by Amy Waeschle
She heard the noise again, filtering in from the living room. Quietly, Cassidy rose and tiptoed to the door. She opened it a crack and peered down the dark hallway. To her right, the guest bedroom’s door was open and from the faint glow of the streetlights leaking through the blinds, she could see that it was empty. She leaned farther into the hallway to see a figure seated at her couch, which faced the street. The streetlight glow made Reeve’s silhouette identifiable.
The strange smell hit her nostrils again. She took one step into the hallway and craned her neck, then wished she hadn’t. Reeve wasn’t alone. A head bobbed at his lap, which was hidden by the side of the couch. Quickly, Cassidy ducked back behind her door, disgusted and furious. She climbed back in bed and plugged in her earphones, hoping the sound of ocean waves would block out any further noises.
In the morning, the gutted shell of the minivan still filled their driveway. Cassidy told Pete about Reeve’s nocturnal activities and of the strange smell.
“Huh,” Pete said, taking another sip of coffee. He gave her a long look.
Cassidy glanced at her couch, trying to imagine being comfortable on it again.
“Do you want me to talk to him?” Pete said.
Cassidy bit her lip. “You want to try, go ahead.”
They heard the metallic ping of a tool dropping on the ground and looked up. Reeve was in the driveway again, sliding under the front of the van, his companion nowhere in sight.
Pete refilled his coffee, poured an additional cup, and left for the front door, his jaw set.
Cassidy couldn’t hear the conversation but marveled at how Pete’s body language and tone differed from Reeve’s. She saw them laugh, then Reeve was nodding his head. It was all over in minutes, and when Pete returned, he was grinning. “Problem solved,” he said.
But at noon, a young woman appeared in their driveway. She wore a denim miniskirt and tank top, both forearms decorated with tattoos. Sitting silently in the grass, watching Reeve work, she smoked cigarettes and looked bored. Her long hair was tied back in a side ponytail, the wisps hanging down the edges of her small face. After an hour, a beat-up car coasted to a stop at the edge of their driveway. The girl stood to go. She and Reeve shared a short conversation, and then Reeve got in the car with her. The three of them sped off.
By dinnertime, Reeve had not returned.
“Think he’ll want some when he gets back?” Pete asked as they cleared the plates.
Cassidy sighed. “Who knows.”
“Where do you think he went?” he asked.
Cassidy looked at the driveway with the tools scattered all around and the sliding door wide open. “It’s not worth wondering. Either he’ll show or he won’t.”
Pete’s face fell. “What do we do if he doesn’t show?”
“Call a tow truck,” Cassidy said.
But she should have known a tow truck would be the easy part.
Pete was out for an evening run the next day when Reeve returned, a wild look in his eyes. His movements, too, were sharp and fast as he dashed into the kitchen for a beer, then back outside to talk on his phone, smoking cigarettes. Then he went at his van: bashing the engine with his tools, cursing loudly, attacking the interior. Soon Cassidy’s front yard contained two vinyl bench seats and strips of fake wood paneling. Reeve was acting possessed, and Cassidy both knew and dreaded what would happen next when he stormed back into the house.
He let loose with a stream of expletives.
From her seat at the table, Cassidy looked up from her laptop. “Do you need a mechanic?”
“No,” he barked. “Those fuckers are all crooks.”
“They’re also necessary sometimes,” Cassidy replied, figuring they’d cut to the chase. “Want me to find a good one for you?”
“What?” he said, chewing on the edge of his finger. “Actually, yeah,” he said. She watched his face change when the light bulb of an idea clicked on. “You’ve got money, so how about helping me out?” he asked, his wild eyes glinting like sparks.
A trickle of fear tapped into the pit of her stomach.
“How much did he leave you, huh? A million?” His cheek twitched. “Two?” He crossed the room so that he stood across the table from her, looking down. Up close, she could smell the same scent from the night before, mixed with his BO and sour breath.
