time? Sure. But four at a time? Maybe that should wait until she got a few more episodes under her belt.
Then an interview she’d forgotten she’d done, the one with the widower who restored vintage bicycles. Xavier Davis. A quiet man whose grief was still very raw. But his story had stayed with her longer than most.
Cece sat back. Outside of the newsletter, there was Joe, and Lester, and Graham. And what about Frank? The man had once been on the cover of Forbes magazine.
There were a lot of stories at the Colony. More than she could tell in a year, let alone a podcast season.
And instead of overwhelming her, the thought stabilized her.
Gave her focus. For the first time since the doctor had felt that lump in her neck, Cece felt a stirring of excitement within her.
Like this new project wasn’t just a great distraction, it had the chance of really being something important.
These were stories that deserved to be told. People who’d earned some recognition. All of them at an age where much of the rest of the world no longer thought they had value.
She wanted to be the one who helped change that, even if it was only in a small way. She wanted to give those people a venue in which to speak.
Peanut stretched again, this time rolling over so her paws dangled off the tower bed.
Cece, watching the cat, smiled to herself. “Real Life: Take Two is shaping up, Peanut,” she whispered. “If half of these people say yes, we’re going to have a pretty long guest list. But it’s good to plan ahead.”
The cat’s tail curled around her feet, maybe a sign of approval. More likely because Cece had disturbed her.
Laughing softly at Peanut’s cuteness, Cece opened a fresh document on her laptop. She had work to do if she was going to have guests.
The blank page stared back at her like it had great expectations. Like it expected answers. That made two of them. Peanut yawned, sat up, then jumped down, migrating to a sunny patch by the sliding doors. She curled up into a feline comma.
Cece watched her, the house quiet except for the hum of the ceiling fan and the distant buzz of a lawnmower somewhere in the neighborhood. Peanut’s nap seemed like a really good idea, but as appealing as a nap sounded, it was no way to be productive.
Cece began typing. Hello neighbor,
No, that sounded like a cold call. And it was not her. She deleted it.
Hi, I’m Cece Davenport—
Better, but bland. She erased it again and tipped her head back against the couch.
She closed her eyes for a moment and imagined how she wanted people to feel when they saw her message.
It should read like an invitation to something personal, not just another request. She thought of Natalie’s voice on the phone earlier, then of Joe’s intro music hitting the right tone the second she heard it.
It had to start with warmth. This time, she let her fingers move without overthinking.
Hello! I’m Cece Davenport, a writer here at the Colony and the host of a new podcast called Real Life: Take Two.
Each episode will feature a guest of a certain age and focuses on the second chance that has shaped the latter half of their life.
It’s about new chapters, fresh starts, and the unexpected twists they’ve experienced.
She paused, reread the lines, and nodded. It sounded like her. Optimistic without being syrupy. That was good. She continued.
I’d love to feature your story in an upcoming episode. The interview would be relaxed, conversational, and recorded right here in my home studio. Nothing fancy or intimidating, just two people talking about the things that matter to you.
She smiled. That felt right. Very human and very honest. She wrote a little more. If you’re interested, I’d be honored to have you join me. Please let me know what days or times work best for you, and we’ll make it happen.
Warmly, your neighbor, Cece
She read it through one more time. It was professional but friendly. And very adaptable. She could personalize it at the top or add a line about why she was reaching out to that person in particular or mention the interview she’d done with them for The Buzz, if that was the case.
Cece sat back, satisfied with the work she’d done. For a woman whose nerves had been tying themselves into knots for days, this felt like a real accomplishment. She let out a happy sigh.
Peanut lifted her head at the sound.
“Don’t worry,” Cece told her. “Even if this podcast blows up, you’ll always be my best studio assistant.”
Peanut blinked and went back to sleep.
Cece hit Save, labeled the file Podcast Outreach Template, and let herself feel a tiny surge of pride.
Her phone buzzed. She didn’t recognize the number, but it had a local area code. Her stomach dipped.
She answered. “This is Cece.”
“Ms. Davenport? This is Karen from Dr. Renner’s office.” The woman’s tone was polite, practiced, and neutral in a way that immediately put Cece on edge. “We have your results back, and the doctor would like you to come in so she can go over everything with you.”
Cece pressed her free hand flat to her stomach. “Okay.” Her voice sounded normal, which had to be a small miracle. “When does she want me to come in?”
“We have an opening tomorrow at nine fifteen, if that works for you.”
Tomorrow. Not next week. Not whenever you can fit it in. Tomorrow. Soon.
“That works,” Cece said softly. “I’ll be there.”
“Great. We’ll see you then.” Karen hung up.
The house seemed eerily quiet now. Like it was holding its breath for Cece’s reaction. She exhaled. It was going to be fine. Whatever the results were, it was going to be fine.
She set the phone down carefully next to her, her movements deliberate, as if rushing might make something inside her crack.
Tomorrow at nine fifteen.
She closed her eyes, drawing in a breath and letting it out slowly. It was going to be fine.
She shut her laptop and went to sit on the floor beside Peanut. She scooped the little cat up, pressing her cheek to Peanut’s patchwork fur, hot from the sun.
“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered. “Whatever they tell me tomorrow.”
She held the cat a little longer before setting her down. Cece got back to her feet. She needed to do something that wasn’t sitting still, maybe a walk on the beach. Maybe a walk through the neighborhood. Maybe she’d walk to Joe’s.
Because if she didn’t start moving, she might sit back down and not move again until tomorrow morning.