by Amy Waeschle
Cassidy took another sip of her beer. “Hey,” she finally remembered to say. Her eyes had strayed to Mark, who must have told another Pete story because the group surrounding him laughed and shuffled their feet. A tiny flutter of that same sensation from earlier passed through her.
“So, how did you know Pete?” Wren asked.
The question caught her off guard and it took her a moment to get her mouth to work. “He was . . . ” Cassidy couldn’t finish. Since she had started taking the pills two days ago, her emotions didn’t feel so raw. It was like the pain was still there, just more diffuse. But the doctor only gave her enough to get her through this “rough patch,” and to help her sleep. Instead of renewing them, she was supposed see a grief counselor. Her first appointment was the following Tuesday, but Cassidy planned to cancel it. No way could she go through another series of grueling questions like at the hospital with some stranger. And by then, the pills would be gone, meaning no assistance.
“Cassidy and Pete were engaged,” Emily finished for her.
Wren’s face blanched. “Aw, shit,” she said. “I’m sorry,” she said, and Cassidy realized that she must be drunk. She extended her arms and pulled Cassidy into a tight hug. Wren’s perfume filled Cassidy’s nostrils and the nausea returned. When Wren finally let her go, her eyes were glassy with tears.
“When I started at the Times, Pete showed me the ropes,” she said, dabbing away a tear with a tissue. “He offered to read my first few stories, coached me along, you know? I really looked up to him.” She paused to sniff loudly and wipe both of her eyes. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” she added, sipping from her cup. “So tragic.”
Cassidy needed to sit down. Soon.
“When were you guys getting married?” she asked.
The room felt suddenly hot and her knees ached from standing for so long. “Uh,” she said, her head feeling light, like it might detach and float away. “We hadn’t set a date yet.”
“Ohhhh,” Wren cooed in a high voice, as if comforting a child. She reached for Cassidy’s hand and held on when Cassidy flinched. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her brown eyes oozing pity.
Cassidy looked away, swallowing a hard lump in her throat.
Wren let go.
“I think we need another drink,” Emily said, and carefully steered Cassidy away.
A soft moaning sound crowded into her ears, and Cassidy realized the noise was hers. Emily pulled her through the crowd, which parted as if Cassidy had a disease, their faces blurred and distorted. She felt high and disconnected, floating above it all. Emily led her into the empty covered porch, which was cool and blissfully quiet.
Emily pumped the keg, then tapped the release so beer flowed into Cassidy’s cup. She noticed that outside on the grass, a circle of Pete’s friends stood sharing a pipe, puffs of marijuana smoke trailing into the night.
“Sorry about Wren,” Emily said, handing Cassidy her full cup. “I thought everyone knew who you were.”
“What, did you tell them beforehand?” Cassidy imagined an invitation with her picture overlaid with a bull’s eye. Don’t talk to this woman, it would say in bold print.
Emily sighed. “Mark was supposed to take care of it.”
Cassidy sat on the cubby-style bench that used to hold her and Pete’s shoes, and lay her head back against the cold glass. She sipped her beer, which had lost its taste. Emily joined her. “You wanna go smoke?” she asked, glancing outside.
“No,” Cassidy replied, rolling her head side to side against the glass. “I’ve probably reached my limit for one night.” She didn’t want to end up in the hospital again.
“I saw the pill bottle,” Emily said.
Cassidy avoided her eyes.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop.” She paused. “Do they help?”
Cassidy tried to answer, but it was like her thoughts kept wandering away. “Yes and no.”
“Are you okay, though?” Emily asked.
Cassidy turned to look at her friend.
“I mean, I know you’re not okay,” Emily continued. “But, you’re not, like, thinking of hurting yourself or anything, are you?”
Cassidy looked into her beer. “No,” she said. The doctor in the ER had drilled her on this, but no, Cassidy wasn’t a threat to herself. She just wanted the pain to go away.
Emily looked away again. “I wish I had some way to help you. Nobody’s ever died in my family. I mean, my grandma died but I was little. I don’t really remember it.”