“It’s none of your business,” she said as pulse accelerated.
He pounced before Cassidy could react. His fingers gripped her arms, yanking her out of her chair to press her into the wall. “You’ve always had a cold heart, you know that?”
“Cold heart?” Cassidy said. “I’ve always helped you. And I’d gladly give you money if I knew it wasn’t going up your nose. What are you on, anyway? Meth? I thought you said you’d never get into that shit.”
“Goddammit!” he cried, squeezing her arms so hard they burned.
This was going bad, fast. How could she get to her phone? She knew what was coming next, and it wasn’t good. “Let me go, Reeve.”
“Not until you give me what I want.”
The last time Reeve had been in rehab, their family had been forced to sit through a lecture by one of his counselors, who had explained the dangers of challenging a drug addict when he was desperate. Cassidy had barely contained her boredom—she’d been through it all before.
She glared into his eyes. “Get. Out.”
His face twisted with rage, he threw her down and raced towards her bedroom.
Cassidy struggled to her feet and lunged for her phone. In moments, she was giving her address to the dispatcher. A loud crash came from her bedroom. Don’t approach him when he’s violent. She raced to the doorway to see Reeve pawing through her drawers. Clothes flew out in all directions, landing on the floor and the bed. Her underwear drawer had been dumped upside down and tossed against the wall.
“There’s nothing there. You stole all of it already, don’t you remember?” she yelled, unable to contain her anger.
Reeve gave her a glance, but it was as if she wasn’t there. He finished going through the rest of the drawers and moved to the closet.
“You’re not going to find anything, Reeve!” she shouted over the noise of the hangers slamming across the rod.
“Where is it, bitch?” he yelped, turning to her. His jaw flexed.
“Where’s what?” she said aloud while thinking, Where are the police?
“Your safe.” His heaving breaths made his whole chest expand and contract, as if he had just sprinted.
“I don’t have a safe, Reeve! There’s nothing here.”
She heard the sirens, and as if coming out of a dream, Reeve did too. The look he gave her was filled with desperation, and for a split second, she felt sorry for him. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Pete arrived just as the police were walking Reeve to the patrol car. He rushed over to Cassidy. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she replied, rubbing her sore arms.
They both watched the police officer shove Reeve’s head down and load him into the patrol car. His eyes had that vacant look and his jaw was clenched. She knew the worst part of his next several days would be the withdrawal from whatever junk he had dumped into his system.
“Would you like to press charges, Ma’am?” the officer asked. His partner came from inside her house, shutting the door softly behind him.
“No,” Cassidy replied, feeling exhausted.
“All right,” the officer said. “Can you come down to the station tomorrow, and give a statement?”
“Sure,” Cassidy agreed.
The two officers climbed into their car, and drove away.
Finally, Cassidy met Pete’s eyes.
“We’re going to need that tow truck,” she said, and returned to the house.
Seventeen
Portland International Airport, Oregon
August 16, 2016, 11:37 pm
Cassidy hurried from the airport terminal and squealed when she saw Pete waiti
ng. She raced to him, and he swooped her up to hold her in a long embrace. They kissed for so long she came up breathless. “God, I missed you,” he said, stroking the side of her face. After another long kiss, he took her hand.
“How was the flight?” he said, leading her to baggage claim. During their separation, they had used a tool called WhatsApp to communicate, but Cassidy had limited service so they had plenty to catch up on during their two-hour drive to Eugene.
“Okay,” she said, yawning. “My flight to Houston landed late so I had to run to get my connection.”
They waited, hand in hand, at the baggage carousel. “I feel like I could sleep for a week,” she said. “How are the edits coming?” She knew that Pete would have been working on them day and night since meeting with his editor during his trip.
“Good,” he said. “I’m plugging along.”
“That’s awesome,” she replied, yawning again.
Her backpack slid down the chute, and Pete grabbed it, hoisting it onto one shoulder. He kissed her again and despite her exhaustion, her blood thumped in anticipation of being with him again. He broke away and smiled. “Let’s get you home.”
