Now he realized where she was coming from. She'd thought the two of them were the same, both having lost the one person in the world for them. “Cassidy and I, it's just casual. Neither of us want anything serious.”
He studied Sally's face, attractive but, as so often, looking tired and strained. “You don't think I'm being disloyal to Anita, do you? Cassidy's terrific, but I'm not going to fall in love with her or anyone else. Anita's it for me, just like Pete was for you. But I'm fed up with being so lonely all the time.”
“Sometimes lonely is better.” The words were barely a whisper.
Better than what? But he and Sally had always avoided this kind of topic and he wasn't about to probe, so he changed the subject. “I'm glad you came into town for Karen and Jamal's wedding, but you sure didn't stay long at the reception.”
“No, I . . .” She brushed a blond curl off her face. “People were nice to me.”
“You sound surprised. I told you Caribou Crossing is full of friendly people. If you didn't isolate yourself out here, you'd know that.”
“It's hard. I'm not used to . . . socializing.”
“Sally, you used to be a barrel racer. Before you got married, you were on the rodeo circuit. That's pretty social, isn't it?”
“It was.” The hint of a smile teased her lips, but then her face went solemn again. “I was a different person then. I can't find my way back to that carefree girl.”
“No, at our age, with our responsibilities, carefree's pretty much out of the question,” he agreed ruefully. “But we can still take a break every now and then.”
“Maybe.” Her tone said she doubted it. Her shouldersâtoo bony under her well-worn shirtâsquared. “But this sure isn't the time for a break. I have eight little kids coming for a lesson and I need to get the horses ready.” Her expression lightened.
He'd seen her with her students and knew how much she loved children. What a pity she and Pete hadn't had any. Kids created more work, but they also forced you to play, gave you joy. Loved you. Without Robin, how would he have survived Anita's death?
If anything ever happened to Robinâ
No, he wasn't going there. She was healthy and strong, and though she was too much the daredevil for his peace of mind, she wasn't a huge risk taker. Besides, he kept a close eye on her.
Never again would he lose someone he loved so deeply.
Chapter Eighteen
Cassidy whistled as she strode toward Dr. Carlene Young's office. Four weeks ago, on the way to her first appointment, her feet had dragged. Things sure could change in a month.
On this Monday after Labor Day, the weather was still warm, tourists still explored the town, but there was a different feel to the late afternoon air. A hint of autumn. She loved that season: leaves turning color, a crispness to the air, the scent of wood smoke on the breeze. She'd bet autumn in Caribou Crossing was terrific. She had been here two and a half months and her feet weren't the least bit itchy yet. Perhaps she'd stay until December, when she'd go to Victoria for her brother's wedding.
Her job at the Wild Rose was the best ever. When Madisun had returned to university in Vancouver, Dave had promoted Cassidy to assistant manager. He gave her lots of autonomy, listened to her ideas, and supported her when she needed it.
Their personal relationship was wonderful too. The sex just kept getting better, and so did everything else. She loved his company, whether they were riding, fixing meals, hanging out with Robin, visiting his family, or sprawling on the couch watching a movie.
It wasn't just Dave and his daughter who'd drawn her into their lives. Cassidy had become good friends with Ms. H, and often had coffee, lunch, or drinks with Jess, Brooke, the newly wed Karen, and Dave's sister, Lizzie. She and Maribeth from the thrift shop went to dinner and a movie together every couple of weeks. When she left, she'd miss them all. More people to keep in touch with via Facebook and e-mail. Though it wouldn't be the same . . .
She brushed away that thought. Sometimes she couldn't wait to leave one place and head to the next, and sometimes there were people, scenery, activities she'd miss. Always, when she reached the next destination, she dove into life there. She'd perfected the concept of moving on.
Besides, why was she thinking about the future? That wasn't her way. Today, right now, was perfect. Especially perfect was the fact that her leg hadn't given her the slightest bit of trouble in more than a week. Dr. Young had referred her to a neurologist in Williams Lake who'd sent her for all sorts of tests, and now Cassidy didn't have to worry about the results. Whatever the mysterious problem had been, it had finally healed, perhaps due to the yoga Dr. Young had recommended.
How crazy she'd been to worry that she might be turning into her great-grandmother.
Rather than forcing herself to step through the door of the doctor's office, today she went in blithely, a smile on her face as she greeted the very pregnant redheaded receptionist, Sonya.
“I'll take you in right away,” Sonya said, starting to heft her bulk out of her chair.
“No, you sit. I can find my way. Aren't you almost due to go on mat leave?”
“I'm working right up to the end. What better place to be when the labor pains start?”
“Good point.”
