They returned to the cabin and Cassidy stoked the stove; by the time they unloaded their bags and the groceries into the fridge, the cabin had warmed enough to strip to their T-shirts. They ate pasta and drank wine at the tiny table, Pete sharing his latest book research involving a kayaker who attempted to paddle over a waterfall in Peru and drowned. His partner’s CPR saved him right there on the riverbank while onlookers gawked and the cameras rolled. Cassidy was on her second glass of wine by the time they finished dinner.
They made love on the sagging mattress, and the freedom of not worrying about roommates was a welcome change. Though Pete tended to her in all the usual ways, something felt missing. Pete must not have noticed, because he fell asleep right away. Cassidy curled away from him, the anxiety that something was wrong settling deep into her gut.
As the night wore on, her mind refused to settle down. The pieces of Pete’s latest interview kept popping into her mind. What if Pete had been dead when they’d found him? Cassidy imagined herself bent over Pete’s mouth, breathing for him while Mark did chest compressions. No, she told herself. Pete was all right. They had talked through this a thousand times. Accidents happen. Thank God she was there to rescue him. “You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he had joked with her more than once. According to Pete, everything should be okay now.
But it felt far from okay.
She pulled the covers aside, careful not to wake Pete, and tiptoed to her bag by the couch. They had pledged not to work on this trip, but she had so much to do. Besides, she couldn’t sleep, so why not try to further her writing progress?
She slipped the hard copy of her dissertation out of her bag, along with her headlamp and a pencil, then stoked the woodstove and settled in.
Cassidy woke to the faint streaks of dawn streaming through the cracks in the curtains and the sound of Pete building up the fire. She glanced at her watch: just after seven. When had she finally fallen asleep? Two? Two-thirty?
Pete turned, and looked surprised to see her eyes open. “Did I wake you?” he asked. Underneath his look of compassion was an edge she couldn’t read.
“No,” Cassidy said, sitting up. She glanced at the empty tumbler on the coffee table. As the night had drawn later and later and Cassidy still hadn’t been able to fall asleep, she had gotten into the Scotch she had bought at the ferry’s duty-free store to celebrate Pete’s book deal.
Pete eyed the empty glass and the stack of marginally edited papers.
Cassidy felt her body tense as she caught the look on his face, but he stepped to the couch and gave her a kiss, warm and soft. “Good morning,” he said, his gaze lingering on her eyes.
She kissed him back, and swung her legs off the couch. “I’ll make coffee,” she said, her head swimming a little.
After a quick breakfast of granola and two cups of coffee, they suited up in wetsuits, booties, and gloves, and stepped outside. They picked up their boards and trotted down the path. Before them, the wide-open expanse of golden sand stretched for a mile or more in either direction. Clusters of several black-clad surfers bobbed offshore in the waves. Anticipation fluttered inside her as she assessed the clean sets and glassy ocean surface.
They waded into the icy water. “I might not last long,” Pete said, “but you stay out as long as you want, okay?”
“Okay,” Cassidy said, raising her voice above the sound of the booming surf. She leaned over to kiss him, his beard coated with near-frozen droplets of sea spray. Even though Pete’s surfing experience was limited, his skiing ability and comfort with risk-taking meant that he progressed quickly, and each time they surfed together he seemed to improve by leaps and bounds. But he still wasn’t comfortable in big surf and had no trouble admitting so.
They hopped onto their boards and paddled out, Pete choosing to wait on the shoulder and far from the dozen or so surfers dominating the peak. Cassidy waited there with him, and they traded waves for a while. The ocean felt so pure and clean, the winter sun illuminating the depths to a sparkling azure. Exchange the ancient cedars lining the shore for palm trees and raise the water temperature, and it could easily pass as a tropical paradise.
“Go on,” Pete said, catching her gazing at the peak. “I’m fine,” he added with a smile.
Cassidy watched a surfer stroke into a curtain of slate-blue water. “Okay,” she replied, a zip of adrenaline electrifying her skin.
She leaned over to give Pete’s cheek a peck, and then paddled out to the pack of bobbing surfers waiting stoically for the next set. A few of them gave her a nod, but otherwise, the pack ignored her. The surfers each picked off a wave until finally her turn arrived. She scored a nice set wave and dropped in, gliding down, down, her body acting on instinct. The wall of water rose up ahead of her, and she soared onward, an icy wind brushing her cheeks. As she carved over the lip at its end, she looked for Pete and saw him watching. After giving him a wave, she returned to the lineup, eager for her next ride. Soon Cassidy lost herself in the act of waiting for and catching waves. The cold water on her face and the speed of dropping into waves seemed to awaken something in her, and by the time she remembered again to look for Pete, he was gone.
Her gaze swept over the waves, then the beach, watching for movement. Joggers and walkers dotted the shoreline. She saw a figure heading up the path into the woods, but was it Pete? With