During the drive, Pete told her about his trip to San Francisco, about meeting his editor and the marketing team, about staying with Quinn. “His bar is the hot spot, man,” Pete said. “I had no idea he was such a hipster.”
“I’m sure he showed you a good time,” Cassidy said, leaning her seat way back.
“That he did,” Pete replied. He told her a story about walking the waterfront and talking to people, about taking Quinn’s motorcycle for a spin. “So fun, Cass, I’d forgotten what that feels like.”
Cassidy gave him a look. “You ride motorcycles?”
“On the farm I did. We had all kinds of vehicles. I drove tractors, too.”
Cassidy laughed. “I’m sure you did.”
Pete told her about driving the Marin Headlands. “There’s surfers all over the place. I thought about you,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Maybe I’ll buy us a bike, and you can ride on the back.”
“That sounds very poetic,” she said. “But they’re really not that comfortable.”
“You ride motorcycles too?” he said, giving her a surprised look.
“Just Quinn’s,” she said, yawning again.
Pete told her about bar-hopping with Quinn and going for long runs through the city. Cassidy tried to listen, but her eyelids refused to stay open. No matter how hard she tried to stay awake, she felt herself slipping blissfully away.
The sound of the car door shutting pulled her from sleep. Pete was unlocking the front door, her backpack slung over his shoulder. Cassidy noticed that Reeve’s disassembled van was gone. Cassidy sighed. Where was Reeve now? Back in jail? Maybe he would go back to rehab. Or had they let him walk?
Pete returned, opened the car door carefully, then smiled when he saw that she was awake. Cassidy stretched and took his hand, feeling her skin tingle.
Inside, their house glowed with the soft light from the floor lamp. A feeling of warmth and belonging enveloped her. “Hey, what’s this?” she asked, stroking the fabric of a new couch.
“I figured it was time for an upgrade anyways,” he said with a one-sided grin.
Cassidy knew that she wouldn’t have been comfortable on her old couch again, not after seeing Reeve and his girlfriend use it. That Pete had handled replacing it before she returned filled her with gratitude.
“Thank you,” she said, pulling him towards her. She kissed him softly, and he kissed her back, his hands smoothing over her shoulders. A gentle breeze from the open windows tickled the backs of her legs. She stepped closer to Pete and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Vamos a la cama,” she said.
In the morning, she woke to the sound of the coffeemaker beeping. A moment later Pete entered the bedroom, dressed only in his boxers and wooly socks, carrying a steaming mug. He sat on the edge of the bed and kissed her. He gave her the cup of coffee and left the room. Cassidy sipped the coffee—made the way she liked it, flavorful but not too strong and ultra-hot—and sighed. After another sip, she put the coffee on the bedside table and closed her eyes again. Normally she didn’t take time to rest like this, but her body ached from carrying the heavy loads all over Arenal’s slopes. Her hands were blistered and shredded from digging in the volcanic soil, and her brain was tired from all the socializing with team members in her rusty Spanish. Plus, Pete had kept her up late. She smiled.
After she woke again, Pete whipped up a simple breakfast. Then they set off to pick blackberries at a patch down the street, Cassidy carrying a bucket, Pete a mixing bowl. The late-summer sun warmed her shoulders as they walked. After wearing hiking boots all week, her toes appreciated the freedom of her sandals.
“So, a crazy thing happened when I was with your brother,” Pete said.
“Crazy things always happen with Quinn,” she said with a smile.
He gave her a look, but it wasn’t the lighthearted one she expected. “We were out bopping around, you know, checking out the competition, I guess.” He paused. “We ran into these guys, and Quinn knew one them.”
This wasn’t news. Quinn had more best friends than anyone she knew. Cassidy glanced at Pete curiously.
“One works for this investigative news outlet.” They stopped at the end of their block then crossed the street. “Name’s Brad. We got to talking. He knew some of my stories.”
