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 returning 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.
“Maybe I’ll step out for a bit,” Quinn said softly.
He squeezed her shoulder and slipped from the room. She looked around the space, taking it all in again, then slipped off her shoes and climbed into the bed next to Pete. She wrapped her arm over his chest, careful of the lines and IV tubes, and tucked her head into the space between his shoulder and jaw. The room was cool, but Pete felt warm next to her. His chest rose and fell with the mechanical pace of the ventilator while she tried to feel some kind of change in Pete, proof that he sensed her presence. People can often hear things, she remembered reading somewhere, even when everything else is shut down.
So she started talking to him. She told him stories about their first date on St. Helens, how annoyed she was that he had been late. Did he remember the wasp nest? She told him about the waterfall, how she hadn’t been sure she could find it, and how she had always imagined the loggers who had discovered it frolicking in the buff like beer-bellied cherubs on their lunch hour. She reminded him about their win in the trivia game at the Blue Star and how good of a team they had made. She cried for moment when the image of them walking into the Blue Star in the future, ready to dominate the competition again, flashed into her thoughts. She thanked Pete for his