Cassidy shivered. “That’s okay,” she said. “Thanks for being here,” she added, her words sounding thick.
Emily’s eyes clouded. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call you . . . after,” she said. “I didn’t know if you wanted space, and, well, to be honest, I was chicken shit.” She laid her head back. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
“It’s okay,” Cassidy said again. She had been saying that a lot. Why did people feel the need to apologize to her?
“Still,” Emily said.
From the other room, they heard the ping ping ping of a fork tapping glass followed by Mark’s booming voice gathering everyone into the living room.
Oh, God, Cassidy thought, her stomach turning to lead. Her throat felt like it might close completely and she felt her breathing accelerate. Not again, she thought, remembering the geology office secretary calling 911.
Emily stood but Cassidy resisted. Their eyes met.
“I can’t,” Cassidy said.
“Come on,” Emily said. “All these people loved Pete,” she added. “This is your chance to receive some of that love.”
Cassidy’s leg muscles felt locked in place.
“You won’t have to speak if you don’t want to,” Emily added.
Cassidy looked away. How could she not speak? Pete loved words, stories. She, of course, had to share a story with these people. She owed that to Pete. But would the words come? What if her tears got in the way and she dissolved into a blubbering mess? That was not how she wanted these people to see her.
“The first time he came here he baked me bread,” Cassidy said in a shaky voice. “He had the dough in a bowl right here in this room and he kissed me.” Tears sprang from her eyes. She remembered his soft lips, his laugh, his new stubble rough against her cheek, and how he smelled like yeast. A whimpering cry filled the porch and she covered her face with her hand.
“You’ll get through this, Cassidy,” Emily said, her voice firm.
“I won’t,” Cassidy said, brushing back tears. “I don’t know how. It’s so hard.”
“Maybe you need to go, like, on an expedition or something.”
“What?”
Emily’s lips pressed together. “Well, you’re always going a million miles an hour. Skiing big mountains and surfing or running.”
“I hate running.”
“Okay, but my point is that being outside and charging like that is who you are. Maybe climbing some big mountain somewhere would help you.” She sighed and crossed her free arm across her chest. “I don’t know.”
“Mark wants to head up to Baker to spread some of Pete’s ashes on Saturday,” Cassidy said.
“Are you going?” Emily asked.
“I’m not ready,” Cassidy replied with a violent shake of her head. She inhaled a gulp of air, clenching her teeth to hold back another sob. Skiing Mt. Baker, with its rickety chairlifts, the steamy lodge, the views from the top of Pan Dome, would bring the memories flooding back. I don’t have enough pills for that.
“Well, you have some of his ashes, too, so you can go when you are.”
Cassidy felt the room begin to spin.
“Come on,” Emily said. She extended her hand to Cassidy.
With what felt like herculean effort, Cassidy managed to rise.
“I’ll just use the restroom first,” Cassidy said, breaking from Emily’s hand.
“Want me to come with you?” Emily asked.
Cassidy shook her head, but it only made the room spin. S
he managed to grab the wall for support without Emily noticing.
“Okay, I’ll save you a spot,” Emily said.
Cassidy followed the wall to the small bathroom. Just as she reached to knock on the door, it opened, and Analeise Jewel stepped out.
“Oh,” she said, her eyes wide. “Hi, Cassidy,” she added, her voice high. She had pulled her reddish hair back into a messy bun so that the stray hairs looked like spikes.
Cassidy opened her mouth to reply but all that came out was a huff of air.
Analeise stepped away from the bathroom entrance. “I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to come tonight,” she said. “And . . . I’m sorry for being such a bitch to you. I was just really jealous, you know? You deserved him, though. You guys seemed really happy together.”
Cassidy felt frozen to the wall. Enjoy your time while it lasts, Analeise had told her. This time, the words she tried to express came out as a bark of laughter.
“I’m so sorry,” Analeise said, pausing for a minute, as if waiting for Cassidy to reply. When she didn’t, Analeise slunk by her.
Cassidy stumbled into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. Slowly, she slid to the floor and cried.
