Page 86 of A Bittersweet Summer

I remember the walk back to the barn. There had been a heavy silence until my dad finally stopped and turned to me. “I said death is natural,” he said. “But it doesn’t make it any less hard.”

We didn’t speak about it again after that.

Ellis and Griffin are set to have their wedding in three weeks, and as I stare at Cassidy, my chest begins to ache again. She is so caring—so hellbent on being there for others, I can’t imagine the thoughts that must be racing through her mind.

Or maybe she’s not thinking of the wedding at all.

I don’t push as we drive—letting her grief be hers until she needs me.

I’ll be there.

The trek up to the apartment is as silent as the ride, and when we finally get to the door, Cassidy taps on the wood.

Megan answers, her face puffy and red. “Cassidy,” she says, her voice breaking on the ending.

When Megan grips her tightly, I see the two people I’ve only met through photos. Cassidy’s dad paces the galley kitchen, a phone pressed to his ear as he scrubs his face with his hand.

On the couch, who I assume to be Megan’s parents, sit together, holding hands as they watch their daughter.

Cass’s mom comes from the back bedroom, sobbing until her ex-husband wraps her in his embrace.

I place a hand on Cassidy’s back, following her to sit on the floor in the center of the room. She doesn’t speak.

“They already came and got him,” Megan’s dad says.

Megan sits on the floor in front of her parents, her mom rubbing circles into her back. “He’s talking to the funeral home,” she says. “I’m so sorry. I should have—”

“No,” Cass’s voice cracks on the word. “No,” she whispers. There’s a slight delay, and then the dam breaks.

The strangled sob tears me in two as I watch her crumple, pulling her close as if I could stop her shaking. In a moment, Cassidy releases memories, unspoken words, and grief into my chest until my shirt is damp with her grief. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m so, so sorry.”

I blink, my own tears gathering at the corners of my eyes as I stroke her hair. “Don’t be,” I whisper, closing my eyes against the pain.

She gathers herself, sucking in a breath until the shaking ceases.

“Well,” her father says, coming out of the kitchen with his phone in his pocket. “There’s a lot to do.” He heaves a sigh. “But nothing can be done right now.”

“Megan cannot stay in this apartment.” Her mom still sits behind her. “You’ll stay with us,” she says, and Megan nods.

When we finally leave, after handshakes and introductions to Cass’s parents, I drape my jacket around her shoulders. “You don’t have to work tomorrow,” I say. “Obviously. If you want to, that’s fine, but I want you to know it’s all up to you.”

She sighs. “I think I want to be alone for a while.”

“Anything,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Anything you need.”

On the drive home, Cass curls up in the passenger seat again, but this time, she sleeps.

Twenty-Four

Cassidy

Sitting alone on the floor of the farmhouse, I push the crochet hook into the next stitch. Every loop works toward an ending so incomplete, it carves out a hole in my chest.

Tears fall until I drop the blanket into my lap. It’s too blurry anyway.

My head rests on the couch, and I take deep breaths. I haven’t had the guts to look at my phone since last night. There’s no doubt it’s filled with whatever my mom thought I should do differently, her sorrowful musings, and well-thought-out plans.

I can’t bear any of it.