by Amy Waeschle
Will you come back? she remembered Mel asking. He had sounded hopeful; she had believed that he wanted her to return, had even imagined the two of them sipping coffee and watching the sunrise light up the jungle. No, she thought. I’m never coming back here.
At the curb, a sleek black SUV was waiting for her. A thick-chested Tico exited the passenger side. “Yo, Cassi-dee,” he said in a heavy accent. He pointed to his wide chest. “Alonso.” Cassidy was confused. Had the hospital called for this deluxe ride? She had requested a taxi. Alonso took her things from the medical assistant, and then stored them in the back. He opened the passenger door and inside, waiting, was Bruce.
The Tico reached for her hand, but Cassidy was already pushing up to stand on her own. She stepped away from the wheelchair, and the assistant wheeled it back inside. The hot air outside of the air-conditioned hospital baked her mouth dry.
“Listo?” the Tico asked.
Cassidy nodded and climbed inside the backseat. Alonso closed her door then slid behind the wheel.
“Alo was there that night,” Bruce said.
Cassidy averted her eyes but saw him grimace. What had he seen that night?
The SUV pulled away from the curb. After a moment, Alonso lowered the AC. “Temperature ok-eh?”
Cassidy nodded again. “I didn’t think I was going to see you again,” she said. “Aren’t you a wanted man now?”
Bruce smiled. “I have to keep a low profile, sure, but I have Alo.” He nodded to the driver. “And I’ll be leaving soon, too.”
“What will happen to . . . everybody?” she finally managed.
“The Americans will be extradited. The Costa Ricans will be tried here.”
“What about the children?” she asked as the images from the camera flooded her mind.
“We’re working on that,” he said.
They were silent for a while.
“Did you know about Reeve, all along?” she asked.
Bruce shook his head. “I knew something was going on beyond him just disappearing. There was actually a comment he made about Mel that helped, but it wasn’t until I followed those goons who chased us that it all came together.”
“I thought you said that it didn’t lead anywhere? That it got too conspicuous.”
Bruce nodded. “Let’s just say I had some help after that, and we found the link to Mel that we needed.” He glanced at her, his eyes pained. “We also found several graves.”
Cassidy inhaled a sharp breath. “Reeve . . . ”
Bruce nodded. “I believe so. I’ll know for sure in a few days.”
Cassidy slumped against the window. She had known it all along, but now that it was real, that she had failed—in so many ways—the world seemed to crumble around her.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
The SUV turned onto a highway and they sped north, the green jungle of tall, lofty canopies flying past in a blur. To the East, the dark volcanic mountains poked out of the olive-brown haze. Cassidy sat back and closed her eyes.
When the SUV pulled up to the curb at the Liberia airport, Bruce turned to her.
“Will I have to testify?” she asked.
Bruce looked thoughtful. “I don’t know. I’ll try to keep you out of it, if I can.”
Cassidy breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
“You know, if you ever get tired of saving the world from volcanic eruptions, you should think about detective work.” He grinned. “You’re a natural.”
Cassidy scowled, but a single, dry chuckle escaped from her lips.
“Actually,” he added, his eyes growing serious. “There’s something I wanted to tell you.”
Cassidy felt a tiny flutter of fear tickle her insides.
He seemed to be waiting for her to concede, and when she didn’t, he gave a tight nod, and continued. “This chain of human trafficking. It doesn’t stop in Central America. It extends all the way into the States. This particular group of scumbags imports to Los Angeles and San Francisco.”
Cassidy squinted at him. “Why are you telling me this?”
“You said Pete was a reporter. I read his story on the Hernandez family.”
A painful stone rolled over her heart. She wished the air conditioning could work a little harder because her skin felt like it might ignite. “What are you saying?”
Bruce shrugged. “Just that, well . . . ” he trailed off. “He was fighting the same war that I’m fighting. That we’re fighting.” He looked at Alonso, who nodded. “I know this has been an ordeal. I wish I had known you were there that night. I’m not sure things would have turned out any different, but at least I could have tried to get you out of there before . . . ” He sighed. “I had no idea that you were . . . with him.”
