Mark slipped onto the bench beside Emily.
They ate and sipped in silence for a while. The toast tasted like cardboard, but Cassidy forced it down. At least the coffee tasted strong, but it quickly cooled. She realized she was thinking of how when Pete made her coffee, he always preheated her mug so it stayed hot. Such a little thing. So many little things he had done for her that she had taken for granted. The sudden sting in her eyes made it impossible to look away from her plate.
“What do you ladies have cooking today?” Mark finally asked.
Emily looked at him, then sipped her coffee. “Not sure,” she replied.
Cassidy took a discreet swipe at her eyes.
“When are you heading home?” Emily asked her.
Cassidy shrugged. “Pretty soon, I guess.”
Emily nodded.
Mark’s empty cup tapped the picnic table, and the sound carried a finality that brought on another sense of longing, and pain. He stood, and stretched a great bear-like stretch with his arms wide open and his hips curling back.
Slowly, Cassidy got to her feet. “I’ll walk you out,” she said, feeling Emily’s eyes on her.
Mark placed his cup in the sink, and the two of them walked to the covered porch. Inside, the air tasted cold and heavy, with condensation frosting the glass. Mark dug out his shoes, and Cassidy noticed the muted argyle pattern of his socks. Somehow this small detail felt important, though she couldn’t say why.
He finished tying his laces and reached for his coat. Their eyes met and Cassidy felt her pulse tapping into her belly. He stepped close and pulled her into a soft hug. Cassidy closed her eyes and savored the embrace.
“Are you gonna be okay to drive today?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said, even though she wanted to say no.
“Okay,” he replied.
She leaned her head against his shoulder one last time, and then he stepped back. Her eyes filled with tears again, and he wiped them with his thumb.
“Keep in touch, okay?” he said. “We’re snot siblings, remember?”
A laugh rose in her chest but it came out like a huff. She sniffed and nodded. “Okay,” she managed, her voice cracking.
Mark smiled, his sad eyes connecting with hers once more. And then he turned and walked out the door.
Twenty-Three
Eugene, Oregon
November 29, 2016
Cassidy entered the grief counselor’s office, her legs like wood. Two easy chairs and a couch clustered around a coffee table. On the other side of the sitting area a desk faced the wall; next to it, a large potted plant’s green leaves arched outward. The soft light felt warm and welcoming, though she didn’t register this until she returned to the bright glare of the lights in the waiting area after her session.
Her receptionist escort hovered in the doorway, as if to block Cassidy’s exit.
A man crossed the room and smiled. “Hello, Cassidy,” he said.
Cassidy paused, her heart racing. “Where should I sit?” she asked while the receptionist handed over her paperwork.
The man set the papers down on the coffee table and made an open gesture with his hand. “Wherever you like.”
Cassidy’s gaze fell on the leather chair nearest the door. A charcoal-grey faux fur blanket lay draped across the arm. She heard the door close softly behind her.
“I’m Jay,” the man said. He wore a button-down dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up almost to the elbows, and though his arms looked wiry, his grip felt gentle when they shook hands. She risked a longer look at his face and noticed the smile lines around his eyes and the straight dark hair edged with grey. His round, wire-rimmed glasses and his narrow nose gave him a dignified look, though his warm smile softened this.
She slid into the leather easy chair and noticed the pale yellow orchid in the middle of the coffee table. Her eyes then wandered to the other side of the room to a shelf lined with books interspersed with tiny green plants tucked into white porcelain pots. She thought of the raised planter beds Pete had built her when they first moved to Eugene. Even though Cassidy insisted they didn’t need to grow their own vegetables, that the farmer’s market and grocery store’s provisions worked just fine, he was undeterred. Now she had two boxes of barren dirt slowly being overtaken by weeds. The inside of her mouth began to tingle in that way that meant she was going to cry soon.
“Can I get you anything? Tea? Water?” Jay said, pausing. Cassidy noticed a blue mug in his hands, the tea bag label dangling over the side.
“No, thank you,” Cassidy said.
“Help yourself anytime,” Jay said, indicating the narrow table with boxes of tea and a silver hot water boiler set in the corner, then settled into the other easy chair.
Cassidy inhaled a tight breath. When she had casually mentioned to Quinn about wanting to cancel this appointment, he made her swear not to. Just check it out, Cass, he’d said. I don’t want you to end up in the ER again.
“You were referred to me by the mental health coordinator at the hospital,” Jay said. “But your attendance here is completely voluntary. I want this to be helpful for you, Cassidy, so feel free to ask questions if something isn’t clear, or direct me to what’s important for us to talk about. My main job is to listen, though I may sometimes ask questions or maybe point out things that might be harder for you to see.”
During the split second she risked a glance, his warm expression grounded her.
“Sound good?” he added.
“Okay,” Cassidy replied, her voice cracking.
“So, I have a few notes from the doctor as to how you came to be in the ER,” he said. “But the information is pretty sparse. Would you mind giving me your side of it?” he asked.
She inhaled sharply, trying to hold in her tears. I didn’t even make it five minutes, she thought. “Everybody thought I was having a heart attack,” she said, her voice wavering.
