by Amy Waeschle
That night, they took a bath together, a habit established at Casa de Rocas that almost always ended with a lot of water on the floor.
Cassidy stepped into the hot water and lay back against Pete’s chest.
“What would we have done if I hadn’t found a house with a tub?” she asked, pulling Pete’s arms around her middle.
“We would have improvised,” he said.
“Like a water trough in the backyard?” she asked, laughing.
“Hey, it worked for me as a kid.”
“Ahh,” she said. The hot water soothed her aching muscles. Her heels and shoulders felt bruised, and she was relieved that she wouldn’t need to wear shoes or carry a pack for a while.
He washed her hair, his fingers gently massaging her scalp. She closed her eyes and savored the care in his touch. After a week of gritty fieldwork and lukewarm showers with minimal water pressure, she knew it would take days to feel completely clean again.
“What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” he asked.
“This,” she sighed.
“What about the pile of work that you told me about?” he asked.
She groaned. “Maybe they can do without me for one more day.” She lathered up her hands with soap and ran them over his skin. His chest and shoulders looked pale compared to his arms after a summer in short sleeves. His legs, too, were deeply tanned, while his hips and upper thighs were white, almost glowing in the dim bathroom. “I deserve a break, don’t I?”
“Hell, yeah,” he replied, stroking her thighs. “You just never take one,” he added. “You feeling okay?”
She laughed again. “I think I just really missed you,” she added, lying back against him with a sigh. “But you’re right. I do have to go in tomorrow.”
He stroked over her hips, his thumbs caressing the rise of her hipbones. She turned slightly to look at him, and he kissed her forehead.
“What about you? More edits?”
“Yep. Also, that phone call.”
“Right,” Cassidy said, thinking through what Pete had told her about the story.
Pete kissed her neck and his hands caressed her shoulders. She closed her eyes and savored his gentle touch, her skin coming alive.
“I love you so much, Cassidy,” Pete said and kissed her ear, and the almost-tickle sent her blood zipping through her body.
“I love you too.” She rolled over to kiss him.
Eighteen
Eugene, Oregon
October 5, 2016
Cassidy woke to an unfamiliar feeling. She blinked awake, unable to ignore the sensation that something was wrong. What had woken her? Then, a tiny glow of light flashed from the edges of her phone charging on her nightstand. Bewildered, she flipped it over and saw a missed call from Quinn. It was 2:32 a.m.
Her world narrowed and a hollow, sick feeling capsized her gut.
She sat up in bed and dialed Quinn’s number.
He picked up right away. “Cass,” he breathed. His voice tone—stiff, edged with something she couldn’t place—gave her a split-second warning.
“It’s Pete,” he said. “There’s been an accident.”
Cassidy parked her truck in the airport parking lot and hurried into the terminal, unable to stop the constant stream of tears leaking down her face. She checked in for her 5:15 a.m. flight to San Francisco and stood in line with the crowd of travelers, her shaking fingers gripping her documents. In her disoriented state, she had dug up her passport.
Immediately after hanging up with Quinn, she had started searching for flights, breaking down on the phone as she explained to the agent that her fiancé was hurt and needed her and that she would ride on the floor of the plane if she had to. She had even called Rodney to beg him to charter her a plane, but he persuaded her to keep trying—a private charter would take too long to organize. Finally she found a seat on a commercial flight, then stuffed some clothes into a backpack and jumped into her truck. She had not bothered to put in her contacts and her glasses kept fogging and smearing from her tears.
The phone in her hand buzzed. “They’ve just done a bunch of tests,” Quinn said.
“And?” Cassidy said, her voice cracking. So far, she knew that Pete had crashed his motorcycle and was badly injured. His head and spine, they thought.
“It’s bad,” Quinn said. “His pelvis is broken. They had to do some kind of procedure to stop the bleeding. And he has a head injury, Cass. They’re not telling me how bad but I know it’s serious.”
