Cassidy Kincaid Mysteries Box Set

by Amy Waeschle

  The details of the night before surfaced as if from a smoky haze. Had her PhD advisor attended the party, or was she remembering wrong? No—he was there; she remembered his short speech about connecting Pete to Cassidy for the iMUSH story and how he would miss their conversations. And someone had talked about the crash, but the details eluded her. Cassidy remembered the expansive offering of food on the table. All of Pete’s favorites: mashed potatoes, fresh-baked bread, steak fajitas, a giant salad with watercress, a bowl of tangerines.

  But try as she might, Cassidy couldn’t remember how she ended up in bed with Mark. A surge of tenderness thickened the inside of her throat and tears spilled over her raw lids.

  Mark woke and blinked slowly. He turned, his apprehensive look melting. “Hey,” he said softly, and pulled her to him. Cassidy wrapped her arm across his broad chest and rolled into his side, a position she had done a thousand times with Pete. Mark tugged the blanket over their shoulders and stroked her back. Cassidy could smell the laundry detergent in his T-shirt and the piney scent of his shaving cream.

  “Are you heading back today?” he asked softly.

  “Yeah,” Cassidy said.

  “What are you going to do with his ashes?” he asked.

  Cassidy sniffed, and wiped her eyelids with her fingertips. “I don’t know,” she finally replied.

  “Let me know if you need me,” he said. “I could come down to Eugene.”

  “Okay,” she replied, her voice shaky.

  They lay there together for what felt like a long time. A while later, Cassidy wondered if she had fallen back asleep because she heard Emily in the kitchen.

  “I think I need coffee,” Mark said. “Want me to bring you a cup?”

  With effort, Cassidy shifted to let him roll out of bed but made no effort to get up. Can I just stay in this bed for the rest of my life?

  He sat on the edge of the bed and sighed. Then he turned and his eyes cringed with pain. He seemed on the verge of saying something, but then it passed. He turned away and shuffled out of the room.

  The wood floor’s cold seeped through her socks as she rose from the bed and paused to let her swirling head catch up to her new elevation. Her empty stomach clenched and she wondered if she would be sick. She closed her eyes and breathed the fresh air coming in through the cracked-open window behind the bedside table. Breathe. That’s what the medic coached her to do: breathe. Finally, the queasiness passed and she reached for her glasses. Emily’s robe was hanging on a hook on the back of the door and she slipped it on, the plush softness wrapping her like a cocoon.

  In the kitchen, Emily and Mark talked softly. The open curtains let in the view of the grey rain melting the view of the green lawn, the cars, and the street beyond. Mark stood with his back resting against the sink counter, his legs crossed as he sipped from a giant mug. His dark, bushy hair stood up at several different angles. Their eyes met and his voice paused.

  Emily turned and saw her standing in the doorway. “Morning,” she said, briefly meeting her eyes before returning to the fridge for a jug of milk.

  Cassidy moved to the coffeemaker and took down a cup from the cupboard, her head still throbbing.

  “I’m afraid all I have is cereal for breakfast,” Emily said. “Unless you like leftovers. There’s a shit ton of food in here,” she said as she returned the milk to the fridge. “Turkey, stuffing, fruit salad, half of a cheesecake . . . ” She shut the fridge. “There’s plenty of bread, too,” she added. “So I guess you could have toast. I think there’s some jam in here.”

  Cassidy’s gaze swept across the counter to where plastic-bagged bread was piled in a heap behind the toaster. A rectangular plate held a square of butter and the accompanying paddle was gobbed with it, as if someone had stabbed at it again and again. Cassidy began to unwrap the dark brown loaf of Pete’s favorite bread, the one he made her that first time. Slowly, she sliced a piece from the round, feeling tears prickling behind her eyes. As the bread toasted, she stared out the window, feeling lost. She had two more Xanax and the thought of not having more filled her with dread. Any more than a few days’ supply can become addictive, and the withdrawals can be even worse than the symptoms you’re feeling right now, the doctor had warned. Deep down she knew getting off the pills was the right choice, but the memory of the short-lived calm she had experienced the day before—when the whiskey hit her bloodstream—caused a craving so strong she clenched her nails into her fists to fight it.

