Page 28 of Cascade

I lick my lips and try to decide if I’ll give him the rote answers.There’s always a need for skilled prenatal care providers. I wanted job stability. I get a thrill from greeting new life.But as I stand there melting into his palm against my cheek, I decide to follow Pam’s advice and risk sharing a bit of truth with Archer Crawford.

I swallow. “My mother,” I whisper. “She died a few days after I was born.”

“Shit, Opal, I’m so sorry,” he says, bringing his other hand up to stroke my arm. I can feel real empathy from him—not pity, so I decide to offer a bit more.

“She was a smoker,” I say, “and from what I’ve gathered, she had high blood pressure her whole pregnancy. I don’t think she made it to many appointments.” My breath catches as I fight back tears. He holds my gaze, studying my face intently, listening with his whole body while I share the most dreadful things that ever happened in my world. “They sent her home from the hospital with me, and with my dad, with high blood pressure. Do you know what eclampsia is?” He shakes his head. “She had poor nutrition, was probably retaining fluid. She was home alone with a newborn and my dad—he was still holding down a job then—didn’t get paid time off. He came home from work and, well, he found her.” I close my eyes, imagining what that must have been like for my father. To find his wife dead and swollen on the floor and his newborn baby screaming in panic and dehydration and a dirty diaper.

I explain what I’ve been able to piece together from my mother’s medical records. She didn’t have health insurance and the clinic doctors had such a heavy case load, nobody was keeping very detailed records of the working poor. Somewhere in the middle of my story, Archer pulls me into his body into a tight embrace. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t tell me it’s all going to be ok or any other false platitudes. He’s just…here with me. Standing next to me.

For the first time in a long time, I weep for my mother and for the care she wasn’t able to receive. I weep for my father, for the way his life was ruined by the trauma, a grief he never felt like he could seek help for. I weep until I’m exhausted and Archer holds me and strokes my hair and kisses my cheek. Eventually, he pulls his head back and cups my face in two hands. “I see what you do for your patients, Precious,” he says. His eyes glint in the moonlight, focusing on my face. “You’re making sure families are safe and whole.”

I don’t know where my body finds the liquid to continue crying, but somehow another wave of grief comes pouring out. Archer murmurs into my hair about how he sees why I’d be spooked when Abigail had a high blood pressure reading. “Hunter must know all about this kind of stuff, then?”

I shake my head, finally able to talk again. “He thinks he does,” I say. “But he hasn’t studied pregnancy. He’s just anxious.” I take a deep breath. “I’m going to get them through this.”

“I know you will, Precious. I have faith in you.”

“Nobody has ever said that to me before,” I tell him, before I can guard my words or even contemplate what I’ll say to him. If I’m not careful, I’m going to open up a crack in the walls I’ve had to build around myself since I was a small girl alone with the chaos of my father’s depression and alcoholism. If I don’t work harder, I’m going to let down this barrier I’ve had to put up to survive. As Pam says, all I know is how to be on guard and on watch.

I’m afraid to trust anyone else, but as I stand in Archer’s arms, I feel…not better, but slightly less terrible than I’ve felt for a really long time.

“Well I’m going to tell you every day,” he says. “I have faith in you. Now, come on. I’m going to buy you ice cream.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Archer

OCTOBER

“She’s gone skittish again,” I tell my brother Fletcher. It’s been two weeks since Opal poured her guts out to me about her mother and she’s been mostly avoiding me. My texts go unanswered except for the occasional emoji response and my calls go right to voicemail. “I know she’s been talking to Diana at least, helping plan Abigail’s shower. Hey—are you coming home for that?”

“Is that a thing men come to?” Fletcher is currently on some beach somewhere relaxing after organizing a massive bike race throughout Colorado. From the sound of things in the background, a baby shower would feel boring in comparison. “I mean, I wasn’t going to come home until Christmas…”

“Dude, you haven’t been here since, like, Christmas last year. And I barely saw you because I was out being the Claus.”

He snorts. “You’re starting to sound like Ma.”

“Speaking of,” I tell him, choosing to ignore that he meant it as a dig, “Ma told me Mrs. McMurray had a stroke.”

Fletcher is silent for a full minute and then I hear him draw in a breath. “First of all, that sucks, dude. Second, why would you tell me that information?” Fletcher doesn’t like to talk about his ex-girlfriend, Thistle, or her family. Or the reason he left Oak Creek after high school and didn’t really come back.

“So anyway, she can still walk and everything but I guess she can’t talk anymore,” I tell him. “Hunter was explaining it to me but it was all above my head. She can type and think still. Anyway, Thistle moved home. I’m going to hire her.”

I hear a clatter as if my brother stood up abruptly and kicked over his chair. “You’re what?”

The idea occurred to me last night when I was once again working until 4am to prepare the Q-3 tax information for my last client ahead of the deadline. The Acorns have been telling me I need to hire someone. My dad has been telling me I need to hire someone. “Thistle is in town for the foreseeable future. She’s a CPA, too.” I shrug, as if he can see me. “It makes sense.”

“I’m not comfortable with this,” he grunts out.

“Well, man, if I hadn’t told you, you wouldn’t even know because you never come home. So.” There’s silence on the line. “You gonna offer me any advice about Opal?”

He scoffs. I sigh.

“All right, bro, well I’ll let you know if the shower is for men, too. Maybe we’re supposed to take Hunter on another bachelor party or something. I don’t know how this shit works.”

“Whatever. I gotta go.” Fletcher hangs up, and I know he’s pissed, but it’s been ten years since he skipped town. Whatever happened between him and his high school girlfriend is yesterday’s news. It’s not like Oak Creek is dripping with tax professionals I can hire instead of Thistle.

I scrub a hand through my stubble and squint to the street outside my office. It’s practically dark already and it’s still well inside business hours. I grab my coat, lock up, and walk off toward my mother’s office at the college.

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