by Amy Waeschle
“You okay?”
Cassidy put down her glass. “After this beer I’ll feel better,” she joked.
“That’s the spirit,” he replied heartily.
“Good to know Bruce is still involved, though,” Quinn added. “You guys still in touch?’
“Yeah,” Cassidy replied simply. Her feelings about Bruce were too jacked up to talk about.
“Looks like it’s up to the prosecutors now,” Quinn said. She heard a loudspeaker in the background.
“Oh hey!” she said, remembering where he was. “You’re on your way to Aspen for the marathon, aren’t you?’
“Yep.”
Cassidy knew how hard he’d trained for this event. “I still think you’re nuts. Twenty-six miles? Almost all of them above eight thousand feet?”
“You should do it with me next year,” he said.
“Right,” Cassidy replied, wishing he was here with her instead.
“Call me during your drive tomorrow, okay?” Quinn said. “I’m going out for an acclimatization run but I’ll be able to talk.”
“Okay,” she replied, accustomed to Quinn’s limited attention.
“Welcome back,” he said before signing off.
Returning to her work, Cassidy dug up several urgent emails from her liaison at the Hawaii Volcano Observatory regarding her upcoming research trip. She jumped in, finalizing her itinerary and double-checking the various permits. Kilauea’s recent eruption, though deadly, provided an incredibly opportunity and Cassidy couldn’t wait to get on the ground. After sending off her last message, Cassidy packed up her laptop and brought her glass back into the darkened bar where the party was indeed in full swing.
Martin stood mingling in the throng of students holding a cocktail glass and Cassidy suffered through a brief craving for a nightcap, a habit she and Jay had worked to break after things went so wrong after Pete’s death. For an instant, she pictured herself slinging her shoulder bag over the back of a chair and cradling a highball of Irish whiskey on ice, the first taste a blend of sharpness and heat while the students crowded around her, eager for a piece of her attention. Cassidy’s other graduate student, Bridget, was seated at the bar in deep conversation while two students hung on her every word. Most likely they were talking about rock climbing, Bridget’s favorite topic.
A handful of students were dancing to a song playing on the jukebox in the far corner of the room while the others mingled close by, their sounds of laughter and hearty conversation rising over the music. Cassidy was surprised to see curvy Alice swing dancing with Franklin, a tall, lanky student, his face in deep concentration as he guided and twirled her. Izzy danced near William and Cody, and from the looks of it, was making the most of the situation. The song ended and Izzy headed back to the minglers, but Cody caught her hand and tugged her back, his eyes bright, while Will made his way to the bar for more drinks.
Cassidy zoomed out and watched over the group one last time, then made eye contact with Martin, who acknowledged her with a nod.
Relieved to be able to disengage, Cassidy turned away.
Though the long days of field camp would seem to make sleep easier to find, the unfamiliar sounds, extended daylight, and the hard ground beneath her hips had proved to be just as difficult to ignore as her usual nightmares. Most nights, she tossed and turned, only managing to grab four or five hours of sleep. Tonight was no different and Cassidy lay awake in her tent, her brain gnawing on the lengthy to-do list waiting for her now that field camp had ended. After finishing her two-year postdoc at University of Oregon in Eugene, as a new professor she needed to hit the ground running by setting up her new lab, taking on a few graduate students, planning her research, plus she had to pack for Kilauea. Oh, and finally finish emptying her moving boxes, a project she had been avoiding.
She imagined seeing the U.W. Geology Department with the eyes of a new professor instead of the PhD student she was three years ago. Usually, a student avoided seeking out a job at the same university where they completed their PhD due to “academic inbreeding,” but Cassidy’s PhD advisor had retired, leaving a perfect opening—and an office—for her to fill.