Cassidy sucked in a breath and held it, but a high-pitched noise leaked from her throat anyway. The man in line behind her frowned then went back to reading his phone.
“They’re gonna do everything they can, Cass,” he said in that tight voice she didn’t recognize. She wanted his joking voice, his easy, soothing voice. “Do you want me to come get you at the airport when you land or should I stay here?”
“Stay there,” she said, clenching her fists as a new wave of fear gripped her. “If he wakes up, maybe you can see him. Tell him I’m coming.”
“Okay,” Quinn replied. “His parents are on their way too,” he added.
Cassidy nodded. She tried to conjure Sally’s and Tim’s faces, but all that appeared was Pete as a freckle-faced ten-year-old, bear-hugging a brand-new baby calf, the bare, harvested hills in the background lit by a soft sun.
She ended the call and curled into herself as a sob escaped her lips. The line ahead of her advanced, but it took a special kind of effort to move with it. There were so many things she wanted to ask but didn’t want to ask. Quinn had said, “it’s bad.” How bad? Broken pelvis, broken spine. How broken?
The man behind her cleared his throat, and her focus opened. A large gap in the line of travelers yawned ahead of her.
“Sorry,” Cassidy whispered, shuffling forward with effort. As she did, she felt the eyes of everyone around her sneak a peek: the woman in the blue suit pretending to stare past her, the mother with both of her children tucked into strollers with blankets, pacifiers and colorful toys clipped to the edges, the businessmen looking up from reading their screens or talking on the phone to give her a one-second glance before turning away.
At the gate, an announcement called her to the podium.
“We’ve moved your seat,” an agent with impeccable makeup and the brightest teeth Cassidy had ever seen told her. “So you’ll be more comfortable.”
Cassidy thanked her, but the idea of comfort did not register.
Soon after settling into the leather-upholstered window seat, a flight attendant brought her a pillow and soft blue blanket. “Can I get you anything else to drink?” the woman asked, placing a small bottle of water in her cup holder. Cassidy assumed the flight attendant meant anything stronger, and though a part of her brain urged her to say yes, please, bring me something to make this less terrifying, she declined the offer. The flight attendant, an older woman with soft brown eyes and long, dark lashes, nodded and retreated. As Cassidy curled up, she heard the woman’s sing-song voice welcoming the other passengers entering the plane.
Just before the doors closed, she received a text from Quinn: They’re moving him to ICU.
Has he woken up? Cassidy typed.
No
A fresh wave of tears flooded her eyes. The passenger next to her frowned and shifted in his seat. He plugged in headphones and sat back.
During the flight, there was nothing to distract her from the reality of the situation. She sent Pete positive thoughts and sent them to the medical team too. Please make him okay, she begged.
But as the flight progressed, she came to understand that Pete was likely not going to be okay. He had experienced a high-velocity crash, going over an embankment in the process. Thankfully, he had been wearing a full-face helmet. Otherwise he would already be dead, the nurse had told Quinn. I just need to see him and be with him, she thought. Miracles do happen. But even as this thought bloomed, she knew it was make-believe. She replayed the conversations with Quinn leading
up to her flight, and even though she tried to fight it, the reality became clear: Pete was not going to be okay. But what did that mean? She imagined spending weeks in Pete’s hospital room, glued to his side while medical science did everything they could to save him. I’ll sit there for as long as it takes, she thought. A panic rose up in her and suddenly, the plane felt too small, like the walls were closing in. She heard herself whimper. The man next to her shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Cassidy closed her eyes and tried to be somewhere else. Sweat dampened her armpits and forehead. With shaking fingers, she brought the bottle of water to her lips. It had warmed, and the plastic rim felt foreign on her lips. Her mind traveled back in time to St. Joseph’s Hospital in Bellingham after the avalanche and the way Pete had made a pass at her in the exam room. Even after surviving a tragedy, he had been so ready to jump right back into life, as if the avalanche had been some kind of test, and he’d passed, so why shouldn’t they celebrate? The image of it made her laugh out loud. The sudden sound shocked her and garnered her concerned looks from other passengers. Appalled by her outburst, her laughter transformed into a series of sobs. More images of their time together flashed through her mind: the field work on St. Helens and the waterfall, the ski date and the many that followed, him in her kitchen, humming while cooking her something amazing, riding bikes on the Burke-Gilman trail to a favorite coffee shop, the many work sessions at Julia’s café, walks in the rain, making love on Pete’s couch, the two of them in her bathtub with his strong arms wrapped around her.
