She had returned to work and sat through a meeting and picked up dish detergent on the way home, but her attention had been anchored to the thick envelope of signed documents in her car. It was 7 p.m. and her mother had showered already for bed. In spite of her own evolution over the years, CeCe’s mother still went to bed incredibly early. CeCe didn’t mind her mother’s twelve and fourteen hours of sleep now that her waking hours were spent out of bed. CeCe rinsed suds from the pot and laid it down in the dish rack. She hung the dishrag over the edge of the sink to keep it from smelling sour, the way Aunt Rosie had shown her their first summer together. CeCe turned to lean against the sink. She still had on pantyhose and her work clothes, and her feet wanted to slide across the tile. CeCe remembered playing that game in her socks as a child. She’d slipped and banged her head against the cabinet once, frightened when she woke up minutes later on the kitchen floor.
