Before she could second-guess the impulse, she pressed the call button.
Her mother answered on the second ring.“Cassidy?Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Mom.”She settled onto a chair on the porch.“I just wanted to talk.”
Silence stretched across the line.Her mother was probably checking to make sure she’d texted the right number.
“That’s wonderful, honey.How’s Florida?”
“It’s good.Different.”She traced the edge of the wooden bench.“I’m helping with a town festival.”
“A festival?That doesn’t sound very restful.”
“It’s not work work.It’s just helping the community.”The words felt strange in her mouth.
“Tell me about it.”
So Cassidy did.She talked about the festival, the committee meetings, and the Harbor Ladies.She mentioned The Sandpiper and Bryan’s family, carefully keeping her tone neutral when she mentioned Bryan.
“You sound happy,” her mother said quietly.
She opened her mouth to deflect, to make a joke about Florida sunshine or small-town charm.But she stopped.
“I think I might be,” she admitted.“A little.”
“Good.That’s good, sweetheart.”Her mother’s voice went soft.“I’ve been worried about you for a long time.”
“I know.”Cassidy watched Cliff gather his tools and head toward Driftwood Cottage.“I’m sorry I don’t call more.”
“You’re busy building your career.I understood that.”
“Too busy.”The admission came easier than she expected.“I let work become everything.”
“I’m glad you’re taking this break.”
“I am, too, Mom.I am too.”
They talked for another twenty minutes.Easy conversation about nothing and everything.Her mother’s garden.The book club drama.The neighbor’s new puppy.Normal things Cassidy had been too busy to discuss for years.
When she finally hung up, the sun was lower in the sky.Golden light slanted across the courtyard, turning everything warm and soft.She went back into the cottage.Her laptop sat open on the coffee table inside.She could see the email notification count from here.Forty-three new messages since this morning.
She used to check every hour.Every thirty minutes.Every time her phone buzzed.
Now she looked at that number and felt nothing but tired.
She closed the laptop without reading a single message.
The beach was quiet when she reached it.Cassidy slipped off her sandals and let her feet sink into the sand still warm from the day’s sun.She walked toward the water, letting the waves chase her toes.
A pelican swooped low over the surf.She’d learned to identify them now.Pelicans and herons and the tiny sandpipers that raced along the tideline.
When had she learned those things?When had she stopped seeing the beach as scenery and started noticing the details?
She thought about Steve Hodges and the Phillips account.The career she’d built over years of eighty-hour weeks, skipped vacations, and relationships sacrificed at the altar of the next promotion.
That life felt impossibly far away, like something that had happened to a different person.
“Winnie said I might find you here.”
