Page 39 of Cascade

“Don’t you worry, my friend.” He pounds me on the back and turns toward the bar. “I’ll catch up with you later!”

As he walks off, I feel the dread sneaking in, an aftershock of that memory. It’s such a stark contrast to the day I’ve had. It doesn’t seem possible that my life can contain such different experiences. Can I really be a person who saves lives after I started out as someone periodically homeless?

I consider following Andy to the bar just to see if my father’s there, even though I know he’d have no way of traveling the 20 miles to the outskirts of Oak Creek to visit Tessy and my neighbors.

I swallow, trying to find the joy again when Andy reviewed the data with me. “Your research is amazing,” I tell myself out loud as I walk through town. “You are helping families. You are saving lives. You are saving lives.” It becomes a refrain as I walk along the streets, already decorated for Christmas. The tiny, twinkling lights create a warm glow, but also disorient me in the gray light outside.

In my haze I realize I haven’t walked toward my house or Archer’s. I find myself outside his office on Main Street. I decide to take it as a sign that I should share my news with him in person, test what it feels like to tell someone something exciting. Something positive.

I push open the door, expecting to be hit with blaring country music and a mess as usual. But instead, I find a peaceful office. The desks have been rearranged, and Archer sits beside a breathtaking woman, both of them facing toward the entryway, heads bowed over a binder.

I’m stunned at the sight of them, at the familiar way he nudges her with his shoulder and flips the page of the binder with gusto. When he looks up, I’m standing stock still in the entry way, frozen, unsure what to do or say or think.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Archer

“OPAL! HEY!” I stand up and rush around the tables to greet her. “What do you think about the new layout?”

She seems upset, disoriented. “Hey, Precious, have you slept? Didn’t you get off night shift?”

Thistle stands up and slides her hands in her pockets, waiting for me to make introductions. “Gosh, I’m no good at manners these days. Let me start again. Thistle McMurray, meet Opal Whittaker. Can I call you my lady friend? I know we’re not supposed to say girlfriend yet.” I wink. Opal frowns.

“Opal, this is Thistle. She started here at the office on Monday and it’s already made a world of difference.” I twirl around. “I’m wearing real pants. On a week day!” Thistle laughs and I slap the edge of the desk. “She said we should face the tables forward, so people see our faces when they walk in and not our computer screens.”

I see that Opal is a little shaken up and I don’t want her to spiral into a state where she doesn’t talk to me for three weeks. “Did something happen with Abigail?” She shakes her head, and I drape an arm around her and reach for my fleece on the pegs Thistle drilled into the wall this morning. “Hey,” I say, trying to give her arms a reassuring rub. “Let’s go grab a scone and you can tell me what’s up.”

Outside, she doesn’t walk with me toward the bakery. She drops into the bench outside the food co-op and sort of stares into the distance. I back track and sit beside her, quietly at first. Waiting to see if she will make a move and start the conversation. When she doesn’t, I squeeze her thigh and ask, “Wanna tell me what’s going on, Precious?”

She breathes heavily through her nose a few times, still staring off into space. Finally, she says, “You know, I sort of freeze up when something unexpected happens to me. Pam says it’s fight or flight.” Pam is the therapist Opal’s been seeing—she told me a few weeks ago. Every now and then she leaks out some tidbit about herself, almost like an accident. It’s like when I pet her or tickle her back, instead of purring like a cat she lets me see inside her head. She continues, still not looking at me. “On the walk here, I was thinking about the day I came home from school to find out we’d been evicted. Again. My dad wasn’t anywhere around. I just froze on the sidewalk across the street, watching the cleanup crew dump my books and corduroys into the trash.”

“Jesus, Opal. I’m so sorry.”

She slumps down a bit more in the bench. “Eventually, I snapped out of it and walked to the closest dive bar I could find. I’m not sure how I knew he’d be in there. Maybe it’s because there aren’t too many places that are loud and boisterous at 4pm on a weekday. Anyway, I remember pushing the door open and seeing him at the bar, swaying along to some song on the radio, his arm around the shoulders of a man seated beside him. Everyone was laughing, but they didn’t look happy. Not really happy. Not like your family.”

I’m not sure what to say in response to that. It all just makes me hate her father that much more. I pull her tighter against me, breathe slowly. Just sit with her until she talks again. “Who is that woman in your office, Archer?”

“Thistle?” Did I not mention that I was hiring someone? I’m certain that I must have. Yes. I remember discussing it at Thanksgiving. She must be deeply exhausted and have forgotten. So much has happened since then. “Thistle was Fletcher’s girlfriend in high school. Well. Really since forever. Her mom and my mom used to be really tight. Do you remember us talking about her mom at my parents’ house? Teresa? Had a stroke?”

I see a glimmer of recognition flit across her face, only to be replaced a moment later by sadness. “You probably think I’m overreacting. Making a big deal out of nothing again.”

“Hey,” I say, pulling her up onto my lap, not giving a shit that we’re on a bench along Main Street and Ed Hastings is probably taking notes for next week’s front page. “I would never think that.” I tip her chin up so she meets my eye. “But I do think you’re exhausted. I know you haven’t slept since your shift and I know how worried you’ve been about Abigail.”

She nods, her eyes welling up with tears. “I do work hard. I am tired.” And then she’s crying in my lap, just staring at me while tears roll down her cheeks. I am not equipped for this sort of thing, but something about her raw emotion right now is tugging at me.

“Look,” I say. “I don’t know what to do right now and I’m not very good at understanding women. But I’m just going to put myself out here and say that I care about you, I want you to be happy, I like it when you’re at my house, in my bed, and I hate that you feel sad because I didn’t remind you that I was getting a female associate in my office.”

She starts sobbing out loud then, and I can’t tell if I’ve made things better or worse. “Can we talk about this later? Can I bring home dinner after you’ve slept for awhile and we can have a long talk?”

She nods, but doesn’t make any effort to get up from my lap. “Hey,” I say again. “I didn’t drive today. Let me walk you back to my place so you can sleep.”

Another small nod, and I’m up from the bench, tugging her along behind me. It’s all I can do not to sling her over my shoulder and carry her. As soon as we get home, I tuck her into my bed, smiling when I see that the cat has made himself at home on my pillow. I drop a kiss on Opal’s forehead and promise to come back in a few hours when she’s gotten some rest. As I walk back to the office, I hope to hell she doesn’t disappear before I can return.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Archer

WALKING HOME WITH takeout, I feel nervous in a way I can’t remember ever feeling before. Other people’s problems always seem so manageable from the outside. I didn’t get worked up when Hunter’s first marriage fell apart. I just got in my truck and went to fetch him home.

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