Cassidy closed her eyes, feeling wound so tight she was afraid to let go of the arms of the chair. The episode with the Xanax had left her feeling strange—some of her memory from the party was diffuse, or even absent, and as the day after progressed she began to feel worse and worse, as if the grief and helplessness was feeding on itself and trying to eat her alive. “I’m scared, too,” she said.
The Thursday before Christmas, Cassidy went skiing for the first time since Pete’s death. She drove to the mountain alone, distracting herself with several podcast episodes. Getting out of the car in the parking lot proved harder than she expected, and she sat for nearly an hour crying.
Though six inches of new snow covered the slopes, the crowds seemed thin. She stepped out of her truck and opened the tailgate to her single pair of skis and poles and started crying all over again. By the time she made it to the ticket window, her eyes felt puffy and raw in the cold mountain air. Fortunately, the two people she rode the first lift with wanted nothing to do with her, and she rose up the mountain in silence, the brisk air streaming past her shoulders and working its way into the gaps in her coat.
Being a newcomer to this mountain, she descended a groomer first, feeling the warmth of the work spread through her body. She felt Pete everywhere, and once thought she heard his voice calling from the lift passing above her. At the transition to a steeper section her edge caught, and she went sprawling, landing hard on her side before sliding several meters down the slope. After catching her breath, she lay on her back for a long moment, blinking at the overcast sky.
“Are you okay?” a voice called from somewhere above. Moments later, a woman skidded to a stop next to her.
Cassidy met her concerned gaze. Could the woman see that she was dark and broken and sad inside? Or did she just look like any other skier who had taken a tumble? “Yeah,” she said, rolling her side and tucking in her skis. “Thanks.”
Continuing down the slope, Cassidy thought back to her recent sessions with Jay. After holding out for many weeks, she had finally told him about her unexpected feelings for Mark. She should have known by then that Jay wouldn’t judge her—he was never like that—but describing her desire that night was the scariest thing she had ever done. But Jay seemed to know what to say and just how to say it in order for her to feel safe. He had helped her see that her feelings were a natural by-product of her vulnerability and craving for affection. Jay had hinted that this could be a pattern for her and that discussing her feelings about the loss of her parents might be useful. But she couldn’t go there. Not yet.
After trying out a few more descents, Cassidy finally found a perfectly steep run humped with shallow moguls. A tingle of apprehension traveled over her skin. In her mind, she watched Pete ski by her and disappear over the crest of the slope. She closed her eyes and savored the image. I miss you so much, she thought as a deep ache throbbed inside her. Pete’s presence faded, and she opened her eyes to the broad slope and sounds of skiers whooshing by. She wiped her eyes and inhaled a full breath of the mountain air, and then dropped into the run.
By one o’clock, her legs felt tired and her heart heavy, but there was something else, too. Not happiness exactly, but a feeling of lightness, as if there was a little more space in the sky.
She walked to her truck, wondering how it would feel if she were with a group, or a girlfriend. Before Pete’s passing, she hadn’t made time to nurture new friendships in the department, and after her breakdown, she was too ashamed to try. She remembered the exchange she and Jay had shared about it:
“It’s easy to feel embarrassed after what happened. There was a lot going on for you that day, and then all of a sudden you were in the spotlight. But I would bet that those people there care about you and want you to get better,” he said.
The term “get better” had knocked around in her head, and it wasn’t pleasant. Did it mean that she was sick? “I’m afraid of what they think of me,” Cassidy replied. “I don’t want them to feel sorry for me, or think I’m unable to do my job.”
“That’s fair. But what if things were switched around, and one of them was going through a rough time in his life and didn’t tell you about it?”
“I’d be worried. We’re kind of a team.”
“Do you see what that does?” Jay asked. He waited, his expression calm and patient.
Cassidy blinked. “Yeah,” she said as a sensation of lightness passed through her. “I think I do.”
Twenty-Four
Eugene, Oregon
February 7, 2016
“So what do you and Jay talk about?” Quinn asked as they settled in at her kitchen table. After picking him up at the small Eugene airport earlier that afternoon, she led him on a tour of campus and showed him her office before returning home to cook dinner.
“Um,” Cassidy said, swallowing a bite of pasta. “Everything, I guess.”
Quinn sipped from his glass of wine.
“At first, I just cried a lot, and he just . . . let me. It sounds weird but it was all I could do at the time. He was worried about me, I think.”
“Why?” Quinn said, stabbing a bite of salad. “I mean, besides the obvious.”
Cassidy inhaled a deep breath. “I was drinking a lot,” she