Anticipation shivered through her insides when she imagined herself in Hawaii during her upcoming trip. Earlier that spring, when the Pu'u 'Ō'ō vent suddenly inflated with magma, two scientists from the Hawaii Volcano Observatory requested her expertise in seismic monitoring to help predict the path and magnitude of the lava flow. The timing was perfect; Cassidy was in the final phase of her postdoc and needed a new project. But the added stress of trying to predict a massive eruption in real time while job hunting and preparing to leave Eugene for the last time hadn’t been easy. Plus, nightmares from her ordeal in Costa Rica still plagued her, renewing the grief of losing Pete in a way that made her break down at inopportune times: at the grocery store, while watching TV, halfway through a run, while making coffee after a rough night of sleep.
So even after she had stayed awake at the Boy Scout camp reading the papers she was behind on then adding several pages of notes regarding new ideas she then organized into a plan—something that usually helped her downshift—her mind was still spinning as she heard most of the students return from the bar. Talking loudly, laughing, and joking, she listened to the zippers on their tents and sleeping bags ring from all corners of their camp. When, finally, all the lights clicked off and the murmur of conversation turned to soft snores, Cassidy felt herself relax. The breeze sifting up the valley calmed to almost nothing so that she could hear the soft trickle of the creek passing below their camp.
Her busy brain woke before dawn with the sudden fear that she had forgotten something. Cassidy tried to go back to sleep with several of her usual tools but none worked, and she lay there, her brain accelerating into the day. So she rose and slipped on her running clothes, then carefully unzipped her tent to keep the coils quiet. After her running shoes were securely tied, she closed her tent flap and walked purposefully to the road.
She never intended to be a runner, but Pete had loved his daily runs and sports like soccer, and after his death, running had become a way to keep him close to her. It also helped keep her in shape for ski season, and served as meditation of sorts, helping to organize her thoughts. As she accelerated down the gravel road, heading towards the lake, she tried to imagine Pete next to her, listening as she explained the turmoil going on in her mind. Sometimes she even talked to him.
What should I do? she would ask him.
The cool night air felt crisp on her skin as she settled into her pace. A partial moon shone above the thick forest, casting a pale sheen across the dusty road. She tried to focus her mind on an upcoming research project idea a prospective student had contacted her about, but it slid solidly to the news story about Mel’s trial. No matter how hard she resisted, the frightening thoughts from that night returned.
The road down from the camp intersected with the state park campground entrance. Cassidy turned right on what was now a paved road that hugged the lake, crossing the creek via a bridge. Passing the resort, her tapping feet beat a steady rhythm into the still night. She had run this path many times in the early morning hours during her three-week tenure—it was better than lying in her tent while her restless thoughts wrestled for attention and her secret fears surfaced. Her usual route took her along the paved road to a trail that climbed the eastern moraine. Once at its end, she could either turn back or continue down to farm roads that looped her back to camp.
She veered onto the dirt path leading to the moraine that wove through the cluster of cabins owned by the resort. Higher on the slope stood vacation homes—some gigantic mansions, others tiny A-frames or trailers tucked into the trees. Passing the resort’s small brown cabins one at a time, their windows dark, she tried to outrun the memories from that night when Mel discovered what she knew.
At times she woke remembering his tenderness and the way his body felt moving with hers, but it only lasted a moment, and then she was back to
the needle pricking her arm and the drug-haze taking over while Pete yelled at her.
At the last cabin in the row, Cassidy was surprised to notice a dim light shining from the back window. Several moths were battling with the glass.
A strange sound filtered out of the window, and at first Cassidy didn’t understand it—the pitch was off for conversation. Was someone watching a movie? And then, it clicked. She was hearing a woman’s breathy moan. Moments later, a man’s voice uttered something Cassidy couldn’t identify.
Rattled, Cassidy quickened her pace. A hot flush crawled up the back of her neck as the sounds of the lovers intensified. Passing the cabin, she locked eyes with the top of the ridge ahead of her and pushed her leg muscles to reach it.
At the top, she broke through the forest and stopped to catch her breath. Hands on her knees, bent over, she put the sounds from her mind. But it lingered, bringing the things she had done with Mel once again to the surface. Mel who had fooled her with his funny stories and attention, right up until the moment she became a threat. In an instant, the warmth and sparkle disappeared from his eyes. Then, he’d tried to kill her.
