“And I saw you watch Silas walking away. I saw the look on your face.”
“I didn’t have a look on my face,” she protested.
“Itlookedlike concern.”
“Maybe concerned he was going to come out all Rambo on us,” she mumbled.
Marge gave her another look of perturbed disappointment. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you. And you’re holding on to your anger a little too tightly.”
The sliding glass door opened, and Silas walked through. Cassidy watched him take the temperature of the room before he asked, “Need me to come back in a few minutes?”
“Of course not, just cleaning up.” She continued to do so, not looking at Marge as she moved items from the sink into the dishwasher.
“How’s Mac?” Marge asked, turning toward her husband.
Cassidy shot her an irritated look the older woman missed, but Silas didn’t, as she continued to rinse items before they went into the dishwasher.
“Not his first Fourth of July,” Silas answered. He tapped his ears. “Noise-canceling headphones.”
“Smart boy.”
Silas chuckled. “I think I startled him more by appearing in his doorway.”
“You were over there for a spell,” Marge pointed out.
Silas scratched at his beard. “He makes a good cup of coffee.”
Cassidy raised a brow. “Are you saying I don’t?”
“Ain’t a pissing match, Sid.” Silas reached over and rubbed his wife’s back. “You ready to head back?”
Marge gave Cassidy a thorough once-over. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Of course.”
After another assessing look, Marge slipped off the stool.
Cassidy walked out with them. Marge pulled her in and hugged her until the tension dissolved from her. At the end of the day, these were her people.
After their taillights disappeared, Cassidy turned back toward the lake. Her skin itched; she wanted the water. It was her therapy, and she’d been deprived of it since returning home.
Her only hesitation was Mac. But Silas said he was sheltering inside, wearing noise-canceling headphones. With the fireworks still exploding at intervals over the night sky, the dock lights off to enhance the light show’s effect; she would go undetected.
And Fred wasn’t around to give her away.
Taking a calming breath after the thought, she kicked off her shoes and unbuttoned her shorts, letting them drop to the porch. The T-shirt she left on, but the shorts would be more weight than she needed. She also ripped off the headband and dropped it to the ground.
Braver on her porch, as she walked down to the dock, she cast occasional glances along the tree line until she could see through the density to the cabin. She paused, checking it out, to ensure Mac wasn’t outside.
She could see the light inside, which spilled light onto the porch, but she could detect no movement. He wasn’t in the hammock; he wasn’t lounging on the stairs. Of course, at that moment, another explosion sounded overhead, lighting the sky and his entire cabin as a trail of blue and white sparks rained down.
No, he wouldn’t be venturing out tonight.
Relieved, she continued on her way, picking up pace as she went, running by the time she hit the dock and diving off the end and into the water.
The cool rush immediately soothed every aching part of her soul, and she kicked to head farther down, skimming along the bottom she knew so well. This was a ritual she’d needed.
Surfacing, she gasped in the night air and kicked onto her back, floating under the remnants of other people’s celebrations. This would go on all night. She and Elijah would lock a freaking-out Fred in their insulated bathroom, then pack a picnic with champagne and motor out to the middle of the lake to watch the efforts of other people explode overhead.