By the time Cassidy reached the Tri-Cities, she noticed her temperature gauge had climbed past the halfway point. A similar problem had occurred once before on a long drive and according to YouTube, it might be a radiator leak, but the problem hadn’t happened again. Car maintenance had fallen under Pete’s responsibility, so she was clueless, and being a procrastinator, she had put off doing anything about it. She told herself to keep an eye on it, and if it got worse she would find a mechanic once she reached Seattle.
So, just outside of a farming and college town, Cassidy coasted into a rest area for a pit stop and to stretch her legs, but it was almost too hot to breathe, and the dead grass and loud highway sounds failed to revive her. She returned to the audiobook her best friend and old roommate Emily had recommended last summer.
As the story continued, Cassidy remembered her most recent visit with Emily the summer before. Another packing day—like today, Cassidy thought. While Cassidy had moved to Eugene for her postdoc, Emily had continued renting the same house they’d shared as PhD students, not knowing that Cassidy had bought it as an investment with her inheritance. After completing her PhD at the University of Washington last spring, Emily had taken a job with Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory east of the Bay Area. “It’s that or Exxon Mobile, drilling in Argentina,” Emily had said with a sigh.
“Maybe Quinn will finally ask you out,” Cassidy teased. At her dissertation party, Cassidy hadn’t missed the way her brother and best friend flirted. “San Francisco is only an hour away.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “Your brother will be a player until the end of time,” she said, but Cassidy noticed the pink blush coloring her cheeks.
“I’ll work on him,” Cassidy said, grinning.
“Don’t you dare!” Emily replied, her eyes narrowing.
Saying goodbye to Emily was too hard, so Cassidy didn’t. But it failed to soften the blow as Cassidy watched Emily’s car disappear down her street, leaving her alone in the house she shared with her and Pete and other good friends and that was now as vacant as a shipwreck.
After the cityscape of Seattle rose into view, Cassidy made her way to her neighborhood, but wasn’t ready to face her house and the boxes full of memoires, so she stopped at the geology department for her mail and even shopped at the grocery store—her least favorite task.
She was halfway home, listening to the last of her podcast, when a phone call bleeped. Absently, she answered.
“Dr. Kincaid?” an unfamiliar voice asked.
Cassidy instantly regretted the interruption. “This is Cassidy,” she replied, guarded.
“Hey, this is Uri Farkas with the Seattle Times, is now a good time to talk?”
“Talk about what?” Cassidy replied, frowning.
The man gave a little chuckle. “Well, why don’t we start with how your carelessness nearly jeopardized the FBI’s three-year undercover bust of the Columbian sex trafficking operation?”
Cassidy hung up so fast she nearly swerved off the road.
Forcing herself to breathe deeply, Cassidy put the phone call out of her mind as she neared her house, the familiar streets and shops pulling old emotions from their hiding spots. She passed the cracked sidewalks she and Pete used to walk, the neighbors Pete had once borrowed tools from, the cherry trees that burst with blossoms every March, their petals coating the tiny patch of lawn that she and Pete would stretch out on after a run.
An image of Pete at home, waiting for her, filled her mind. He would know how wrung out she’d be from field camp. She pictured him taking her into his arms and holding her until her whole body relaxed and softened. Then, after he carried her grungy gear inside, he’d crack two beers and they would sit side-by-side, their bodies touching while she talked, or didn’t. And after eating a dinner he had thoughtfully prepared for them, he would take her to bed.
Cassidy pulled into her narrow driveway, the sounds of summer coming through her open window: lawn mowers, children’s muffled voices rising from the park up the street, music from someone’s backyard. Her grief counselor, Jay, would have encouraged her to invite someone over so she wouldn’t have to do this alone, but she hadn’t felt like company unless it was Emily or her brother Quinn.
She picked up her phone to call Emily, then realized it was the middle of the afternoon. She would be at work. Quinn had said she should call him in Aspen but she didn’t want to interrupt his training for the big race he’d trained so hard for.
In unplugging her phone from her console, she noticed several missed calls. She eyed the screen warily, then scrolled through the log. The six unknown numbers, two with messages, must have come in while she was driving with “Do Not Disturb” turned on. She deleted the messages without listening.
Stepping from the car, Cassidy felt her knees complain after the long bout of sitting. She entered the covered porch entryway, the floorboards painted white and scuffed after decades of visitors. After kicking off her flip flops, she carried her pack through the living room with its piles of unpacked boxes. The sight of the picnic table where she had sat side by side with Pete brought her to a halt. A rotating slide show swooped into her mind: Pete at the stove while she chattered on about her work, Pete next to her at the sink, kissing her in between stacking the dishes, Pete sipping coffee, dressed for a run, his body lean and strong.
Gone.
Cassidy blinked, and forced her feet to continue while her heart fought its way out of her stomach. Arriving at her room—the same she had shared with Pete—was worse and the trembling feeling at the back of her core intensified. She dropped her pack and continued toward the bathroom, hoping a splash of water on her face would