Cassidy looked away. She wanted to defend herself somehow, say that she wasn’t with Mel at all—how could she have put her trust in such a monster? “How did this happen?” she said, unable to control the waver in her voice. “How could I have been with someone like that?” she spat the last word and her whole body shuddered with anger. She saw herself on Mel’s bed, enjoying his caresses, and wanted to scream.
“He was a master at deception,” Bruce said. “If that makes you feel any better.” He glanced her way. “He’s fooled a lot of people—including me.”
Cassidy clenched her teeth shut and tried to stop the terrible images downloading into her mind.
“I wish I could do something to erase all the terrible things that happened to you,” he said. “But I wanted you to know that it made a difference. That what you did and what Reeve did, it meant something. And Pete, what he was doing, it helped, too. I think Pete would be proud of you—the risks you took and your bravery.”
Cassidy was crying before he finished his sentence. She wanted it to be true, to imagine Pete beaming his biggest smile at her, and then folding her into his arms. “Well done, Kinney,” he might say. But all she could remember was the image of his angry posture, his yelling. A spark of anger flared inside her. Wasn’t he the one who left? She should be the one yelling at him. Now Reeve was gone, too, and though their relationship had never been strong, losing him brought everything back.
“He didn’t die in vain,” Bruce was saying, and she found that she was in his arms, not Pete’s. After a long moment, Cassidy forcing herself to stop crying, he released her gently. Alonso seemed to sense the shift in mood because he slid out of the car and came around to the rear hatch, where he unloaded her pack and then opened her door.
“Here,” Bruce said, and handed her a white card with a single phone number. “Reach me anytime, okay?”
Cassidy took the card and stuffed in her pocket.
“Goodbye, Cass,” he said.
She gave him one last glance and stepped into the sun.
Twenty-Four
The biggest surprise when she exited the long tunnel of customs in LAX were the three tanned faces waiting for her.
“Cassideeeeee!” Taylor shrieked. Benita and Libby followed, and soon she was crushed in a tight hug.
Libby grabbed her shoulders and stared at her face. “You. Look. Worked.”
Cassidy smiled, despite agreeing with Libby’s conclusion. “Yeah. But it’s great to see you guys. How did you know I was here?”
“A little birdie told us,” Benita said, crossing her arms.
Bruce, Cassidy thought.
“Who do you think brought you all of your stuff?” Taylor said.
“But I didn’t see you guys,” Cassidy protested.
“You were still, like, in a coma when we came. The docs made us go in one at a time.”
“Thanks,” Cassidy said, overcome with contentment to see these women who had become trusted friends. “I wasn’t sure if I would get to talk to you again.”
“Hey,” Benita said. “You remember what I said, right? Us surf sisters gotta stick together.”
Cassidy grinned.
“So, you got a few hours, right?” she asked.
Cassidy
checked her ticket, and her watch. “About three.”
“Perfect,” Benita said.
Libby grabbed her pack from her back, and Taylor put her arm around Cassidy’s shoulders. “You don’t have to tell us anything about what happened,” she said, leading her to the gritty curb outside. The others nodded.
“We’re just glad to see you again, girl,” Libby added.
Marissa and Jillian were waiting at a corner table in a restaurant that Cassidy didn’t get the name of. Soon they were ordering drinks, and seemingly within minutes, food arrived—the kind of food she hadn’t eaten for weeks: a salad with creamy ranch dressing and carrots, peppers, and avocado, a hamburger with a sourdough bun and melted provolone cheese. The women filled her in on the rest of their journey home, how they had been so worried about her. Cassidy wondered if they knew about Bruce’s undercover work, and realized that there was no reason they would, unless he told them, which she doubted. Maybe the story would make the news someday, and then they would know. Or maybe it would stay under the radar, the way justice often did.