Oh God, she thought, breaking down again. Please let him be okay.
By the time her ride pulled up in front of the hospital’s main entrance, the dashboard clock read just past 8:00 a.m. Quinn had instructed her where to meet him. The sterile glass doors slid apart, and she stepped through to an open space with giant ceilings and colorful artwork splashed across the floor and walls. A reception desk manned by two people with badges stood to one side.
“Cass,” Quinn’s voice called out, and she turned to see him hurrying her way.
She dove into his arms, her sudden sobs muffled by his shoulder. Her whole body shook, and she felt as if the vibrations might rattle her head right off her body. A chill prickled her skin and she held him tighter. When she finally stepped back, she saw his swollen eyes and the terror on his tight face.
The fact that he wasn’t hurrying unsettled her. She had imagined them rushing up to see Pete and had prepared herself for a room full of doctors all swarming around him, wires and tubes poking out of him while he lay there fighting for his life.
“Let’s check you in, and I’ll take you up,” Quinn said. He led her to the front desk where Cassidy managed to give her name and attach her temporary badge to her chest. Then they walked to the elevators and rode in silence. Quinn’s hand in hers was the only thing keeping her from cracking into a million pieces.
The elevator doors opened and they walked down a hallway and through a series of doors to one labeled “Intensive Care Unit.”
Cassidy felt all of her muscles tense as Quinn pushed through the door. Behind it, a long desk extended down the right side of the hallway, with rooms opposite. A woman with dark brown hair pulled into a ponytail and dressed in nurse’s scrubs moved towards them from behind the desk. Her young, rosy face would have been cheerful, but her hazel eyes carried a stillness that communicated something else.
She stepped forward. “Hello, Cassidy,” the nurse said, keeping her hands clasped in front of her. “My name is Samantha.”
“She’s one of the nurses helping to care for Pete,” Quinn said.
“Oh,” Cassidy said.
An alarm blared from a room down the hall, and one of the other nurses at the station scurried off toward it. Cassidy noticed the other sounds in the space: a doctor’s voice coming from inside one of the rooms, and the sound of footsteps, doors closing, a cleaning cart’s wheels squeaking down the hall, the staff at the nurse’s station chatting, moving, sipping coffee from white paper cups. All of this activity seemed so suddenly surreal that she had to go back in time just to remember the reason she was here.
“Before we see him, there’s a few things I would like to tell you,” Samantha said in a steady voice. “We can talk in our conference room,” she said, indicating a door behind the nurse’s station.
“No,” Cassidy said, feeling her pulse jump. She moved in the direction of the rooms. She had come all this way to see Pete, not to talk to a stranger. But Quinn’s hand tugged her back, and she turned. His look broke her heart.
She looked from Quinn to Samantha, but Samantha’s eyes hadn’t changed. Quinn’s were filling with tears.
“Oh God,” she gasped, clasping her free hand over her mouth.
Samantha led them into a small room. Cassidy and Quinn sat down in hard plastic chairs across the table from Samantha.
“Pete has suffered a devastating brain injury,” Samantha said once they were settled, her compassionate expression connecting with each of them.
Quinn squeezed Cassidy’s hand.
“We’re doing everything we can to make him comfortable.”
In the following pause, Cassidy felt the room slowly tilt. “So, what does that . . . ” She stopped herself. “I mean, can’t they operate?”
Samantha’s lips tightened. “I’m afraid his injuries are too severe.”
