Catching Cassidy

by Melissa Foster

  As I park, another memory forces its way in, and I try not to linger on the sound of my father’s long sigh, which always accompanied our first trip to the pier each summer. He’d stretch his long arm across the back of the seat and stroke my mom’s neck. She’d turn and smile at my father, and then she’d look at me and Dee in the backseat and say, Who’s ready for sand between their toes?

  “What about Brooke? Is she around?”

  Dee’s voice breaks me free from the memory, and I cut the engine, hoping to distract myself.

  Brooke Baker is a few years older than us and owns Brooke’s Bytes, a café on the boardwalk. Like our other friends here in Harborside, we’ve known her for several years. I wonder if Delilah’s thinking about all the mornings she and my mom used to walk down to the café and have breakfast with Brooke.

  “Yeah. He said everyone’s still around.” Brandon told me that they’re all really shaken up over our parents dying, but I don’t want to tell Delilah that. I asked him to tell the others to keep it light when they see Delilah. Too much stewing over our parents might send her hiding in her room again, like she was doing in Connecticut. At some point she’ll need to move forward and function normally. Although she’s hidden her sexual identity from everyone for so long, I’m not sure what normal would be to her. Hiding who she is, is definitely not what normal should be. I feel myself getting angry at my parents again and swallow back the anger as I park the car.

  Cassidy jumps out, grabs her camera, and then runs around to Delilah’s door and tugs it open. “Come on.” She pulls Delilah out of the car and takes a picture of the ocean. Then she turns to me and flashes a wide smile. “Just one picture? Please?”

  I groan and stand next to Delilah. I don’t mind Cassidy taking my picture, but I’m sure Dee isn’t into it. Her eyes look flat, and I’m not sure if Cassidy thinks this will cheer her up or if she wants to add today to her collection of scrapbooks. In any case, as Cass takes the picture, she looks like she’s just found a fountain of chocolate and clicks away. She’s always happy when she’s looking through the lens of a camera.

  “Okay, thank you. I promise not to torture you anymore.” She puts her camera back in the car and reminds me to lock it before grabbing Delilah and walking toward the beach.

  I follow them, and when their feet hit the sand, Cassidy bends to pick up her flip-flops. I realize I’m staring at her ass in her sexy little cutoffs. There’s a flowery patch right across her pocket, and when she stands up again, her tight gray T-shirt hitches on the waist of her shorts. Her legs are long and lean, and as she swings her arm over Delilah’s shoulder, several silver bracelets slide down Cassidy’s forearm. I feel like I’m seeing her for the first time in the seventeen years I’ve known her, and I stare at her like she’s one hot piece of ass. I feel my dick stir in my pants again, and I shift my eyes away.

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Whatever is going on with my body better stop, or I won’t be able to hide that I’m lusting after her.

  It’s too early in the season for the beach to be crowded, but there are still bikini babes lying in the sun. They should hold my attention, but my eyes keep shifting back to Cassidy. She whispers something to Delilah, and then they both sprint toward me, laughing, and they grab my hands. I can’t help but laugh along as they tug me across the sand.

  “Come on, Wy,” Cassidy says. “We want to put our feet in the water and then maybe walk on the boardwalk.”

  I’m glad to see Delilah smiling again, and I’m ready to pull my head out of the dark place it’s been in since the fight with Kyle. I try to ignore the guilt I feel for thinking all sorts of inappropriate things about Cassidy—like wondering what it might feel like to touch that fine ass of hers. It’s a strange thing to suddenly want to touch every inch of your best friend.

  The three of us walk hand in hand along the surf for a while, and then we head up to the boardwalk. Cassidy’s phone buzzes a few times, and she finally powers it off. My gut wrenches, knowing it’s probably Kyle.

  “I don’t really want to go to the Taproom tonight,” Delilah says.

  “We don’t need to, Dee. Do you want to go to the house? Or go see Brooke?” She and Brooke are really close, and I hope that Brooke might help her get through this. I’ve decided to try to talk to Delilah about Mom and Dad next time we’re alone again. I feel like I’m not doing anything to help her, and the problem is, I don’t know how to help. We’re usually so close that I instinctively know what to do, but this isn’t like anything I’ve ever had to deal with before.

