“What’s going on?” a female voice called from the far end of the room.
“Someone call 911!” another voice said. “I think she’s having a heart attack!”
The man who had been speaking to her crouched down.
Am I having a heart attack? Cassidy’s chest heaved with breaths she couldn’t control. Every nerve seemed alive—as if the sounds reverberating in the room hit her like electricity. The man reached out his hand.
“Don’t,” she gasped, waving him off.
“Okay,” the man said, eyes flashing with confusion. “Are you having chest pain?” he asked.
Cassidy looked away. Was she? “I don’t know,” she managed.
The man’s face tightened. “The paramedics are on their way,” he said. “Can I get you a glass of water?”
Cassidy realized that everyone in the room, plus several new faces, stood staring at her: the two secretaries, several staff, and a handful of students.
“I’m fine!” she cried. Her nearby mail lay strewn all around her, and she made feeble attempts to gather it, but the room began to spin.
Then, one face she recognized stepped forward: Bill Fischer. “Cassidy?” he said, his worn face tight with concern. He stepped by the other man and knelt down.
Cassidy began to cry again. What was happening to her?
“Give her some room, everyone,” Bill called out to the crowd. He turned back to Cassidy. “What happened?”
Cassidy felt the snot collecting on her upper lip and tried to wipe it away with the back of her hand.
“Are you hurt?”
This only made her cry harder. Yes! she wanted to cry. Yes, I’m hurt and broken and it’s never going to get better and nothing I do is going to make it better. But all she could manage were more tears. Her body felt heavy and frail at the same time. She was unable to contain the sobs that vibrated her frame against the wall. “I can’t breathe,” she gasped.
A new sound broke through the crowd, and Cassidy looked up as a man and woman dressed in crisp blue uniforms approached. The woman carried an orange-colored box by its black handle. Chunky black radios hung from their thick black belts. Their solid black shoes stepped towards her like small monsters and she scooted back, terrified. The two medics knelt down and introduced themselves, then one attached blood pressure cuff to her arm while the other asked a series of questions.
Before she knew what was happening, her body was lifted onto a gurney and wheeled down the hall.
Twenty-One
Casa de Rocas, Seattle
Thanksgiving, 2016
Cassidy stood at the kitchen sink, her hands braced on the counter. A wave of nausea rose up in her, but she concentrated on the bar of pink soap glued to the back of the basin and on her breathing until the attack ebbed. The reminder to breathe was the only positive thing that had come from her trip to the ER—that and the pills.
The doc had given her strict warnings not to mix them with alcohol, but before the party, Emily had brought out the whiskey, and Cassidy hadn’t been able to resist. Shortly after, a feeling of mild giddiness had bloomed inside her, as if a curtain opened to reveal the light outside. For that brief period of time, the crushing heaviness of her pain since walking into that hospital room dissipated.
Mark arrived to help set everything up, and seeing him overwhelmed her senses with exploding emotions. He swept her up in a giant bear hug, and the feel of his body pressing against hers brought on feelings she didn’t understand--joy, sadness, anger. She held on tight, wanting his embrace to last, his compassion and closeness filling her with a strange form of energy. She realized it was the closest she had allowed another person get to her besides Quinn since Pete’s passing. Mark’s big frame felt surprisingly reassuring, as if he could block the hurt and sadness. But it also made her miss Pete even more, and she broke down in his arms, sobbing against his chest. Mark stroked her hair and held her. In that space of several minutes, her body tucked into Mark’s, she felt loved again. Her brain swam in the intoxicating sensation for a moment longer until he stepped back. Mark’s look of pain mixed with longing connected with hers and the feeling between them seemed to glow brighter. Mark looked away.
Cassidy busied herself with preparing for the party, refolding the napkins, icing the keg, sweeping the kitchen floor for the third time. Somewhere around the end of her second beer, Cassidy started to feel dizzy, and slow, as if her brain was receiving everything at a reduced speed.
The house filled with the people on Mark and Aaron’s list. Tara arrived and shared a brief hug with Mark before she found Cassidy. The two of them cried in each other’s arms for a long time. Most of the other guests were strangers. A few faces from the funeral in Walla Walla she recognized as Pete’s closest friends from college. Somewhere in the back of her mind Cassidy remembered meeting them, though she failed to recall their names or exact connection to Pete.
Her cup containing the remainder of her third beer waited at the end of the counter. The wave of nausea passed and Cassidy turned around. She should probably eat something. Emily stood at the edge of the loaded picnic table talking with a woman Cassidy didn’t recognize. Mark stood deep in the living room, and as she watched he tilted his head back and laughed his booming laugh. Tara sat on the couch talking with another stranger, looking haggard, her gaze occasionally darting in Mark’s direction.
Emily caught her eye and gave her the “you okay?” look.
Cassidy grabbed her beer and joined Emily.
“Hey,” Emily’s voice said, her tone sweet and soft, which made Cassidy want to cry again.
“Cassidy, this is Wren,” Emily said. “She worked with Pete at the Seattle Times.”
Wren’s big brown eyes flicked her way. Her round face and small,