He didn’t die in vain, Bruce had said. At the time, she thought he meant Reeve. But could he have been talking about Pete? Cassidy shook her head. No, he had meant Reeve. Pete crashed his motorcycle on a foggy night in San Francisco.
“You aren’t drinking your Greyhound,” Jillian said, sipping hers. “Is it okay? Want me to get them to use a different vodka? They probably have Ketel One.”
Cassidy took a deep breath. “I’m not drinking,” she said.
“Aw, come on, you’ve earned it,” Marissa said.
Cassidy shook her head. “Thanks anyways,” she added, trying to make her voice sound light. “But I’ve had enough chemicals in my blood for a while.”
They seemed to get her meaning, and laughed it off. So they didn’t hear her add: “maybe forever.”
Benita jumped down to the curb and gave her one last hug. “We’re sisters for life, you know that, right?” she said.
Cassidy was going to have to run to make her flight. She so badly wanted to stay with her “sister surfers” and bask in their friendship just a little longer, but it was time to go home.
“I know,” she said, sliding her pack off her shoulders to remove the ukulele strapped to the back. “I think this belongs to you now,” she said.
Benita’s eyes went wide. She looked unsure.
“Reeve would want you to have it,” Cassidy added, presenting the instrument to her. “Or your son. Someone to play it. Keep it alive.”
Benita received the case. “You don’t want to try playing it? Maybe you’ll learn how someday.”
Cassidy shook her head. “You helped me find him,” she said, feeling her eyes burn. “I want you to have it.”
Benita gave her a long hug and then took the instrument. “I’ll see you again,” she said. “And in the meantime, if anybody ever fucks with you, I got your back, okay?”
Cassidy laughed to cover the fact that she was crying. “Okay,” she said. She slid her other arm through her pack strap and waved at the carful of women.
“Bye!” they all yelled as Cassidy turned and sprinted through the doors.
Twenty-Five
Cassidy stood close to Quinn under his umbrella. Her high-heeled shoes slowly sunk into the wet grass, forcing her to shift her feet occasionally, which made her nylons rub together and itch her legs even more. The winter day had started gray with the rain starting soon after she and Quinn had shared a quiet breakfast in his cold house.
It had taken Pamela until early February to organize the service because of the difficulty of reclaiming Reeve’s remains. Plus, the holidays had been upon them, and nobody wanted to attend a funeral at Christmas. Cassidy had survived only by diving into her work—and surfing. Whenever a big swell hit the coast, she was there with her thermos of coffee and bagel sandwiches at dawn to paddle out at first light. She had not even bought a Christmas tree or played any holiday music. It had felt too dangerous.
The service was held in the small church overlooking the ocean, a place Cassidy had never been to but that Pamela had apparently visited with Reeve and Rebecca when they were children. The priest had read from his Bible, people had sniffled into their hankies, and then they had all sung a hymn, their collective voices filling the somber space.
Reeve would have a small plaque in the church’s cemetery, but his ashes would be scattered. Pamela would do most of this, but Cassidy had asked for a portion that she could set adrift with Quinn near his home in San Francisco. Letting a part of Reeve be free to roam the ocean he loved so much seemed like a duty she could not forsake.
When it was her turn, she stepped forward and placed the flowers in her hand next to Reeve’s memorial. Then she let Quinn put his arm around her and lead her back to the car.
Most of the guests at Reeve’s Celebration of Life were family members Cassidy had never met. They hugged Pamela, who put on a brave face but broke down several times. Rebecca stood stoically by her side, her face a mask of pain.
It had taken Cassidy almost a full day to call Rebecca and tell her the news. Three days later, a story ran in the Ventura paper. Cassidy’s phone began ringing. The first time, she answered it without thinking. It was a reporter for the Los Angeles Times.
“I’ll bet it feels good to be back in the USA after your ordeal.”
“Wait,” she said, disoriented. “Who is this?”
“Everyone’s calling you a hero. What do you think about that?”
Cassidy tried to formulate a reply, but the reporter kept talking.