“Go on down to the doctor's office, Cassidy. She'll be with you in a couple of minutes.”
Cassidy followed instructions and took a seat in one of the two chairs placed across from Dr. Young's desk. The walls had the usual framed certificates. More interesting were the dozen or so drawings and paintings done by patients, ranging from vivid finger paintings to quite nice works of art. One of the better ones, as Cassidy had noted on a previous visit, was Robin's painting of a couple of horses drinking from the stream that ran through Bly Ranch.
“Hello, Cassidy.” Dr. Young came into the office and closed the door. The petite doctor had her long black hair in a braid, as usual, and wore a yellow shirt over tailored blue capris. She carried a file folder.
No longer worried about the contents of that folder, Cassidy greeted her cheerily.
Carlene Young put the file on the desk and sat in the chair beside Cassidy, turning it to face her. “How are you feeling?”
“Terrific! My leg hasn't bothered me in at least ten days. Whatever it was, I'm cured. And I'm addicted to yoga. So all those tests weren't necessary after all.”
Solemn brown eyes studied her. “I'm glad you feel better. But, Cassidy, the tests were necessary. I'm afraidâ”
“No.” Any sentence that started with those two words, she didn't want to hear. “I'm fine.” She stood, ready to leave.
The doctor rose too and rested her hands on Cassidy's shoulders. “Sit down.” Gently but firmly she pushed Cassidy back into the chair, then sat beside her again. “You may
feel
fine, but the tests show that you do have a problem. You have multiple sclerosis.”
“No!” She shook her head vigorously, trying to eject those horrible words from her brain. “I don't! I'm healthy. My leg is fine now.”
“That period of days back in Vancouver when your leg was numb? That was what's called an attack, an exacerbation, or a relapse. And remember how you told me about the vision problems you experienced for two or three days last year?”
“It was eyestrain!”
“No. It was another attack. A clear diagnosis of MS can't be made until there are two attacks, separated in time.”
Scowling, Cassidy leaned forward. This doctor was clearly incompetent. “Blurry vision, then a tingly leg a year later, and you say it's MS? That's nuts. They're not anything alike.”
“The diagnosis was based on a number of tests, including the MRI and the Visual Evoked Potential. As for the vision and leg problems being different, that's typical of how MS works. It attacks the myelin sheath around the nerves of the central nervous system. The symptoms are based on where the attack happens and how extensive it is. A frustrating aspect of this disease is that it's unpredictable.”
“I don't care! I don't have it.” She sprang to her feet again.
Dr. Young reached for her hand and tugged gently. “Please sit down, Cassidy. I know this is hard to take.”
Realizing that her legs were trembling, Cassidy sank back into the chair.
The doctor went on. “There are different kinds of MS. You have the most common one, relapsing-remitting MS, or RRMS. That means you may suffer relapses, but you'll also have remissions when you'll have full recovery. It's not a path of progressive deterioration with no remission, although people with RRMS may over time transition to . . .”
As Carlene Young went on, Cassidy knew the doctor was speaking, but her words were a garbled mess that didn't register. Until one caught her attention: great-grandmother.
“You may well not end up like her,” Dr. Young said. “It's possible her MS was progressive. Also bear in mind that she'd have been diagnosed forty or more years ago. Treatments are much better now. Some people with RRMS do suffer a lot of deterioration, but others have some symptoms and attacks and still lead relatively normal lives. There are even some who go into a lengthy remission for decades, possibly even for the rest of their lives.”
Was Dr. Young deliberately trying to be confusing? Honestly, she was the most incompetent doctor.
“We've diagnosed it early,” she went on, “and that's a good thing. Even if you aren't currently suffering any problems, it's still best to start treatment early.”
“Treatment? There's a cure?” GG had died a long time ago. Of course medical science would have found a cure by now!
For the disease that Cassidy definitely did
not
have.
“No, sadly there's no cure. Not yet, but there may well be in the future. However, several treatments have proven quite effective. The earlier treatment is started, the better the results.”
No cure. Well, who cared, because she didn't have MS. “I need to go.”
“I know this is a lot.” Those brown eyes were so sympathetic, as if Dr. Young truly believed that Cassidy had this awful disease. “I have some literature.” She opened the file folder and took out several pamphlets. “These give the basics about the disease and the treatment options. I'd like you to read through them, take some time to get your head around this, and then come back and we'll discuss it more thoroughly. When you can concentrate and take it in.”
Cassidy shook her head.
Undeterred, Dr. Young went on. “I advise bringing a friend with you. Two pairs of ears, two people to ask questions, it leads to better understanding. And having practical and emotional support is critical to the treatment plan.”
Treatment plan? Didn't Dr. Young realize Cassidy didn't
plan
?