  “You okay?” Mark said softly, his hand touching her shoulder.

  She wanted him to sweep her into his arms and make this pain go away, but knew that wasn’t going to happen. That it shouldn’t happen. But the thought of driving away alone, away from the sweet rush of emotion tingling in her belly whenever he touched her made her throat close and the walls press down.

  “Yeah,” she managed, swallowing a sob.

  Her toast popped up, and she forced her hands to reach for the knife, then add the butter. She watched it slowly melt as the knife moved back and forth. A jar of jam appeared at her side, and she looked up to thank Emily, but she had already returned to the table. Cassidy added jam and took down a plate, then carried it and her coffee to the table opposite Emily.

  Mark slipped onto the bench beside Emily.

  They ate and sipped in silence for a while. The toast tasted like cardboard, but Cassidy forced it down. At least the coffee tasted strong, but it quickly cooled. She realized she was thinking of how when Pete made her coffee, he always preheated her mug so it stayed hot. Such a little thing. So many little things he had done for her that she had taken for granted. The sudden sting in her eyes made it impossible to look away from her plate.

  “What do you ladies have cooking today?” Mark finally asked.

  Emily looked at him, then sipped her coffee. “Not sure,” she replied.

  Cassidy took a discreet swipe at her eyes.

  “When are you heading home?” Emily asked her.

  Cassidy shrugged. “Pretty soon, I guess.”

  Emily nodded.

  Mark’s empty cup tapped the picnic table, and the sound carried a finality that brought on another sense of longing, and pain. He stood, and stretched a great bear-like stretch with his arms wide open and his hips curling back.

  Slowly, Cassidy got to her feet. “I’ll walk you out,” she said, feeling Emily’s eyes on her.

  Mark placed his cup in the sink, and the two of them walked to the covered porch. Inside, the air tasted cold and heavy, with condensation frosting the glass. Mark dug out his shoes, and Cassidy noticed the muted argyle pattern of his socks. Somehow this small detail felt important, though she couldn’t say why.

  He finished tying his laces and reached for his coat. Their eyes met and Cassidy felt her pulse tapping into her belly. He stepped close and pulled her into a soft hug. Cassidy closed her eyes and savored the embrace.

  “Are you gonna be okay to drive today?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she said, even though she wanted to say no.

  “Okay,” he replied.

  She leaned her head against his shoulder one last time, and then he stepped back. Her eyes filled with tears again, and he wiped them with his thumb.

  “Keep in touch, okay?” he said. “We’re snot siblings, remember?”

  A laugh rose in her chest but it came out like a huff. She sniffed and nodded. “Okay,” she managed, her voice cracking.

  Mark smiled, his sad eyes connecting with hers once more. And then he turned and walked out the door.

  Twenty-Three

  Eugene, Oregon

  November 29, 2016

  Cassidy entered the grief counselor’s office, her legs like wood. Two easy chairs and a couch clustered around a coffee table. On the other side of the sitting area a desk faced the wall; next to it, a large potted plant’s green leaves arched outward. The soft light felt warm and welcoming, though she didn’t register this until she returned to the bright glare of the lights in the waiting area
after her session.

  Her receptionist escort hovered in the doorway, as if to block Cassidy’s exit.

  A man crossed the room and smiled. “Hello, Cassidy,” he said.

  Cassidy paused, her heart racing. “Where should I sit?” she asked while the receptionist handed over her paperwork.

  The man set the papers down on the coffee table and made an open gesture with his hand. “Wherever you like.”

  Cassidy’s gaze fell on the leather chair nearest the door. A charcoal-grey faux fur blanket lay draped across the arm. She heard the door close softly behind her.

  “I’m Jay,” the man said. He wore a button-down dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up almost to the elbows, and though his arms looked wiry, his grip felt gentle when they shook hands. She risked a longer look at his face and noticed the smile lines around his eyes and the straight dark hair edged with grey. His round, wire-rimmed glasses and his narrow nose gave him a dignified look, though his warm smile softened this.