When she finally rejoined the group in the living room, Mark was finishing a short speech about how they should feel free to jump in whenever they felt ready to talk. “It can be anything. A memory, a moment in time. Whether you’ve known him for decades or you met him in passing, this is our time to come together and share.” He caught Cassidy’s eyes and her belly quivered. The group on the couch made room for her. With Emily on one side and Tara on the other, Cassidy felt strapped to her own personal rocket ship of doom.
As individual people began to speak, Cassidy felt more and more drowsy. She tried to focus on the words, but her mind kept wandering. People told stories of Pete’s relentless curiosity, or of how his chronic lateness infuriated them, or about his superhuman endurance. Mark told the story of the avalanche, his eyes flashing with energy. Several times he made eye contact with Cassidy, each time drawing out that same feeling of longing.
“It was like it didn’t even phase him,” Mark was saying. “I mean, he’d almost just . . . ” Mark paused, biting his lip to hold it in. “ . . . died . . . ” He paused and wiped his cheeks. “And after, he was like, ‘Roar! Bring it on!’”
The crowd murmured. Sounds of sniffing and shuffling feet filled the room.
“He took life by the balls, man,” someone said. “That’s how he lived.”
There was a long pause.
“He really inspired me,” a voice from across the room said. “I mean, I didn’t know him that well but I feel so fortunate that I did.” Cassidy recognized the voice but couldn’t place the name. Wynn? Wren?
“He got in my face once about ethics,” a male voice she didn’t recognize said. “I’d fucked up and he knew it.” The man shook his head. “God, he was pissed.” The man shuffled his feet. “But he was right. He reminded me why we’re in this business. He always had such a high respect for our profession. It was humbling and a pain in the ass sometimes, but he’s left a giant hole and I don’t know how I’m gonna fill it.”
There was a long pause. Someone sobbed. The stories kept coming, from workmates, old and new friends. Her PhD advisor appeared out of the throng, but Cassidy’s attention drifted. Tara told a story, and because she was sitting next to Cassidy, all eyes turned her way. It made Cassidy feel disoriented and strange. Was she supposed to speak next? Her mouth felt dry and hollow and her head swimmy. She wasn’t sure she could form words even if she wanted to. The storytelling continued for what felt like years, Cassidy crying silently through it all and wishing for it to end so she could lie down.
Finally, Mark told a story about a practical joke Pete had played on him in college. At the end, when everyone laughed, Cassidy felt like she was drifting away. The only thing keeping her in the room was Emily’s hand squeezing hers.
“To Pete,” Mark said, raising his cup.
“To Pete!” the roomful of people repeated. Red cups rose towards the ceiling. Cassidy lifted hers, but her arm felt like lead and some of the beer spilled onto the floor.
When she drank the toast, the warmed beer wet her parched throat but tasted like metal. She put it down on the coffee table and curled into Emily.
The people in the room milled about. Someone turned the music back on. Emily and Tara both got up to use the bathroom. Cassidy watched the people swirl about the room. Some people were leaving. Some cast furtive glances her way but didn’t approach, as if her grief was contagious. Wren swooped in and gushed her condolences again, hugging her too tightly and for too long. Cassidy did not see Analeise again. Finally, well after midnight, only a few guests remained. Cassidy realized that someone had cleaned the kitchen, even taken out the trash. When had that happened?
Fragments of conversation floated by her.
“ . . . so they didn’t find a cause?”
“ . . . signs of deer crossing the road.”
“It wasn’t the bike?”
“ . . . fully checked it but it was solid.”
“The report . . . ”
“Seventy? That seems reckless, even for Pete.”
After a while, Cassidy realized that she had been glued to the couch, spacing out. God, I’m a mess, she thought.
Then Mark and Emily were standing above her with tired faces. “She needs to go to bed,” Emily was saying.
“I got ’er,” Mark said, and bent down to scoop her up. With a whoosh, Cassidy was in the air and the room spun. “Whoaaa,” she said, gripping Mark’s neck.
“Easy,” Emily said. “She’s pretty toasted.”