  “Yeah. Let’s go see Brooke. I’d love a latte anyway.” Delilah drops my hand as she steps onto the boardwalk.

  Cassidy bends to put her flip-flops back on, and I make a concerted effort not to stare at the curve of her butt peeking out the bottom of her shorts, but it’s nearly impossible. I wonder if she can feel me looking at her. She glances up, still holding my hand, and I don’t see anything different in her eyes. I tell myself to turn the goddamn horny thoughts off, but it turns out that it’s not that easy. I’m stuck walking around with my dick at half-mast, and it’s not a good feeling. Not just the discomfort, but this is Cassidy, and I love her as my best friend. The last thing either of us needs is to mess that up with some misplaced desire that’s probably fed by everything we’re going through.

  It feels good to see the boardwalk shops and hear the sounds of people laughing and talking, with the ocean breeze sweeping off the beach. But at the same time, it’s strange to see all these carefree people carrying on like nothing has changed, when our entire lives have changed forever. It’s uncomfortably uplifting, but I think we all needed this, and I’m glad we came.

  The boardwalk shops are built to resemble a small town rather than typical brightly colored boardwalk shops. They have cedar siding, like most of the houses in the area, and while there are two or three souvenir shops, they don’t sell cheap plastic souvenirs. They sell artwork and crafts made by local artists. The restaurants sell things like lobster rolls and fish tacos, and there are no hotels rising high above the boardwalk, only two-story motels with wide balconies, built with the same New England facade as the houses.

  The smell of popcorn and the pinging and buzzer sounds drift out of the open arcade doors as we pass. The arcade is tucked between Hidden Treasures and Sally’s Saltwater Taffy & Fudge. I remember my dad giving me and Dee a handful of quarters when we were little and waiting with Mom in Hidden Treasures while we played arcade games. The sadness that I keep pushing away presses back in.

  Memories and sadness come in waves. Over the past week there have been times when I could function like nothing happened, and then something stirs a memory. It could be the smell of my father’s cologne when I walk by his bedroom, or seeing my mom’s car in the driveway. Sometimes I don’t know what stirs the memories, but then again, the people who loved me most and were always in my life are gone. I’m sure they left invisible fingerprints everywhere.

  Brooke’s Bytes is on the other side of Sally’s. It’s the only Internet café around, and there are always people sitting out front at the round tables and against the wall of the café beneath the blue awning that boasts BROOKE’S BYTES in fancy white letters. Their eyes are trained on their laptops, and they don’t even glance up as we walk toward the open door.

  Delilah grabs my arm and stops walking. “Wy, I can’t go see Brooke.”

  Her hand is trembling, and her eyes are wide, like she’s seen a ghost. I realize she probably has. She’s probably feeling the weight behind those invisible fingerprints, too. I put my arm around her to reassure her.

  “No worries, Dee. Do you want to go to the house? You tell me where you want to go and we’ll go. I have no plans.”

  She nods with a spaced-out look in her eyes that worries me. “I’m not sure I can handle the house, either.” Her eyes get all watery, and I let go of Cassidy’s hand to pull Delilah into a hug.

  “Dee, it’s okay. There’s no pressure to handle this in one way or another.�
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  She’s sobbing now, and Cassidy is standing beside her, rubbing her back with so much empathy in her eyes I want to thank her.

  “I just...” Delilah sobs. “How do you get past losing your parents? Wyatt, what are we going to do?” Her voice trails off as she cries.

  I don’t care that we’re standing in the middle of the boardwalk and people are slowing down to look at us and then giving us a wide berth as they walk by. I don’t care that my own heart is aching because seeing Delilah so sad on top of my own sadness nearly drowns me. My only thought is that I should take her home and my parents will know what to do, but that’s totally messed up. Not only would they not know what to do, but they didn’t even know who Delilah really was, and that pisses me off. My gut gets achy and tight, and I realize it’s all on my shoulders now. I need to help her.