“Were you there when they dug up Reeve’s body?”
“How did you get this number?” Cassidy interrupted, gasping for breath.
“Your mom gave it to me,” he replied. “Did Reeve plan to rescue more sex slaves?” he added, not missing a beat.
“My mom is dead,” Cassidy hissed and stabbed the end button.
Cassidy had been in her office, wolfing down a sandwich and firing off emails before teaching her Historical Geology quiz section. A coworker across the hall had gotten up and closed his door.
Cassidy had not talked about the trip with anyone, but some of them knew that she had broken her hand while trying to track down her stepbrother. No one knew about what Mel had done to her in the treehouse. Not that she wanted to keep it a secret. She just didn’t want to talk about it with her colleagues, who were practically strangers.
Her grief counselor, Jay, on the other hand, had enough material to last them a lifetime. Reeve’s death had brought on terrible feelings associated with Pete’s death, and also the death of her parents, but Jay was careful not to push her too hard. Especially after she attacked him during their first session—an occasion she had put off for weeks. “You told me to take more risks!” she had cried, seething with a rage that had come out of nowhere. “And look what happened to me!” Jay, ever the calm presence, apologized for what they eventually came to identify as a misunderstanding. “But I appreciate you sharing your feelings with me. I’m grateful that you can offer me this feedback, and for this opportunity to clarify.”
Cassidy sensed that he was putting off addressing relationships, including what had led her to be with Mel, until sometime in the future, though she wasn’t sure she would ever feel ready to talk about that night. Currently, they were working on improving her sleep which meant diving into her past again. It was all so hard. After each session, she left feeling completely drained.
After the L.A. Times reporter incident, Cassidy double-checked every incoming number and only answered calls from trusted sources. The stories that circulated offered a diffuse version of the actual events, and Cassidy realized that she must be their only link to the truth. Eventually, the phone calls trickled to a stop.
She did receive one email eagerly, from a woman named Sharon Lee of Operation Break the Chain, a rescue organization partnered with Tikvah International.
Dear Dr. Kincaid,
Thank you for your inquiry. Child
ren entering our care in Texas choose a new identity as part of their rehabilitation and healing process. I am happy to say, however, that I believe the young woman in question did arrive safely on November 7. I will place your letter in safekeeping and let her choose to read it, but only if and when she is ready. Most children choose to break all ties to their former life when they enter our program. We encourage this step of independence. I hope you understand. However, I will personally share the news of your stepbrother’s passing with her, as this may factor into her treatment.
I offer you my sincerest condolences.
In peace,
Sharon Lee, Director, Operation Break the Chain
Cassidy had made a donation in Reeve’s name—the maximum amount that Rodney, the shrewd financial advisor her father had hired to oversee her accounts—would permit. It still didn’t feel like enough. In a follow-up email, Sharon did agree to keep Cassidy informed of any special needs she could assist with—anonymously, of course. Anything that could help Jade start a new life: tuition or job assistance, or even money to travel someday. Cassidy even went so far as to research what type of bicycle Jade might want, and how she could send it to her. The image of Jade pedaling through some small town with the wind in her hair filled her with peace.
The day after the memorial began cold and breezy, with overcast skies and veils of fog that moved through the trees like ghosts.
“You sure about this?” Quinn asked as they sipped espresso brewed from his Italian stovetop percolator. The heat coming through the baseboard warmed her toes, and Cassidy savored it, knowing that the water temperature would be in the low fifties. “We could wait until the summer. The water doesn’t get much warmer, but at least we might have sunshine.”
Cassidy shook her head. Pete’s ashes were still packed in their box in Eugene. One dead person in her house was enough.
They drove the short distance to the beach, where ocean breakers thumped onto the sandy shore. Cars lined the parking lot, with a few surfers gearing up in their black wetsuits, waxing boards, or checking the surf, coffee cup in hand. Despite the onshore wind making a mess of the peaks, a few bobbing figures dotted the lineups.
