“Goodbye, Cass,” he said.
She gave him one last glance and stepped into the sun.
Twenty-Four
The biggest surprise when she exited the long tunnel of customs in LAX were the three tanned faces waiting for her.
“Cassideeeeee!” Taylor shrieked. Benita and Libby followed, and soon she was crushed in a tight hug.
Libby grabbed her shoulders and stared at her face. “You. Look. Worked.”
Cassidy smiled, despite agreeing with Libby’s conclusion. “Yeah. But it’s great to see you guys. How did you know I was here?”
“A little birdie told us,” Benita said, crossing her arms.
Bruce, Cassidy thought.
“Who do you think brought you all of your stuff?” Taylor said.
“But I didn’t see you guys,” Cassidy protested.
“You were still, like, in a coma when we came. The docs made us go in one at a time.”
“Thanks,” Cassidy said, overcome with contentment to see these women who had become trusted friends. “I wasn’t sure if I would get to talk to you again.”
“Hey,” Benita said. “You remember what I said, right? Us surf sisters gotta stick together.”
Cassidy grinned.
“So, you got a few hours, right?” she asked.
Cassidy checked her ticket, and her watch. “About three.”
“Perfect,” Benita said.
Libby grabbed her pack from her back, and Taylor put her arm around Cassidy’s shoulders. “You don’t have to tell us anything about what happened,” she said, leading her to the gritty curb outside. The others nodded.
“We’re just glad to see you again, girl,” Libby added.
Marissa and Jillian were waiting at a corner table in a restaurant that Cassidy didn’t get the name of. Soon they were ordering drinks, and seemingly within minutes, food arrived—the kind of food she hadn’t eaten for weeks: a salad with creamy ranch dressing and carrots, peppers, and avocado, a hamburger with a sourdough bun and melted provolone cheese. The women filled her in on the rest of their journey home, how they had been so worried about her. Cassidy wondered if they knew about Bruce’s undercover work, and realized that there was no reason they would, unless he told them, which she doubted. Maybe the story would make the news someday, and then they would know. Or maybe it would stay under the radar, the way justice often did.
He didn’t die in vain, Bruce had said. At the time, she thought he meant Reeve. But could he have been talking about Pete? Cassidy shook her head. No, he had meant Reeve. Pete crashed his motorcycle on a foggy night in San Francisco.
“You aren’t drinking your Greyhound,” Jillian said, sipping hers. “Is it okay? Want me to get them to use a different vodka? They probably have Ketel One.”
Cassidy took a deep breath. “I’m not drinking,” she said.
“Aw, come on, you’ve earned it,” Marissa said.
Cassidy shook her head. “Thanks anyways,” she added, trying to make her voice sound light. “But I’ve had enough chemicals in my blood for a while.”
They seemed to get her meaning, and laughed it off. So they didn’t hear her add: “maybe forever.”
Benita jumped down to the curb and gave her one last hug. “We’re sisters for life, you know that, right?” she said.
Cassidy was going to have to run to make her flight. She so badly wanted to stay with her “sister surfers” and bask in their friendship just a little longer, but it was time to go home.
“I know,” she said, sliding her pack off her shoulders to remove the ukulele strapped to the back. “I think this belongs to you now,” she said.
Benita’s eyes went wide. She looked unsure.
“Reeve would want you to have it,” Cassidy added, presenting the instrument to her. “Or your son. Someone to play it. Keep it alive.”
Benita received the case. “You don’t want to try playing it? Maybe you’ll learn how someday.”
Cassidy shook her head. “You helped me find him,” she said, feeling her eyes burn. “I want you to have it.”
Benita gave her a long hug and then took the instrument. “I’ll see you again,” she said. “And in the meantime, if anybody ever fucks with you, I got your back, okay?”
Cassidy laughed to cover the fact that she was crying. “Okay,” she said. She slid her other arm through her pack strap and waved at the carful of women.
“Bye!” they all yelled as Cassidy turned and sprinted through the doors.
Twenty-Five
Cassidy stood close to Quinn under his umbrella. Her high-heeled shoes slowly sunk into the wet grass, forcing her to shift her feet occasionally, which made her nylons rub together and itch her legs even more. The winter day had started gray with the rain starting soon after she and Quinn had shared a quiet breakfast in his cold house.
It had taken Pamela until early February to organize the service because of the difficulty of reclaiming Reeve’s remains. Plus, the holidays had been upon them, and nobody wanted to attend a funeral at Christmas. Cassidy had survived only by diving into her work—and surfing. Whenever a big swell hit the coast, she was there with her thermos of coffee and bagel sandwiches at dawn to paddle out at first light. She had not even bought a Christmas tree or played any holiday music. It had felt too dangerous.
The service was held in the small church overlooking the ocean, a place Cassidy had never been to but that Pamela had apparently visited with Reeve and Rebecca when they were children. The priest had read from his Bible, people had sniffled into their hankies, and then they had all sung a hymn, their collective voices filling the somber space.
Reeve would have a small plaque in the church’s cemetery, but his ashes would be scattered. Pamela would do most of this, but Cassidy had asked for a portion that she could set adrift with Quinn near his home in San Francisco. Letting a part of Reeve be free to roam the ocean he loved so much seemed like a duty she could not forsake.
When it was her turn, she stepped forward and placed the flowers in her hand next to
