Page 46 of Cascade

I forgot how brutal winters are on the east coast. Ordinarily, this time of year I’d be somewhere like Dubai or some tropical island setting up for the pro golf circuit. Maybe some horse races. But this year I decided to finally use some of my vacation time to reconnect with my family.

I’m not sure where these sorts of ideas come from, but they need me. Or they say they do at least. Archer convinced me to move in to his girlfriend’s house, even though it still smells faintly of skunk in the living room where I think the funk settled into the carpet.

It’s hard for me to think about Archer with a girlfriend, but he and Opal seem to be really good for each other. He’s totally different around her—organized, assertive. I’ve only spent a few days with him for the past decade, with any of my siblings really.

If I’m honest, it’s been weird getting to know them as adults.

I try to steer clear of the townspeople, although that’s tough when I’m at Abigail and Hunter’s place, since people are always streaming in to visit the baby. Things were touch and go there for a minute since she had to get readmitted for more magnesium. I think that’s what Opal called it. She kept promising us Abigail and Louie would be fine, and so far she’s right.

I really like her, which is the only reason I agreed to come to this madhouse celebration tonight. Opal and my siblings’ friend Moorely just published some of their research in some fancy medical journal and I guess it’s a pretty big deal, because my mom shelled out for a swanky party with alcohol up at the college.

She can skirt around the tight liquor laws when she’s throwing private functions like this for faculty members. I know it’s a big deal, too, because Archer is talking animatedly to Ed Hastings. He’s gesturing toward his girlfriend and running at the mouth instead of trying to shoo Ed away like usual.

I lean against the wall in the back of the room, adjusting my tie while Ma clinks a fork against her champagne flute. “Attention, everyone, if I could have your attention please.” Conversation rolls to a halt as everyone faces her at the front of the room. “I am, as you know, Rose Mitchell, president of Oak Creek College and proud host of tonight’s celebration of women’s health, of AI, and of the intersection of machine learning and medicine.” She leads applause.

I work really hard to pay attention as she and Moorely talk about science and data, and I try a little harder when Opal takes the mic and makes a sincere speech thanking everyone for their trust in her. Apparently she had some grant to go into people’s homes and interview patients, observe them and Moorely wrote a computer program to track the data.

“We dedicated this paper to Abigail Baker Crawford,” Opal says, pointing at my sister-in-law, tucked under Hunter’s protective arm as she bounces baby Louie over one shoulder. “Patients like you are the reason we do this,” Opal continues. “Thank you for trusting me enough to get close to you, so that I could tell when something was wrong.”

Soon everyone in the room is crying and hugging and applauding. I’m not sure when this turned into a wedding reception, but someone cranks up Faith Hill and Tim McGraw’s “It’s Your Love,” and suddenly Archer is twirling Opal around in a slow dance while a bunch of scientists and townies wolf whistle.

I push off the wall, intending to walk over for another drink, but I’m cut off by the twirling couple of the hour as Archer steers Opal toward the side of the room. “I love you, Precious,” I hear him say into her hair as he pulls her close.

“I love you, too, Archer.”

I take in the scene around me, my siblings and their obvious flaws, and this entire town here celebrating and embracing them anyway. Nobody cares that it’s weird for someone to slow dance to a country song at a party celebrating the publication of a medical journal article.

I’ve spent a long decade trying to forget about this place, about a time when people here were less quick to forgive and forget people’s mistakes. I’m not so sure I’d get the same reception if I asked my mother to throw me a party for one of my television production awards.

Feeling bitterness rise in my throat, I work a little harder to get over to the bar. Stomping over there with my head down, I almost run into the woman in front of me. I hold a hand out to steady myself. “Sorry,” I mutter, pulling my hand quickly from her shoulder.

She turns around and I feel my blood freeze in my veins. It’s Thistle. “Don’t worry about it,” she says, giving me a shy smile. She glides off to talk to someone before I can say anything else.

Hunter and Moorely join in on the slow dance in the middle of the room and everyone else starts laughing. The mood shifts and soon people are paired off, crooning along with Tim and Faith. I look around and spot Thistle again, standing with her mother, whispering and pointing toward Archer and Opal.Don’t worry about it,she said. As if it’s so simple to forget.

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