  “Come on.” I take Delilah’s hand, then reach for Cassidy’s, and I lead them off the boardwalk and across the road.

  Delilah’s hair curtains her face, but I can hear her breath hitching and know she’s trying to stop crying. By the time we’ve crossed the main drag, she’s sniffling less. I’m thankful that Cassidy is with us. I think girls have radar for helping each other more than guys do, even though I’m pretty in tune with both of them. As we walk, I think of my parents. My father and I stood eye-to-eye at six foot two. He had light brown hair like me, cut super short the way adults do. My mom was blond like Delilah and thin like her, too. The day they dropped us off at college, my father pulled me aside and said, Your focus needs to be on your grades. I know you’ll be into girls, but, son, they’re going to come and go, and each time they go, you’re going to learn something about women. I still remember thinking that he was trying to tell me something, but I had no idea what. Then he turned his piercing green eyes back to me and said, And when you graduate and get a job and find the one woman who finally stays—who you want to stay—she won’t care that there’s not a chance in hell you’ll ever figure her out.

  I look down at our hands, then up at Delilah and Cassidy. Delilah glances at me and presses her lips into a line, like she is holding something back. I smile to let her know everything is going to be okay. Cassidy squeezes my hand, and I realize that while all the other girls I’d been with had come and gone and never meant anything to me, Cass has always been right there with me. With us.

  Another reason not to let my mind wander in the wrong direction with her. Delilah and I can’t afford for me to screw up our friendship with Cass.

  Chapter Five

  ~Cassidy~

  EVERY SUMMER I spend at least a week at Harborside with Delilah and Wyatt, and a couple of summers ago Wyatt took me to the creek when he wanted to get out from under his dad’s thumb. I have no idea if there’s more than one creek here, but Wyatt explained that this creek was his go-to place to be alone. It was his escape from the boardwalk and tourists, from his parents, from all the shop owners and friends who had known them since they were knee high.

  We spent the afternoon sitting on the bank and talking about what life would be like after we graduated from college. I remember thinking that I had my life mapped out. I was going to get my degree in accounting, which I have now accomplished. Yay for me! And then I was going to work in New York. That’s been a dream of mine ever since I visited the city with my parents. My parents are always jetting off somewhere, and seeing them so happy makes me want to live in the fast lane, too. They’ve made it pretty clear that if I lived in someplace like New York, where they visit often, we’d spend more time together.

  At home, our lives are anything but fast, but maybe that’s just my life, not theirs. When I was younger, they didn’t travel quite as much as they did when I was in high school and college, but it was still often enough that I learned how to cook and do my own laundry by the time I was eight. Even when they were home, they were always rushing out to parties in the evening, or business dinners. I stayed with the Armstrongs so often that I used to wonder if Wyatt’s parents felt like they had three kids instead of two. His mother always offered to watch me instead of my parents hiring babysitters. One thing about Mrs. Armstrong, she was always there for her kids.

  Once I began college, between working, spending a week or two down here, and hanging out with friends, I wasn’t home much during the summers, so my interaction with my parents has been limited anyway. My dad’s an investor, so he’s always breezing through the door late in the evenings and talking to Mom about his latest deal. I never paid much attention to what it all meant, or what he really did. Now that Wyatt’s parents are gone, I miss my parents even more. I shouldn’t, because they haven’t called to check up on me, so obviously they don’t miss me. But I can’t help thinking…What if they get into an accident and I never see them again?

  I was thinking about my parents when Delilah broke down on the boardwalk and Wyatt took control and led us here to the creek. I knew it was the one place Delilah wouldn’t have memories of her parents.

  The creek is about ten or twelve feet wide, buffered by trees along the far bank and nestled against a shore of grass and rocks on our side. It’s peaceful, listening to the water move swiftly by, and it smells different from the seashore, like a grassy lawn after a downpour. It’s strange to think that just across the road is the ocean.