  She slid into the leather easy chair and noticed the pale yellow orchid in the middle of the coffee table. Her eyes then wandered to the other side of the room to a shelf lined with books interspersed with tiny green plants tucked into white porcelain pots. She thought of the raised planter beds Pete had built her when they first moved to Eugene. Even though Cassidy insisted they didn’t need to grow their own vegetables, that the farmer’s market and grocery store’s provisions worked just fine, he was undeterred. Now she had two boxes of barren dirt slowly being overtaken by weeds. The inside of her mouth began to tingle in that way that meant she was going to cry soon.

  “Can I get you anything? Tea? Water?” Jay said, pausing. Cassidy noticed a blue mug in his hands, the tea bag label dangling over the side.

  “No, thank you,” Cassidy said.

  “Help yourself anytime,” Jay said, indicating the narrow table with boxes of tea and a silver hot water boiler set in the corner, then settled into the other easy chair.

  Cassidy inhaled a tight breath. When she had casually mentioned to Quinn about wanting to cancel this appointment, he made her swear not to. Just check it out, Cass, he’d said. I don’t want you to end up in the ER again.

  “You were referred to me by the mental health coordinator at the hospital,” Jay said. “But your attendance here is completely voluntary. I want this to be helpful for you, Cassidy, so feel free to ask questions if something isn’t clear, or direct me to what’s important for us to talk about. My main job is to listen, though I may sometimes ask questions or maybe point out things that might be harder for you to see.”

  During the split second she risked a glance, his warm expression grounded her.

  “Sound good?” he added.

  “Okay,” Cassidy replied, her voice cracking.

  “So, I have a few notes from the doctor as to how you came to be in the ER,” he said. “But the information is pretty sparse. Would you mind giving me your side of it?” he asked.

  She inhaled sharply, trying to hold in her tears. I didn’t even make it five minutes, she thought. “Everybody thought I was having a heart attack,” she said, her voice wavering. “I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and then the medics came, and everything just happened so fast . . . ” She gripped a clump of the blanket’s faux fur with her fingertips.

  “Can you tell me a little bit more about what was going on that day?” Jay asked.

  Cassidy realized that she was holding in her breath, and exhaled slowly. “I had a meeting with my boss, and I knew it wasn’t going to go well,” Cassidy said.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because my performance hasn’t been meeting his expectations,” she said as a sense of shame filled her. “I don’t know why it’s so hard. I love what I do. It’s just that ever since . . . since . . . ” She felt herself shrinking into the chair. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure Jay could hear it. “And then I found a Christmas party invitation in my mailbox, and it was this reminder that Pete was really . . . gone . . . ” she said, quickly wiping her cheeks with her fingertips. “And I started thinking about all the Christmases and birthdays and summers and . . . ” She sniffed.

  More tears leaked from her eyes, and she grabbed a clump of tissues. “We were engaged,” she added. Her mind flashed to a future image of Pete kissing her on the top of a mountain ablaze with wildflowers while a small group of friends cheered.

  Jay hadn’t moved but she sensed something change in his energy. “I’m so sorry, Cassidy,” he said in a voice so rich with compassion she broke down.

  Images of the agonizing funeral, of driving to Seattle, feeling like a zombie, for the memorial, and ordeal of the party pulled her out of Jay’s office. She saw Pete doing little things like brushing his teeth or mowing their lawn or sipping coffee. What was she going to do now that Pete was gone? All of the things they used to do together would be so different now. And she was so afraid of starting over, alone. She hadn’t been able to go to Mt. Baker with Pete’s friends after the memorial, even though she should have. Would she ever be able to ski with them again or would it always hurt? The idea of it terrified her and also pulled at her with a longing so powerful she had to clench her teeth. She saw her skis disappearing into the deep snow then surfacing, her body floating, but instead of expecting to find Pete in her peripheral vision the space around her was empty. She would no longer hear his hoots of joy and taste his snowy kisses in the lift line. This swirl of emotions spun through her as the tears poured out and her head thumped hard. After what felt like a long time, Cassidy felt empty. She wiped her eyes and sat back. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Losing someone we love is terribly painful, Cassidy,” Jay said. “You have every right to feel the way you do.”