Mark walked to Emily’s room, which was dark and cool. The window was open and Cassidy heard the tip-tapping drops of rain on the hydrangea leaves outside. Mark placed her on the bed; someone removed her shoes. She felt Mark’s hand brush the hairs from her forehead. Cassidy started to cry.
“Shit,” Emily said. “I was hoping she’d just conk out.”
“I’ll stay with her for a minute,” Mark said. Cassidy felt his weight on the bed.
“You sure?” Emily replied, and even through her fog Cassidy could read the concern in her voice.
“Yeah,” Mark’s voice sounded unnaturally high and whispery.
Emily’s shadow moved to the doorway, and then Cassidy heard the door softly close.
Twenty-Two
Casa de Rocas, Seattle, Washington
November 25, 2016
Mark stroked her forehead for a long time. Then the bed shifted with his rising to leave.
“Don’t go,” Cassidy said, reaching for him.
Mark lowered back onto the bed and wrapped his arms around her. Cassidy began to cry harder, and felt Mark’s tears drop to her cheek. His warm, strong body cradled hers, and a pulse of heat warmed her insides. Cassidy’s heart cracked wide open. She wanted Pete, but Pete was gone. Holding Mark was wrong, but why did it feel good?
Mark sniffed. “He loved you so much,” he said. “He’d get this look in his eye sometimes when he talked about you,” Mark said softly.
Cassidy tried to imagine Pete’s grey-blue eyes, but it was hard through her haze and the dull headache blooming in the back of her brain.
“He loved that you could kick his ass on the slopes,” Mark said. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest against hers. “And that you surfed those giant waves.”
“I don’t surf giant waves,” Cassidy complained, her stuffy nose warping her words.
“They seemed like giants to him, a farm kid from Hicksville.”
“I got to see his room at his parent’s house,” Cassidy said, remembering the soccer trophies and race ribbons, the shelves of books, the stuffed animals on his bed, as if a ten-year old boy would come bouncing in at any moment.
“How’d that feel?” Mark asked. Though she couldn’t see his face, she could picture his grimace.
“Weird. He was there, though,” she
said, then had to stop because of a new wave of tears crowded into her throat. “I feel for his parents. He’s their only child . . . ” The thought overwhelmed her and the tears started up again.
Mark pulled her tighter and she cried for a while.
Waves of pain like giant boulders rolled over her. “There’s so many things I never got to tell him,” she said. She reached up to wipe her face but found her nose running and her sleeve already wet.
Mark noticed. “Here,” he said, offering the cuff of his Henley. “There’s a bare spot right there,” he added, pointing to it.
An unexpected bubble of laughter escaped her lips. Their eyes met in the darkness.
“Go on,” he said with a small grin. “Your snot can mix with mine. We’ll be like snot brothers,” he added. “Or snot brother-sisters, or something.”
Cassidy laughed again, and wiped her nose hard against his sleeve. Their eyes met again, and her blood raced with a swirl of emotions.
Mark leaned down to kiss her, and she realized that this was what she wanted, to feel something good, something besides the hurt and the sorrow pulling at her like an undertow day after day. His kiss touched her lips, and a tingling warmth spread over her skin. She hugged his body closer as her pulse thumped in her ears.
Mark pulled back and kissed her forehead, squeezing her tight. She felt his body shudder with sobs. The tingling feeling ebbed and disappeared, and she felt herself fading into darkness. Mark’s sobs quieted and after a while, his breathing slowed. His arms relaxed around her. Finally, the heavy curtain of sleep took her away.
Cassidy woke just after nine o’clock the next morning to the sound of rain and Mark’s breathing.
She took stock of her surroundings: the gooseneck lamp on the bedside table, a book called Time Travel for Dummies, Emily’s closet doors, one half-open, the other closed, her desk a mess of papers and her closed laptop, a bulletin board with postcards, souvenirs, and pictures—including one of her and Cassidy eating giant ice cream cones. She turned her focus to her body and the bed. She was fully clothed minus her shoes; Mark wore his T-shirt and jeans. She wondered if he wore socks to bed like Pete.