  Wyatt’s standing with one foot on a big rock, the other on the grass, throwing rocks into the water. I allow my eyes to linger on him, which I haven’t wanted to do the last few days because of the way my body has been reacting to him lately. His legs are strong and thick where they disappear beneath his cargo shorts, which ride dangerously low on his hips. His tank hugs his broad chest. I feel my cheeks heat up as I drink him in. He keeps glancing at Delilah, who’s sitting next to me shredding pieces of grass. His eyes are filled with worry, but I have faith in him. He’ll pull Delilah through this. He has such natural caretaking instincts, and yet Wyatt goes out of his way to remain single. I know he does, because one time we were at a party and he pulled this girl I knew he didn’t like into a really hot kiss. I asked him about it afterward, and he pointed to the girl across the room he had gone out with the night before and said, She’s a clinger. I wouldn’t want her to get her hopes up for anything long-term.

  A clinger.

  I remember that night like it was yesterday. It was during our freshman year at college, when my feelings for Wyatt felt very real. I wanted to be the girl he’d kissed so badly I almost volunteered to be the hope killer at all future parties, but like I’ve done so many times that I usually don’t even realize I’m doing it, I’d swallowed that offer and walked away.

  I feel funny for thinking about Wyatt in that way, but the good thing is that I’m not thinking about Kyle.

  Until now. I wonder if Kyle saw me as a clinger.

  “You okay, Delilah?” As much as I am trying to distract myself from thinking about Kyle and Wyatt, I also really care about Delilah, and I want to make sure she’s okay.

  “I’m just thinking about stuff.” She lifts her eyes and stares out at the creek. “I wished they weren’t around.”

  Wyatt turns toward Delilah.

  Before either of us can respond, Delilah says, “I thought if our parents weren’t around, things might be different. I might be different. I mean, I am different, but maybe I would have acted differently in college.” She shrugs, as if she hadn’t just bared her soul.

  “We all wish our parents weren’t around at some point. I know I have, tons of times,” I reassure her, hoping she really hears what I’m saying. I can’t tell if she’s listening. She’s shredding blades of grass again. “You can’t feel guilty over it. It’s not like you caused their accident.”

  Wyatt sits beside her and rests his arms over his knees, but he doesn’t say anything, and I wonder what he’s thinking. I know he’s wished his parents weren’t around before, when they were calling too often, making him feel like he might fail if they didn’t harass him about his grades, which he wouldn’t have, but it’s not like
either of them wished they’d die.

  “I know I didn’t cause their…accident,” Delilah says.

  Wyatt and I share a glance, and I see tension in his jaw.

  “What do you think, Dee?” he finally asks.

  There’s an edge to his voice that causes Delilah to turn toward him.

  “That now I’ll never know if Mom and Dad would have accepted who I am or not.”

  Wyatt rips a hunk of grass from the ground and shreds the blades, like Delilah is doing.

  “I’m serious, Wyatt. I’m not like you. Dad loved who you were, even if he—”

  “Bullshit.” Wyatt’s jaw clenches.

  I shift my eyes away, wanting to give them privacy.

  “Oh, come on.” Delilah raises her voice. “You played football and you got good grades, and you never even had to try. I was always a disappointment. I had to work my butt off to get good grades—”

  “But you did.” Every word he says is laden with love and support. “Dee, they were so proud of you, but not me. I was the frigging disappointment. Dad hated that I went from girl to girl, and he hated that I drank and partied. Mom thought I was too unfocused and that I’d never be able to hold down a real job.”

  I swallow the sting of hearing Wyatt’s inner turmoil, but I remain quiet. It’s not my place to tell him how wrong his father was about him.

  Delilah scoffs. “Please. You were his golden boy, Wy. He was going to lead you to a great job, and he bragged about you all the time, while I was their dirty little secret.”

  I hear her voice trembling and almost reach for her hand, but I’m afraid to interrupt. She told me that she was into girls a few days after Wyatt had guessed it. I know Delilah never told her parents or her friends in school, and if she had told her parents, I’m fairly certain they would have reacted like she was their dirty little secret. She and Wyatt are staring at each other like their anger is directed toward each other, and it worries me. I’m not sure what to do.