  Cassidy risked another glance at Jay, unsure what to think of this.

  “I’m wondering,” Jay said, shifting slightly in his chair. “How do you get through the day carrying this weight? Is there anything that helps?”

  “Beer,” she blurted, a harsh laugh escaping her lips.

  “Beer is great,” Jay replied. “It contributes to bone density, improves cholesterol, and because of the fermentation, it’s practically health food.”

  Cassidy caught the twinkle in his eyes, and felt this bit of warmth move through her. She took a steadying breath. “Probably not at the volume I’m consuming,” she said. She had gone through two bottles of Scotch since returning from San Francisco, and her recycle bin had been considerably heavier the last few times she had wheeled it to the curb.

  “Hmm, tell me why you think so.”

  Cassidy picked at a worn spot in the knee of her jeans. “I couldn’t have gotten through the memorial without it. But I also had the Xanax onboard, and for the first time, I felt calm, and sort of, well, not happy, exactly, but sort of okay, for a little bit,” she said, wishing there was some way to experience that relief again without the cost or the risk. “It didn’t hurt as much,” she said, her eyes stinging with fresh tears. “The memorial was so awful. There were so many people there, most of them I didn’t even know, and I had to just sit there and listen to them all tell stories, and everyone kept looking at me,” she finished with a shaky breath.

  “This makes total sense, Cassidy,” Jay said. “You’re suffering so much, and you had to be so brave—without any help. Things like Xanax and alcohol do the work of numbing the pain. Wanting that relief is completely understandable.”

  Cassidy began to cry again. Jay didn’t know about Analeise Jewel or how the room seemed to spin and her head felt fuzzy or how she invited Mark into Emily’s bed.

  “How did you feel after that?”

  “Like shit,” Cassidy said.

  Jay sipped from his mug, and then placed it back on the side table. “One of the biggest challenges we all face is that in seeking ways to cope, we sometimes do things that help us in the short term but that can hurt us in the long run, and can actually keep us from getting better. Drinking numbs the pain, sure, but after it wears of
f, the pain comes right back, plus it’s compounded by the grief you’re suffering in the moment. So you wake up not only feeling like shit, but with the grief you stuffed away plus the new grief that’s surfaced.”

  Cassidy dug further into the weak spot in her jeans, which was now a small hole.

  “Cassidy, can I step out of my role as a therapist for a minute here?” he said.

  She looked up sharply, alerted by this change in direction.

  Jay’s eyebrows knitted together and he was leaning forward slightly. “Because as a therapist I would never tell you what to do, but as a person I’m so worried. Taking Xanax and drinking is dangerous, and I’m very scared for you. Any person who cares about you getting through this would be frightened for your safety, myself included.”

  Cassidy closed her eyes, feeling wound so tight she was afraid to let go of the arms of the chair. The episode with the Xanax had left her feeling strange—some of her memory from the party was diffuse, or even absent, and as the day after progressed she began to feel worse and worse, as if the grief and helplessness was feeding on itself and trying to eat her alive. “I’m scared, too,” she said.

  The Thursday before Christmas, Cassidy went skiing for the first time since Pete’s death. She drove to the mountain alone, distracting herself with several podcast episodes. Getting out of the car in the parking lot proved harder than she expected, and she sat for nearly an hour crying.

  Though six inches of new snow covered the slopes, the crowds seemed thin. She stepped out of her truck and opened the tailgate to her single pair of skis and poles and started crying all over again. By the time she made it to the ticket window, her eyes felt puffy and raw in the cold mountain air. Fortunately, the two people she rode the first lift with wanted nothing to do with her, and she rose up the mountain in silence, the brisk air streaming past her shoulders and working its way into the gaps in her coat.