The details of the night before surfaced as if from a smoky haze. Had her PhD advisor attended the party, or was she remembering wrong? No—he was there; she remembered his short speech about connecting Pete to Cassidy for the iMUSH story and how he would miss their conversations. And someone had talked about the crash, but the details eluded her. Cassidy remembered the expansive offering of food on the table. All of Pete’s favorites: mashed potatoes, fresh-baked bread, steak fajitas, a giant salad with watercress, a bowl of tangerines.
But try as she might, Cassidy couldn’t remember how she ended up in bed with Mark. A surge of tenderness thickened the inside of her throat and tears spilled over her raw lids.
Mark woke and blinked slowly. He turned, his apprehensive look melting. “Hey,” he said softly, and pulled her to him. Cassidy wrapped her arm across his broad chest and rolled into his side, a position she had done a thousand times with Pete. Mark tugged the blanket over their shoulders and stroked her back. Cassidy could smell the laundry detergent in his T-shirt and the piney scent of his shaving cream.
“Are you heading back today?” he asked softly.
“Yeah,” Cassidy said.
“What are you going to do with his ashes?” he asked.
Cassidy sniffed, and wiped her eyelids with her fingertips. “I don’t know,” she finally replied.
“Let me know if you need me,” he said. “I could come down to Eugene.”
“Okay,” she replied, her voice shaky.
They lay there together for what felt like a long time. A while later, Cassidy wondered if she had fallen back asleep because she heard Emily in the kitchen.
“I think I need coffee,” Mark said. “Want me to bring you a cup?”
With effort, Cassidy shifted to let him roll out of bed but made no effort to get up. Can I just stay in this bed for the rest of my life?
He sat on the edge of the bed and sighed. Then he turned and his eyes cringed with pain. He seemed on the verge of saying something, but then it passed. He turned away and shuffled out of the room.
The wood floor’s cold seeped through her socks as she rose from the bed and paused to let her swirling head catch up to her new elevation. Her empty stomach clenched and she wondered if she would be sick. She closed her eyes and breathed the fresh air coming in through the cracked-open window behind the bedside table. Breathe. That’s what the medic coached her to do: breathe. Finally, the queasiness passed and she reached for her glasses. Emily’s robe was hanging on a hook on the back of the door and she slipped it on, the plush softness wrapping her like a cocoon.
In the kitchen, Emily and Mark talked softly. The open curtains let in the view of the grey rain melting the view of the green lawn, the cars, and the street beyond. Mark stood with his back resting against the sink counter, his legs crossed as he sipped from a giant mug. His dark, bushy hair stood up at several different angles. Their eyes met and his voice paused.
Emily turned and saw her standing in the doorway. “Morning,” she said, briefly meeting her eyes before returning to the fridge for a jug of milk.
Cassidy moved to the coffeemaker and took down a cup from the cupboard, her head still throbbing.
“I’m afraid all I have is cereal for breakfast,” Emily said. “Unless you like leftovers. There’s a shit ton of food in here,” she said as she returned the milk to the fridge. “Turkey, stuffing, fruit salad, half of a cheesecake . . . ” She shut the fridge. “There’s plenty of bread, too,” she added. “So I guess you could have toast. I think there’s some jam in here.”
Cassidy’s gaze swept across the counter to where plastic-bagged bread was piled in a heap behind the toaster. A rectangular plate held a square of butter and the accompanying paddle was gobbed with it, as if someone had stabbed at it again and again. Cassidy began to unwrap the dark brown loaf of Pete’s favorite bread, the one he made her that first time. Slowly, she sliced a piece from the round, feeling tears prickling behind her eyes. As the bread toasted, she stared out the window, feeling lost. She had two more Xanax and the thought of not having more filled her with dread. Any more than a few days’ supply can become addictive, and the withdrawals can be even worse than the symptoms you’re feeling right now, the doctor had warned. Deep down she knew getting off the pills was the right choice, but the memory of the short-lived calm she had experienced the day before—when the whiskey hit her bloodstream—caused a craving so strong she clenched her nails into her fists to fight it.
“You okay?” Mark said softly, his hand touching her shoulder.
She wanted him to sweep her into his arms and make this pain go away, but knew that wasn’t going to happen. That it shouldn’t happen. But the thought of driving away alone, away from the sweet rush of emotion tingling in her belly whenever he touched her made her throat close and the walls press down.
“Yeah,” she managed, swallowing a sob.
Her toast popped up, and she forced her hands to reach for the knife, then add the butter. She watched it slowly melt as the knife moved back and forth. A jar of jam appeared at her side, and she looked up to thank Emily, but she had already returned to the table. Cassidy added jam and took down a plate, then carried it and her
