Cassidy inhaled a deep breath, her mouth moving ahead while her mind caught up. “This obsession led him to reach out to other athletes who had experienced similar incidents: big wave surfers, rock climbers, divers, polar explorers, extreme skiers, base jumpers, and white-water kayakers. These conversations, plus many hours of research, led to the project that became Nearing Death.”
Cassidy clicked the remote, and a new slide of a giant wave popped onto the screen. She opened Pete’s book to the first selected passage and began reading, her voice stronger now that they were in Pete’s world and not her own. Pete’s beautifully chosen words leapt from the page, his curiosity for the surfer’s experience so earnest and clear, the sharpness of the narrative striking the air like the peal of a bell.
She read two more passages, one from the white water kayaking chapter, and the other from the sailing chapter. Again, the audience seemed to make no sound, no movement, until she was finished and closed her presentation with the words she knew would be hardest to say:
“Pete believed that experiencing life, even to its fullest and most dangerous, made us more alive, more present. Made life worth living. The athletes presented here believe that taking risks is necessary in order be fully alive. Even . . . ” Her voice broke. “Even if it means paying the ultimate price.” She clenched her jaw until the surge of emotion passed. “But Pete also loved with abandon. He never held back, and this I think was . . . ”—her breath caught again, and she paused, breathing in slowly, letting it out—“his greatest gift,” she managed as a tear trickled down her cheek. “It is my hope that you will all honor Pete with this idea: to love with abandon, explore with gusto, to push your limits so that you may love and live fully.”
She pushed the remote, and the final slide popped onto the screen, showing Pete at the top of the climb the day of the avalanche. He was looking over his shoulder at her, a wide, satisfied grin on his face. Mt. Baker’s snowy backcountry rose up in the background. He wore his light blue ski coat with the black T-neck thermal layer beneath. Cassidy remembered the frizzling energy he possessed that day and the way he had kissed her, his cold lips smacking hers with such enthusiasm she laughed.
Her eyes filled with tears. She saw people dabbing their eyes, holding hands. Sally and Tim resembled tiny brown shells, hollowed out by their grief, but Tim gave her a grim smile, and nodded.
“Thank you,” Cassidy said, stepping from the podium as applause filled the space around her.
Twenty-Six
Mount St. Helens, Washington
May 10, 2017
Cassidy pulled her truck into the Sno-Park lot at 4:45 am. The full moon cast long shadows across the open space, illuminating the handful of other cars parked against the snowbank. Her engine ticked as it cooled, and Cassidy sat for a moment, sipping the last of her coffee. Finally, she slid on her ski pants and coat and exited, her sneakers crunching over the crusty snow and gravel. She lowered the tailgate and reached for her large Tupperware bin containing her ski gear. Her breath fogged in little puffs in front of her vision as she slid her feet into the cold boots. She tightened the buckles, blowing on her chapped hands in between, then tucked in her layers and grabbed her ski poles from the back. After slipping on her gloves, she hoisted her daypack and grabbed her skis.
Due to the heavy snowpack, snow still covered the trail, allowing her to step into her skis at the sign-in box. The lack of recent storms meant that she didn’t have to break trail, so she slid along in the established tracks, the snow icy and hard beneath her skis. The previous year, she and Pete had been forced to hike through dirty, slushy muck in their ski boots for over an hour, carrying their skis on their packs.
She had stopped dreaming about Pete as much, but she wasn’t sure this meant progress. He hovered in her thoughts all the time, as did her sadness. She thought of Pete leading the way and could almost hear his skis sliding, his pole tip jabbing at the hard snow. In his honor, she had packed peanut butter cookies, a smoked salmon sandwich, and several tangerines—the favorites he used to pack for her—though she wasn’t sure she would feel like eating.
All week she had been turning this idea over in her mind, sometimes avoiding it by working too much, sometimes crying about it because it hurt too much. She had thought she might go in March, when the skiing was better and she had a break in her projects, but the weather had been rainy and she had lost her nerve.
The effort of gliding through the trees and the moon’s ghostly presence focused her mind and warmed her core. Soon she was stashing her coat and switching