“Wow, that’s cool,” Cassidy said. “So did you two collaborate until the sun came up, planning a new world order?”
Pete didn’t laugh.
Cassidy stopped walking. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, I guess he was pretty drunk. I think he may have offered me a job, though,” he said. They turned a corner, dodging a lawn sprinkler, though its mist dampened their legs. “It’s all freelance writers there,” he added quickly. “He’s got this story, but it’s really rough, with shady sources, that kind of thing. He seemed really eager to hand it off to someone.”
“Huh,” Cassidy said. “What’s the story?”
“I guess there’s these free clinics for teen runaways, but the staff behind them lure the kids into the sex trade.”
“Ugh!” Cassidy said, outraged.
“Yeah.”
They continued walking. “Remember when we were in Sicily?” Pete asked. “And we stumbled on those girls standing on the side of the road?”
“I don’t think I’ll ever forget them.” Cassidy remembered the encounter with a shiver. She also remembered waking to Pete’s absence that night. “You’re not saying that those girls end up in San Francisco, are you?”
“No,” Pete said, shaking his head. “It’s just . . . I’ve never been able to let it go.”
Cassidy sighed. “So what is this guy thinking? Is he going to try to bring down the staff?”
“Apparently they’re tied to someone really powerful, and drug smuggling is somehow mixed in, too.” He kicked a pebble with his toe.
They waited at a corner before crossing. “Why can’t the cops handle this? It sounds big.”
Pete shook his head. “I think they’re overwhelmed.” He sighed. “Like I said, he was pretty drunk and I just let him talk. I didn’t want to spook him with a lot of questions. He’s going to call me on Saturday.”
They cut diagonally across the baseball outfield, the dry weeds snapping against their bare toes. “I’ve been doing some research, though. Apparently San Francisco is one of the biggest sex trafficking hubs in the country,” Pete said.
A shiver went down Cassidy’s spine.
“The whole thing is pretty thin,” Pete said with a resigned sigh. “But maybe Brad can tell me more when we talk.” They reached the row of blackberry bushes, the purple-black fruit bursting from the vines. “It’s just, well, the book is almost wrapped up, and so I’m starting to think about what I want to do next.” He plucked a fat berry and inspected it carefully, then popped it into his mouth.
Cassidy
tasted a berry and the sweet explosion of flavor filled her mouth.
“It would be pretty amazing to bust an illegal sex trafficking ring, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes,” Cassidy said, “as long as you’re not trying to take down the whole city singlehandedly.”
“Of course not,” he replied. “I’m assuming there’d be a team of us working together.”
She tasted another ripe berry, then found another and put it into Pete’s mouth.
“Mm,” he said, then his eyes quickly shifted to that faraway look again. “It would be really cool to do that. It would mean a lot to me.”
They picked in silence for a while.
“I go back to San Francisco in October to work out all the marketing stuff for the book,” Pete said, brightening. “Why don’t you come? We could hang out with Quinn together. I know you’ve been wanting to visit him.”
“I wish,” Cassidy replied with a sigh. She didn’t need to explain that her postdoc was like a marathon and every minute counted. Unless she offered a very good reason, traveling to San Francisco would draw the kind of attention she wanted to avoid.
“Even if it’s just for a few days? That’s not a big deal, is it?” he said with a grin. He popped a berry into her mouth.
“We’ll see. I’m going back to Arenal in December, then it looks like I’ll be doing a joint project in Hawaii.” She grinned. “You should come with me on that one. You can write a story on how much red tape we have to deal with to do work inside a national park. It’s actually a huge issue,” she went on, warming to the idea. “There’s mounting evidence of Kilauea’s activity increasing, and everyone wants to know when it’s gonna blow and for how long, and what areas are going to be affected, yet the Park Service won’t let anyone build any sensors! It’s ridiculous!”
He raised his eyebrows. “I like the way you think, Kincaid. You may just have an angle there.”