She remembered how Mel watched her drift off after the injection. His attempt to take her life had stolen more than just her peace of mind, it had stolen her faith in people, in relationships. It was something Jay was trying to help her with, but Cassidy wondered if she would ever let anyone new get close to her again.
She realized that the sounds of joy coming from that cabin only made it hurt all over again. Why couldn’t they have closed the damn window? Why couldn’t she have chosen to run on the other side of the lake?
Why would she always and forever be alone?
Three
Not surprisingly, the students moved slowly the next morning, but energized by her long run, Cassidy zipped around camp, packing, making coffee, loading everything into her car. During the drive to Seattle she planned to listen to several podcasts plus an audiobook she’d queued to make the six-hour journey go faster. Cassidy was grateful to turn over the task of driving the group home to her graduate students.
By the time Cassidy was ready to leave, several bleary-eyed students were still loading their final pieces of equipment into the trailer. A ring of four or five students stood in the bare patch where someone’s tent had recently occupied, playing hacky sack. At the far edge of camp, two male students were standing close, hunched over a phone. Bridget, her dark hair twirled into twin buns, clambered around on the roof of the second van tying down the load.
Martin, his bearded face shaded under the bill of a trucker’s hat, tossed the keys and his phone into the van’s front seat, then came to stand by Cassidy, a giant, insulated coffee cup gripped in one hand.
“Everything go okay last night?” Cassidy asked, giving him a sideways look.
“Depends on your definition of ‘okay’,” Martin replied, his face contorting into an expression she couldn’t read.
“Looks like everyone survived,” Cassidy countered, unable to suppress a smile.
“That they did,” Martin said, taking a gulp of his coffee.
“At least you’ll have a quiet drive.”
“Unless they start puking,” he said, taking another sip.
Bridget climbed down from her van’s roof and dusted her hands. “Last call for the john!” she called out to the group. Several students broke away and trotted off towards the stone structure at the far end of the grounds. The group playing hacky sack filed in toward the van’s open door, followed by the others. Izzy, her face a blank mask, and Alice who was yawning, were the first to climb into Martin’s van, no doubt to claim the bigger backseat.
Cassidy snatched a leather belt she had coiled up from the front seat of her Subaru and offered it to Martin. “Would you mind getting this to Charlie for me?” she asked. “Seeing as he’s your advisor, you’ll meet up with him much sooner than I will.” On the first day she arrived at field camp, the buckle on Cassidy’s tool belt had busted. Dr. Charlie Tucker, the University of Oregon’s geomorphology professor who had taught the first half of field camp, had kindly loaned his when he left.
“Sure,” Martin said, tucking the belt under his arm.
“Is he back from New Zealand?” Cassidy asked. Charlie’s projects took him to glacier deposits all over the world.
“I think yesterday. But good luck getting a hold of him while he’s writing.”
“Right,” Cassidy sighed, wondering where he was holed up. Charlie’s second book would be a deeper dive into climate change and melting glaciers.
“All aboard!” Martin bellowed as the last of the students migrated toward the vans.
Cassidy watched Cody and Will approach Martin’s van, their faces flushed. As they stepped inside the van, Cody tucked his phone into the side pocket of his shorts.
“What’re they up to now?” Cassidy asked Martin, nodding in Cody and Will’s direction.
“No clue,” Martin sighed. “They had a field day with that news report about you,” he added, giving her a sideways glance.
Cassidy hugged herself a little tighter and scuffed the gravel under her right foot.
“Well, drive safe,” Cassidy finally said, squinting at Martin.
He nodded, then stepped towards the open driver’s door. Cassidy moved to the other side and grinned at the sea of faces staring back at her. In the back, Izzy was gazing out the window. Next to her, Alice had already pulled out her knitting. “Take care, guys,” Cassidy said to a chorus of goodbyes. Will and Cody were too engrossed in whatever was playing on Cody’s phone to look up.