“So I came all this way and he’s going to . . . ” The words tumbled out. “Are you saying there’s nothing you can do?” she cried.
“Cass,” Quinn said, glancing at her nervously.
“It’s okay,” Samantha said to him, then looked at Cassidy. “I’m here to answer all of your questions.”
Samantha’s steely composure helped Cassidy understand, even though she didn’t want to. She wanted to be mad—being mad felt good.
Samantha seemed to read this shift in Cassidy. “What’s important is that you’re here. Many people don’t get a chance to spend time with their loved one.”
Cassidy tried to find a way to feel thankful, closing her eyes and reaching deep into herself, but it just hurt and the tears leaked out. She thought of Pete’s parents traveling from Walla Walla. Would they feel thankful?
“I’ve learned that it’s very important to be able to say goodbye,” Samantha added.
A fresh wave of tears leaked from Cassidy’s eyes, blurring her vision. She grabbed a handful of tissues from the box in the middle of the table as another sob chattered through her.
Quinn put his arms around her and she fell into him, her body shaking. She realized that Quinn was crying, too. After what seemed like a long time, she managed to inhale a deep breath.
“Before you see him, there’s some things you should know,” Samantha said carefully.
Cassidy tugged out another clump of tissues. This is not happening to me, she thought. This is some kind of nightmare and I just need to wake up.
“He is attached to a machine that breathes for him. His face is pretty swollen and he’s hooked up to several different kinds of monitors. He is unresponsive, which means he is not reacting to stimulus, but you can still talk to him, and you can touch him.” Samantha paused and their eyes connected. “You can spend as much time as you like with him, and I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
Cassidy took a slow breath, realizing that she needed to be strong. Pete would want her to be strong. The idea of it made her break down again. Pete who had always been so strong in body and heart. Now it was her turn.
“Let me take you to him,” Samantha said, rising.
A sensation of numbness took over as she pushed back from her chair and followed Samantha. Quinn reached for her hand. The hallway floor shone beneath the bright overhead lights. They passed several doors, all closed, and the nurse’s station where a man in lavender scrubs talked on the phone and an older woman in a white coat sat typing. A few staff members came and went from the rooms, disappearing into a supply station behind the nurse’s desk and return
ing with sheets, blankets, and IV bags. Cassidy felt like she floated past them as if in a dream. She did not want to do this, but knew there was no way not to.
Samantha pushed open a door and Cassidy entered. Her first view of Pete overloaded her senses. It was Pete but it couldn’t be him: there were so many things attached to his body that she didn’t know where to look. Samantha stepped aside, and Cassidy realized just how broken Pete was.
A rattling sob shook her body and a horrible, animal-like howl escaped her lips as she rushed to the bed. Machines beeped and hummed while monitors flashed numbers and lines. A tube snaked from Pete’s wrist and another disappeared into the collar of his gown; a thick white stripe of tape across his mouth anchored a breathing tube in place. His puffy eyes were closed; one lid shone purple. His hands lay across the sheet at his side, and she reached for one of them, wrapping hers gently around it. The tears built behind her eyes again and she stroked his hand. She thought of all the times he had held hers, and how she had taken strength from him.
Be strong, she thought as her shoulders shook with another silent sob. Cassidy heard the door close softly behind them. She reached up to stroke the side of Pete’s face, his skin smooth. He hadn’t yet begun to grow his winter beard. An image of him on the St. Helens summit with a ring in his hand appeared in her mind.
They were supposed to share a lifetime of moments like those.
Quinn stepped to her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“You’ve been here with him,” Cassidy said.
“Yeah,” Quinn answered. “I wanted to keep him company. And tell him that you were coming. I don’t know if he can . . . ” He stopped, biting his lip in anguish. He wiped a tear from his eye. “I don’t know if he can hear me, but I wanted to do it anyway.” His voice was gruff, and louder, as if forcing the words.
“Thank you,” Cassidy said, leaning in to Quinn’s side. They cried together for a long moment.