Most of the guests at Reeve’s Celebration of Life were family members Cassidy had never met. They hugged Pamela, who put on a brave face but broke down several times. Rebecca stood stoically by her side, her face a mask of pain.
It had taken Cassidy almost a full day to call Rebecca and tell her the news. Three days later, a story ran in the Ventura paper. Cassidy’s phone began ringing. The first time, she answered it without thinking. It was a reporter for the Los Angeles Times.
“I’ll bet it feels good to be back in the USA after your ordeal.”
“Wait,” she said, disoriented. “Who is this?”
“Everyone’s calling you a hero. What do you think about that?”
Cassidy tried to formulate a reply, but the reporter kept talking.
“Were you there when they dug up Reeve’s body?”
“How did you get this number?” Cassidy interrupted, gasping for breath.
“Your mom gave it to me,” he replied. “Did Reeve plan to rescue more sex slaves?” he added, not missing a beat.
“My mom is dead,” Cassidy hissed and stabbed the end button.
Cassidy had been in her office, wolfing down a sandwich and firing off emails before teaching her Historical Geology quiz section. A coworker across the hall had gotten up and closed his door.
Cassidy had not talked about the trip with anyone, but some of them knew that she had broken her hand while trying to track down her stepbrother. No one knew about what Mel had done to her in the treehouse. Not that she wanted to keep it a secret. She just didn’t want to talk about it with her colleagues, who were practically strangers.
Her grief counselor, Jay, on the other hand, had enough material to last them a lifetime. Reeve’s death had brought on terrible feelings associated with Pete’s death, and also the death of her parents, but Jay was careful not to push her too hard. Especially after she attacked him during their first session—an occasion she had put off for weeks. “You told me to take more risks!” she had cried, seething with a rage that had come out of nowhere. “And look what happened to me!” Jay, ever the calm presence, apologized for what they eventually came to identify as a misunderstanding. “But I appreciate you sharing your feelings with me. I’m grateful that you can offer me this feedback, and for this opportunity to clarify.”
Cassidy sensed that he was putting off addressing relationships, including what had led her to be with Mel, until sometime in the future, though she wasn’t sure she would ever feel ready to talk about that night. Currently, they were working on improving her sleep which meant diving into her past again. It was all so hard. After each session, she left feeling completely drained.
After the L.A. Times reporter incident, Cassidy double-checked every incoming number and only answered calls from trusted sources. The stories that circulated offered a diffuse version of the actual events, and Cassidy realized that she must be their only link to the truth. Eventually, the phone calls trickled to a stop.
She did receive one email eagerly, from a woman named Sharon Lee of Operation Break the Chain, a rescue organization partnered with Tikvah International.
Dear Dr. Kincaid,
Thank you for your inquiry. Children entering our care in Texas choose a new identity as part of their rehabilitation and healing process. I am happy to say, however, that I believe the young woman in question did arrive safely on November 7. I will place your letter in safekeeping and let her choose to read it, but only if and when she is ready. Most children choose to break all ties to their former life when they enter our program. We encourage this step of independence. I hope you understand. However, I will personally share the news of your stepbrother’s passing with her, as this may factor into her treatment.
I offer you my sincerest condolences.
In peace,
Sharon Lee, Director, Operation Break the Chain
Cassidy had made a donation in Reeve’s name—the maximum amount that Rodney, the shrewd financial advisor her father had hired to oversee her accounts—would permit. It still didn’t feel like enough. In a follow-up email, Sharon did agree to keep Cassidy informed of any special needs she could assist with—anonymously, of course. Anything that could help Jade start a new life: tuition or job assistance, or even money to travel someday. Cassidy even went so far as to research what type of bicycle Jade might want, and how she could send it to her. The image of Jade pedaling through some small town with the wind in her hair filled her with peace.
The day after the memorial began cold and breezy, with overcast skies and veils of fog that moved through the trees like ghosts.
“You sure about this?” Quinn asked as they sipped espresso brewed from his Italian stovetop percolator. The heat coming through the baseboard warmed her toes, and Cassidy savored it, knowing that the water temperature would be in the low fifties. “We could wait until the summer. The water doesn’t get much warmer, but at least we might have sunshine.”
Cassidy shook her head. Pete’s ashes were still packed in their box in Eugene. One dead person in her house was enough.
They drove the short distance to the beach, where ocean breakers thumped onto the sandy shore. Cars lined the parking lot, with a few surfers gearing up in their black wetsuits, waxing boards, or checking the surf, coffee cup in hand. Despite the onshore wind making a mess of the peaks, a few bobbing figures dotted the lineups.
She and Quinn changed into their neoprene wetsuits—Quinn in a 5/4 borrowed from a friend, and Cassidy in the winter suit she had packed next to her heels and black wool dress, her jewelry case and pajamas. “You remember how to do this?” she asked Quinn, squinting at him through the tight opening in her hood.
“I