Cassidy repeated her sendoff to Bridget’s van, the students’ cheerful farewells ringing into the morning air. After watching the two vehicles roll out of camp, Cassidy slid into her Subaru, trying to counterbalance the tug of sudden sadness with anticipation. Finally, her new life could begin.
By the time Cassidy reached the Tri-Cities, she noticed her temperature gauge had climbed past the halfway point. A similar problem had occurred once before on a long drive and according to YouTube, it might be a radiator leak, but the problem hadn’t happened again. Car maintenance had fallen under Pete’s responsibility, so she was clueless, and being a procrastinator, she had put off doing anything about it. She told herself to keep an eye on it, and if it got worse she would find a mechanic once she reached Seattle.
So, just outside of a farming and college town, Cassidy coasted into a rest area for a pit stop and to stretch her legs, but it was almost too hot to breathe, and the dead grass and loud highway sounds failed to revive her. She returned to the audiobook her best friend and old roommate Emily had recommended last summer.
As the story continued, Cassidy remembered her most recent visit with Emily the summer before. Another packing day—like today, Cassidy thought. While Cassidy had moved to Eugene for her postdoc, Emily had continued renting the same house they’d shared as PhD students, not knowing that Cassidy had bought it as an investment with her inheritance. After completing her PhD at the University of Washington last spring, Emily had taken a job with Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory east of the Bay Area. “It’s that or Exxon Mobile, drilling in Argentina,” Emily had said with a sigh.
“Maybe Quinn will finally ask you out,” Cassidy teased. At her dissertation party, Cassidy hadn’t missed the way her brother and best friend flirted. “San Francisco is only an hour away.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “Your brother will be a player until the end of time,” she said, but Cassidy noticed the pink blush coloring her cheeks.
“I’ll work on him,” Cassidy said, grinning.
“Don’t you dare!” Emily replied, her eyes narrowing.
Saying goodbye to Emily was too hard, so Cassidy didn’t. But it failed to soften the blow as Cassidy watched Emily’s car disappear down her street, leaving her alone in the house she shared with her and Pete and other good friends and that was now as vacant as a shipwreck.
After the cityscape of Seattle rose into vie
w, Cassidy made her way to her neighborhood, but wasn’t ready to face her house and the boxes full of memoires, so she stopped at the geology department for her mail and even shopped at the grocery store—her least favorite task.
She was halfway home, listening to the last of her podcast, when a phone call bleeped. Absently, she answered.
“Dr. Kincaid?” an unfamiliar voice asked.
Cassidy instantly regretted the interruption. “This is Cassidy,” she replied, guarded.
“Hey, this is Uri Farkas with the Seattle Times, is now a good time to talk?”
“Talk about what?” Cassidy replied, frowning.
The man gave a little chuckle. “Well, why don’t we start with how your carelessness nearly jeopardized the FBI’s three-year undercover bust of the Columbian sex trafficking operation?”
Cassidy hung up so fast she nearly swerved off the road.
Forcing herself to breathe deeply, Cassidy put the phone call out of her mind as she neared her house, the familiar streets and shops pulling old emotions from their hiding spots. She passed the cracked sidewalks she and Pete used to walk, the neighbors Pete had once borrowed tools from, the cherry trees that burst with blossoms every March, their petals coating the tiny patch of lawn that she and Pete would stretch out on after a run.
An image of Pete at home, waiting for her, filled her mind. He would know how wrung out she’d be from field camp. She pictured him taking her into his arms and holding her until her whole body relaxed and softened. Then, after he carried her grungy gear inside, he’d crack two beers and they would sit side-by-side, their bodies touching while she talked, or didn’t. And after eating a dinner he had thoughtfully prepared for them, he would take her to bed.
Cassidy pulled into her narrow driveway, the sounds of summer coming through her open window: lawn mowers, children’s muffled voices rising from the park up the street, music from someone’s backyard. Her grief counselor, Jay, would have encouraged her to invite someone over so she wouldn’t have to do this alone, but she hadn’t felt like company unless it was Emily or her brother Quinn.