Cassidy zoomed out and watched over the group one last time, then made eye contact with Martin, who acknowledged her with a nod.
Relieved to be able to disengage, Cassidy turned away.
Though the long days of field camp would seem to make sleep easier to find, the unfamiliar sounds, extended daylight, and the hard ground beneath her hips had proved to be just as difficult to ignore as her usual nightmares. Most nights, she tossed and turned, only managing to grab four or five hours of sleep. Tonight was no different and Cassidy lay awake in her tent, her brain gnawing on the lengthy to-do list waiting for her now that field camp had ended. After finishing her two-year postdoc at University of Oregon in Eugene, as a new professor she needed to hit the ground running by setting up her new lab, taking on a few graduate students, planning her research, plus she had to pack for Kilauea. Oh, and finally finish emptying her moving boxes, a project she had been avoiding.
She imagined seeing the U.W. Geology Department with the eyes of a new professor instead of the PhD student she was three years ago. Usually, a student avoided seeking out a job at the same university where they completed their PhD due to “academic inbreeding,” but Cassidy’s PhD advisor had retired, leaving a perfect opening—and an office—for her to fill.
Anticipation shivered through her insides when she imagined herself in Hawaii during her upcoming trip. Earlier that spring, when the Pu'u 'Ō'ō vent suddenly inflated with magma, two scientists from the Hawaii Volcano Observatory requested her expertise in seismic monitoring to help predict the path and magnitude of the lava flow. The timing was perfect; Cassidy was in the final phase of her postdoc and needed a new project. But the added stress of trying to predict a massive eruption in real time while job hunting and preparing to leave Eugene for the last time hadn’t been easy. Plus, nightmares from her ordeal in Costa Rica still plagued her, renewing the grief of losing Pete in a way that made her break down at inopportune times: at the grocery store, while watching TV, halfway through a run, while making coffee after a rough night of sleep.
So even after she had stayed awake at the Boy Scout camp reading the papers she was behind on then adding several pages of notes regarding new ideas she then organized into a plan—something that usually helped her downshift—her mind was still spinning as she heard most of the students return from the bar. Talking loudly, laughing, and joking, she listened to the zippers on their tents and sleeping bags ring from all corners of their camp. When, finally, all the lights clicked off and the murmur of conversation turned to soft snores, Cassidy felt herself relax. The breeze sifting up the valley calmed to almost nothing so that she could hear the soft trickle of the creek passing below their camp.
Her busy brain woke before dawn with the sudden fear that she had forgotten something. Cassidy tried to go back to sleep with several of her usual tools but none worked, and she lay there, her brain accelerating into the day. So she rose and slipped on her running clothes, then carefully unzipped her tent to keep the coils quiet. After her running shoes were securely tied, she closed her tent flap and walked purposefully to the road.
She never intended to be a runner, but Pete had loved his daily runs and sports like soccer, and after his death, running had become a way to keep him close to her. It also helped keep her in shape for ski season, and served as meditation of sorts, helping to organize her thoughts. As she accelerated down the gravel road, heading towards the lake, she tried to imagine Pete next to her, listening as she explained the turmoil going on in her mind. Sometimes she even talked to him.
What should I do? she would ask him.
The cool night air felt crisp on her skin as she settled into her pace. A partial moon shone above the thick forest, casting a pale sheen across the dusty road. She tried to focus her mind on an upcoming research project idea a prospective student had contacted her about, but it slid solidly to the news story about Mel’s trial. No matter how hard she resisted, the frightening thoughts from that night returned.
The road down from the camp intersected with the state park campground entrance. Cassidy turned right on what was now a paved road that hugged the lake, crossing the creek via a bridge. Passing the resort, her tapping feet beat a steady rhythm into the still night. She had run this path many times in the early morning hours during her three-week tenure—it was better than lying in her tent while her restless thoughts wrestled for attention and her secret fears surfaced. Her usual route took her along the paved road to a trail that climbed the eastern moraine. Once at its end, she could either turn back or continue down to farm roads that looped her back to camp.
She veered onto the dirt path leading to the moraine that wove through the cluster of cabins owned by the resort. Higher on the slope stood vacation homes—some gigantic mansions, others tiny A-frames or trailers tucked into the trees. Passing the resort’s small brown cabins one at a time, their windows dark, she tried to outrun the memories from that night when Mel discovered what she knew.
At times she woke remembering his tenderness and the way his body felt moving with hers, but it
