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