“Perhaps Dave Cousins could come with you,” the doctor suggested.
Dave? Here, listening to words like “attack” and “no cure”? Dave, who'd been there when the love of his life was diagnosed with a terminal illness? Who'd been at Anita's side as, day by day, she got sicker and sicker and finally died? Dave, who'd been so shattered by that experience that he'd become a shadow of the man he used to be?
Until Cassidy came along and helped him move on, to again find joy in life.
That was her role in Dave's life. To brighten it. Not to bring him a fresh tragedy.
And why was she even thinking this way? She didn't have this stupid disease!
This time when she sprang to her feet, her legs were strong with the need to get out of this place. Though she tried always to be honest, right now she was willing to lie her head off to win her freedom. “Fine, yes, I'll talk to Dave.” She grabbed the pamphlets, which felt shiny and slimy in her hands. “I'll read these. Make an appointment. We'll come talk to you.”
“Good. And, Cassidy, try not to worry. We'll build you an effective treatment plan and a strong support team. You'll still live a full, active life.”
Of course she would. Because she didn't have fucking MS!
“Your last name, Esperanza,” the doctor said. “It means hope, doesn't it? There's every reason to be hopeful.”
Cassidy did not slam the door behind her and she did say good-bye to Sonya, but her racing heart urged her to slam, run, scream, cryâmostly to run.
So much for Caribou Crossing. This town sucked and she couldn't wait to see the end of it. As she hurried down the street away from the doctor's office, there was only one thought in her panicked brain: she had to leave.
A new place, new opportunities, new people. That was what she needed. Somewhere else, she would be a new person. No, she'd be her old self. The healthy, strong, vital, free-spirited Cassidy. The person she'd been before she came to this godforsaken place.
Her racing feet took her past the Wild Rose and she almost stumbled. Dave. How could she leave town without seeing Dave again?
No, she couldn't. She needed one last night with him. A night to . . . finish things off.
Closure, people called it. Okay, that was what she needed. Maybe it was selfish, but she needed closure. Then, tomorrow, she'd be on her way. Somewhere, anywhere. Anywhere but here. In the meantime, she needed to keep busy. She would get organized to move on, rather than replay that crazy visit to the doctor.
Resolved, she hurried back to her apartment to pack. When she started to open her door, she realized she still grasped the pamphlets. She whipped around to the back of the house and buried them deep in the trash can, where they belonged.
Feeling lighter, cleaner, she entered her little home and pulled her old backpack out of the closet. She'd accumulated more things than would fit in it, but that was often the case. A few comfy faves would go with her, and she'd give the rest to Maribeth. After all, wherever she went next, there'd be a thrift store where she could pick up whatever she needed.
She held up the blue sundress Dave loved. No, she wouldn't take it. But she'd wear it tonight, along with her pink bra and thong. Dave had a Heritage Committee dinner meeting in one of the conference rooms at the Wild Rose. He should be finished by nine-thirty, and they'd agreed that she'd go to his place then.
Oh God, she would miss Dave so much. It was hard to imagine a day without him. And Robin, that precocious, sunny girl.
No, she couldn't think that way. She couldn't
think
, period. She needed to keep moving.
Backpack almost full, she opened the coffee tin where she stored her passport and money. For once she'd saved way too much cash to put in her wallet. Dave had paid her well and she hadn't had much to spend money on. She piled the bills into a sock and stowed the sock deep in her pack. She hugged her old Winnie-the-Pooh, then tucked him in too, leaving his head free so he could look out. Then she pulled on her rattiest shorts and tee and stuck in earbuds. Rejecting twangy country and westernâCaribou Crossing musicâshe chose hard-driving classic rock and set to work cleaning the apartment.
When the place was spic and span, she showered and put on the blue dress. She added the gifts Dave and Robin had given her for her twenty-eighth birthday in August: a silver necklace with a Canada goose pendant and a woven friendship bracelet.
With an hour to kill, she had no appetite and definitely didn't want to chat with Ms. H. She pulled on a Western shirt to keep her shoulders warm, and headed out into the dark evening with two garbage bags. One went into the trash can, the other in the donation box at Days of Your.
Next, she went to Westward Ho! to feed carrots to Cherry Blossom, who she had to admit she'd miss, and to Dave's palomino, Malibu. Too bad Facebook didn't allow you to keep in touch with animals.
Horses and riding had sunk into her blood. Maybe she'd go to Alberta, or south of the border to Arizona or Montana. She'd learned a lot from Robin; perhaps she could work as a dude ranch wrangler for a while. Her savings would let her take a bus, rent an apartment, and provide for herself while she job hunted.