Mark and Tara had split up a month after the avalanche. Mark shared with Pete that looking death in the face like that had forced him to re-examine his life, and in so doing had realized that Tara no longer fit in it. The news had hit Pete surprisingly hard, and more than once Cassidy caught him looking at her, as if trying to read her mind. Though it made no sense to her, Cassidy too had struggled with the news.
Pete’s avalanche story made the first page of the travel section in the New York Times two weeks after the incident. The piece had earned him an award, and soon after, the University of California Press offered him a book deal.
“Should I take it?” Pete had asked her, looking anxious.
“Of course!” she had replied. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“I just . . . ” Pete sighed. “I mean of course I’m honored,” he said. “And the concept—survival stories from extreme athletes—sounds awesome, but . . . ” He looked away.
“Getting a book deal is a dream come true,” she urged. “I know you have other stories you’re working on, but they’ll still be there after the book is done.” She squeezed his hand. “Maybe your publisher will be interested in the ‘Immigrants in America’ book you want to write too. Have you asked?”
Pete shook his head. “They don’t publish stuff like that.”
“Well, then you’ll find another publisher.”
Pete sighed. “They offered me ten thousand dollars,” he said, a tiny grin spreading across his face.
“Wow!” Cassidy replied.
“I know. They’re really excited about it, Cass,” he added, his smile finally reaching his eyes.
“Just think of this as a stepping stone,” she added.
“I’ve been trying to break out of my reputation as only an outdoors and environment writer, and I’m finally making progress. You don’t think this book will send the wrong message?” Cassidy remembered him pacing across her kitchen.
“I don’t see why it would. A book is a big deal, no matter what the subject. I would think you’ll have even more opportunities once it’s out—to write whatever you want.”
A glow spread across his face. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll say yes.”
Since signing the contract, Pete had poured his entire being into the project, which made her stalling even more obvious. The two of them had spent many hours at Julia’s café, their laptop screens erect, but while Pete’s fingers tapped away on an article or chapter, hers clicked through surf videos or shopped for items she didn’t need. Every Tuesday evening a group of fellow geology graduate students met up with a faculty facilitator to discuss important articles related to their work. Normally, she looked forward to the intellectual sparring and collaboration at these sessions, but since the avalanche she couldn’t seem to muster the energy to attend.
Cassidy had always been a rotten sleeper, but she had learned to live with the fact that she just got by on less sleep than other people. Since the avalanche, her sleep patterns had deteriorated even further. Cassidy blamed it on the stress related to her upcoming defense, a critical paper she was hoping to publish, and the unknown status of her application into a post-doc program. One night, after a weeklong stretch of getting only two or three hours of sleep per night, she had pulled down the bottle of Scotch she kept for special occasions. As it was her father’s brand and a reward he had enjoyed in the evening after a long day, she had told herself she was just missing him. But weeks later, this ritual was becoming a habit.
The fire in the woodstove crackled to life, and the black belly glowed red, warming her face. She added two medium-sized logs and closed the door partway. Pete entered carrying a pot of water with his good hand. Fortunately, his wrist had not needed surgery, just therapy and rest—a tall order considering how much he used it, but the tendon was healing.
Pete set the pot on the stove. “How about a quick walk?” he asked. Outside, the sky was an inky black, the stars obscured by cloud cover.
“Isn’t it raining?” she asked.
“Not really.” He plucked her coat from the edge of the queen-sized bed. “C’mon. It’ll feel good to stretch our legs.”
Cassidy slid on her coat and spun to go, but Pete slid his arms around her. Cassidy felt her body stiffen, which confused her. Why did she react this way? Pete had been nothing but patient with her since the avalanche and had chosen Tofino because of her continued apprehension about being on the mountain again. She knew she should “get back on the horse,” but somehow she couldn’t muster the energy. The two of them had not skied together since the avalanche, though Pete had gone with Aaron and Mark several times. She wanted to get back to her old life, it just seemed so far away.
Cassidy forced herself to relax, and kissed him gently. He took her hand and they stepped outside. A gust of wind washing over her face while she zipped up her jacket made her squint. As Pete and Cassidy followed the rocky path to the beach, splats of rain dropped through the branches of the giant trees lining the shoreline. Once there, a fine mist enveloped them, and Cassidy pulled up her hood. They walked to the sound of the soft sand crunching beneath their boots and the soft shush of invisible waves combing the shore.
Their clasped hands swung as they strolled. “You want to surf in the morning?” he asked her after a while. “The wind’s supposed to die down.”
“Sure,” she said. “I brought my five-four,” she replied, thinking of the five-millimeter wetsuit she had bought after her first year in the Northwest: stiff and thick but toasty warm.
“Then we can go into town for breakfast.”
Cassidy imagined them sipping steaming coffee and nibbling on something home-baked and hearty.
A gust of wind blasted them, and Cassidy ducked her head and pulled her hood down to shield her
