Page 19 of Fall Into Me

His dad shook his head. “Not yet. Your mom wanted to wait for you to get back home.”

Cass worked hard to keep his smile from faltering. “Aw, ma, you know you didn’t have to wait for me.”

His mom let go of his hand and patted his leg. “Well, it was either that or suffer through your father’s cooking. I chose to wait.” His mom’s crooked smile brightened with her obvious tease, and Cass pursed his lips to hold back his laughter. His eyes darted to his dad, who was shaking his head.

“I am not going to dignify that with a response,” his father retorted, though his hand moved from the back of the couch to settle on her shoulder, and Cass swore he could see the glistening of tears in his father’s eyes.

Flickers of memories of his mother’s past personality—playful, humorous, endlessly optimistic—danced around in his mind, and for a moment, Cass felt an overwhelming sense of nostalgia, maybe, followed quickly by a sort of empty grief. She used to joke all the time. Tease them, play pranks. Silly, harmless things that made everyone around her laugh and smile and generally be as happy and lighthearted as she was.

But her communication difficulties since her stroke had changed all of that.

Now, there were times she couldn’t quite understand humor. And more often than not, she didn’t seem to have the presence or quickness of mind to tease or make a joke.

So this moment—tiny though it was—hit. Hard.

Her hand still lingered on his leg, and he covered it with his own and swallowed back all of the emotions he was feeling. Then he let himself grin.

“How about I make that chicken salad you love, ma? We still have those croissants from Mrs. Bridges.”

“That sounds perfect, dear,” his mom said, her head tilting slightly to the side as though she no longer had the energy to hold it up straight.

Cass smiled at her and then glanced past her to his dad. “Dad, that okay with you, too? It’ll take me about twenty minutes.”

His dad’s expression softened, and he nodded. “That should be just enough time for us to finish reading the chapter we started. Right, Paula?”

Cass’s mom blinked slowly, and with effort, she turned to her husband. “Yes, I think so.”

With a soft smile, his dad scooted closer on the couch, kissed his mother’s cheek, and then opened up the book and started reading again. Cass watched for only a moment before he stood and made his way into the kitchen to prep lunch.

Brendan (5:17 p.m.): Laurie says Westside is staying open tonight since they have power. Serving a full dinner menu, too. It’ll be hella busy but we’re going anyway, meeting Tam, Trish, Gil, n Matty there at eight. You up for dinner and drinks tonight instead of tomorrow?

Cass (5:24 p.m.): I should be able to swing it

Brendan (5:25 p.m.): sweet

Cass stuffed his phone in his pocket and swiveled around in his chair until he was facing the large window in his bedroom. Outside, the snow was still falling lightly, the flakes now tiny wisps of white rather than big, floaty chips. The lone streetlight positioned on the other side of the street gave the snow an orange tint in the growing darkness of the early evening and accentuated the tire tracks looping down around their end of the cul-de-sac.

The snow accumulation was like nothing he’d seen around here before—at least, not that he could remember. The weather reports were saying just over a foot had fallen since the afternoon before, and if Cass’s memory served him right, that was about as much as had fallen in the snowstorm that happened back in December 2013, when Cass was fifteen. He vaguely remembered that storm shuttering the whole town—school had closed, restaurants had shut down, his mom had stayed home from work. Everything had come to a complete halt until the temperatures had warmed up and the city had managed to plow enough of the roads for people to get around.

So he was surprised, in a way, that the town wasn’t more shut down by now. From what Brendan had told him earlier, the city had plows out working to clear the roads, but they could only do so much, and without all-wheel drive or chains, it wasn’t safe to be driving. The I-5 had been shut down again about an hour ago due to another huge accident involving two semis and a bus.

Cass should probably stay home tonight.

But there’d been a tug in his gut all afternoon—a worrying unease that had grown as the sun’s light had faded. It was nonsensical, really. Because he knew exactly what he was worried about and why he knew he couldn’t just sit at home tonight.

He spun his chair back around and looked down at the clock on his desk. Five hours ago, he’d left an exhausted man having a vicious migraine attack in a hotel room alone with his young niece. Cass had been obsessively checking his phone, and . . . nothing.

That should have been good news, really. And yet, Cass couldn’t seem to keep himself from worrying—not that something had happened or that Ash and Bri were unsafe, but that Ash hadn’t eaten, hadn’t gotten to rest, didn’t have enough diapers or formula or baby clothes. He worried, too, about the flashes of anxiety and some other deep emotions he’d seen in Ash’s eyes. A heavy sadness. Or something.

Sure, he’d left Ash his number, and Ash hadn’t called or texted him asking for help. But Cass sort of had a feeling that Ash wouldn’t ask for help. Even though he’d only known Ash for a very short time, he sensed that Ash would do his best to “tough it out,” at least for things related to his own well-being and comfort.

That was why he probably had plenty of stuff for the baby.

But Cass had this awful worry in his gut that Ash possibly hadn’t slept or eaten all day and that Ash’s migraine may have gotten worse, not better.

A light knock on the half-open bedroom door startled Cass out of his spiraling thoughts, and he blinked and looked up to see his dad standing in the doorway, frowning.

“Hey, thought I’d let you know, your mother is pretty tired today.” His dad’s frown deepened, and he let out a short sigh. “I think I’m going to get her in bed early.”