Franklin sighed and Cassidy could sense his fatigue. “There’s two people in the world, Dr. Kincaid: takers, and givers. Izzy is a taker. She takes what she wants and doesn’t mind stomping on whoever’s in her path to get it.”
“That could also be seen as assertive,” Cassidy replied, feeling like her feathers had been ruffled the wrong way. Being with Pete, who oozed kindness and generosity, had made her see how closed off and selfish she could be. Yet those qualities had served her well in her work and studies—in order to apply for grants and lead teams of researchers, you had to be a firm, confident leader. Nobody gave money to the nicest geologist, they gave it to the one that got shit done.
Franklin gave a huff. “I suppose.”
“So, you and Alice walked back to camp,” she said. “Then what?” she asked.
“Uh,” Franklin stammered. “What do you mean?”
“I just need to know what happened next. Did you return to camp and go to bed? Or did you stay up talking? Go for a moonlit hike?” Cassidy felt exasperated, having to explain.
“We . . . went to bed,” Franklin said.
“Everyone, right?”
“Well, Alice and I . . . did. Cody and Izzy and William were behind us a ways. I’m sure they got back, but I don’t really know when.”
Cassidy frowned. Zippers and the shifting nylon that accompanied settling into a tent were not silent. “You didn’t hear them?”
“Can’t say I did, no,” Franklin replied, his voice sounding odd.
Cassidy wondered if she was missing something. “Okay, so it’s possible that Izzy and the two others stayed out even later somewhere.”
“I suppose it’s possible, yes,” Franklin replied.
After descending Snoqualmie pass, Cassidy left I-90 for Highway 97, and the drive slowly opened up to broad, barren hills and dry washes, the landscape dominated by prickly-looking scrub. Her route from Seattle to Wallowa Lake weeks ago had taken her on a different though parallel route, so this was new. Through the summer haze she could see the shape of Mt. Adams to the west, rising above the Cascade foothills, and the pyramidal peak of Mt. Hood to the south. From the GPS map display on her phone, she saw that Highway 97 continued through Biggs Junction and on to Bend, Oregon. Cassidy had skied there alone, at Mt. Bachelor, for the first time after Pete’s passing.
She remembered a moment from that day when she stood at the top of a run and felt him—actually felt him pass by her. She had closed her eyes and saw the cloud of snow he created as he carved his first turns down the slope, his hoot of joy echoing inside her mind. A searing pain, like her flesh was being torn away from her body, had made her feel vulnerable and broken all over again.
Inside Jay’s office the following week, she had spent most of their session trying not to talk about it, but finally, it came out. And then, she couldn’t stop crying.
Skiing is supposed to be fun, but not if you’re crying, she thought. Now that she was back in Seattle, she could ski with old U.W. Ski Club friends, and of course Mark and his friends would include her. Mark was planning a backcountry trip to the Selkirk Mountains in B.C. for New Year’s Eve and said he’d save her a spot, though the idea of spending a week deep in the wilderness with them filled her with apprehension. She imagined the glory of climbing and descending fresh tracks all day with a guide to show them the best runs, but it felt like a betrayal to go without Pete. What if she spent the whole trip crying? She would have no escape.
Cassidy descended out of the broad, dry hills towards the Columbia River. A bridge delivered her across the broad reservoir to Biggs Junction and the cluster of faded buildings. The name fit, as two routes intersected here: Oregon’s I-84, which connected Portland to Salt Lake City, hugging the south shore of the Columbia, and Highway 97, which began at the Canadian border and hugged the east side of the Cascades all the way to Mt. Shasta.
As she pulled her Subaru into the Chevron, passing an old motel, a Kwik Mart, and a diner-style restaurant, she wondered about the significance of Biggs Junction. What had Izzy wanted to do here? The clock on her dash told her that almost twenty-four hours had passed since Izzy had stepped out of the van, leaving her backpack and everyone behind.
As Cassidy parked her car in front of the mini mart, she experienced a sinking feeling that Izzy was already long gone.
Eight
Inside the mini mart, a vent blasted frigid, air-conditioned air into her hot face. Shuffling her feet nervously, she queued up behind a bearded man in dingy jeans and suspenders and another man in shorts, a tank top, and Birkenstocks. By the time Cassidy stepped forward and introduced herself to the plump young woman behind the counter, she had Izzy’s picture, courtesy of Alice, pulled up on her phone.
“Have you seen this girl?” Cassidy asked, flashing her screen.
“Are you a cop?” the woman asked, her lips tightening. Her name tag said Jayla.
“No, I’m a professor. At the University of Washington.” Cassidy had worn her U.W. Geology Department t-shirt, thinking that it might add credibility, but Jayla didn’t seem to notice.
Her deep brown eyes flicked over the picture again. She shook her head, her round face blank.
Cassidy felt the presence of someone behind her, and turned to see a young woman in aviator sunglasses holding a bag of chips and some kind of bottled coffee drink. Her posture and blank look made it clear that she did not appreciate the wait.
“You could ask José,” Jayla said, nodding at a kid stocking the cooler in the back of the store.
Cassidy felt like she should press Jayla, ask her to take another look, but stepped aside and the woman behind her moved forward in a cloud
