Until We Meet Again (5 page)

wo a.m. finds me at my desk. I haven’t even tried to lie
down. I know I won’t sleep. Not tonight. Not after what
I’ve seen. My hand grips the pen, trembles against the page,
and words flow. They pour from me like a rushing tide, breaking against the paper in waves of unquenchable fervor. I don’t
think, don’t try to construct a perfectly formed phrase reflective
of my thoughts. I just write. And this feeling, to finally have the
freedom of words I’ve craved all summer, is nearly as exciting as
my discovery on the beach.

When I’ve filled the last of the paper in my desk drawer,
sweat beads on my upper lip and temples. My pulse pounds
all the way to my fingertips. I set the pen down and sit
back. I leaf through a few of the pages, and the impulsive
wish to share my writing with someone burns through me.
Cassandra’s face appears in my mind. I push through the
sheer linen curtains hanging in the doorway to the balcony
and go out to grip the stone rail. The salty tang of the ocean
glides on the evening breeze, and I can hear the faint crash of
surf, but the blackness of night covers the sight of it. Closing
my eyes, I picture the ocean, the beach. Cassandra vanishing
in a shimmering glint of color. Thinking about it makes me
shiver all over.

I feel as though I’m on the precipice of something incredible,
something beyond rare. I have to capture everything about this
moment. If I can crystalize it with words, then perhaps, when
I’m shipped off to Harvard and a life of carefully planned obedience, I’ll have at least one moment of amazement to hold on
to. I tighten my grip on the pages. There’s more. More I need
to say. I’ll write all night if I have to.

There’s fresh paper in Ned’s study. I move quietly down the
hall and main stairs, hoping not to wake anyone. As I pass the
foyer, however, a flash of lights catches my eye.

Headlights.
At this hour?
Frowning, I step up to one of the thin, glass windows alongside the door. There’s an automobile outside, but it’s not in
the driveway. It’s parked on the lawn, off to the side, partially
hidden by bushes. If there had been a party tonight, I wouldn’t
think anything of it. But there was no party. And no guests.

So what is that jalopy doing out there in the middle of
the night?
A door slams. The engine roars to a start. I strain to get a
look at the driver, but he turns a hard left and peels out of
the driveway.
I watch until the lights vanish behind a row of trees in the
distance. It’s not that I don’t trust our watchman, Porter, but I
can’t help feeling uneasy. True, a house like this has a constant
flow of people coming and going. Caterers, maintenance workers, and servants. But still…I make a note to talk to Porter
about the car in the morning.
Thinking of notes, excitement resurges in my chest. I head
for the fresh ream of paper in the study and forget about the
strange automobile.

The sultry murmur of a woman’s voice pulls me from heavy
layers of sleep. A softness of flesh brushes against my cheek.
Exhaustion fights back hard, but I pull myself into the dewy
sunshine of consciousness.

She speaks my name. “Lawrence.”
A glimmer of long, golden hair comes to me. Her face. Her
probing blue eyes. Cassandra. In the overbrightness of light
streaming in through those linen curtains, I can see her standing over me. She’s come back.
I sit up, inhaling sharply.
Fay is perched on my bed beside me. Her slender eyebrow
rises.
“Morning, Lonnie.”
I strain my eyes, and Cassandra’s face vanishes as she did last
night on the beach. For a sharp, fleeting moment, the terrifying
thought that it was all a dream cuts into my lungs. But I catch
a glimpse of the frantic writings stacked on my desk and my
stomach relaxes. It was real. It happened.
Fay smiles a little and pulls at my loosened shirt. I’m still
fully dressed, lying on top of the blankets where I collapsed
sometime last night.
“Up late studying, I assume?” she asks. “Getting ready for
college?”
My eyes dart to the papers on my desk once more, but
this time with a surge of panic. I can’t remember much of
what I wrote, but the words on the page seem to shine like
a beacon, exposing my secret to Fay. I slide off the bed and
grab for them as casually as I can, stuffing the pages into the
drawer.
“Something like that.”
Fay takes my spot, reclining on my bed and curving her hips
to expose just a touch of her lace stockings at the thigh.
“You’ll make one heck of a lawyer, Lonnie, though I pity the
woman who marries you. Lying all alone in bed at night as you
study up for your next case.”
”I suppose it will take a patient gal,” I say, distractedly, still
feeling nervous that she read the pages while I was sleeping. She has that knowing smile, but it’s her trademark. She
makes sport of pretending she knows something you’d rather
she didn’t.
Fay stretches out her arms in a lazy yawn that makes her
dress strap slide down her shoulder. She runs her fingertips
along her décolletage.
“I’d never put up with such a man,” she says. “I demand to be
adored above everything else. I must be worshiped.”
I met Fay here at the house at a party celebrating my arrival.
She’s been appearing at social events all summer. She’s like a
phantom. She never comes with anyone else, never speaks of
a life outside the noise and frivolity of Ned’s parties. She exists
only to haunt me with her sly laugh. And I still can’t quite
figure out what she wants. Moments like these, I’m certain
she’s trying to seduce me. But other times she seems aloof, even
resentful of me.
I glance at the door. “I suppose it’s rather late. Ned’s probably
waiting for me.”
Fay watches me and then sits up, brushing her sleeve back in
place. “He gave that up hours ago. It’s almost noon, you know.”
“Ah.”
Fay’s still analyzing me, though she’s trying to hide it with a
casual, almost bored expression. “As a matter of fact, you slept
right through my visit. I have to go now.”
“Must you?”
She stands, and I catch a hint of hurt on her face. “I have an
appointment in town.” She smoothes her hair and breezes past.
“Do ring when you’re ready to give me the time of day.”
I grab her hand. “I’m sorry.”
She forces a laugh. “What for?”
“Fay.”
All at once, she presses her lips to mine. Her kiss is short,
but slow and tempting. The tip of her tongue brushes lightly
against mine. It’s indecent and intoxicating in a way only she
can manage. When she breaks off the kiss, a curl of triumph
pulls at her smile. She pats my cheek.
“Enjoy your studying.”
With that, she glides out of my room, her hips swaying ever
so slightly, like they always do.
Feeling flushed, I loosen my collar. I have half a mind to run
after her. But then my eyes fall to my desk. I slide open the
drawer with a tug. I pull out my notes and scan over the words.
Almost like a portal, they draw me right back to the emotions
of yesterday. It’s afternoon now. Cassandra might be waiting
for me. I set the pages down and soar out of my room.
Uncle Ned is in the library, sipping a brandy and reading the
paper. As I rush by, he sits up abruptly.
“There you are, Lonnie! Being the slouch today, are you? You
know, you missed Fay coming by.”
“Don’t worry. I saw her.” I make a motion to the door. “Have
to run, Ned.”
Without waiting for his reply, I continue on to the back
patio. Each step over the back lawn feels longer than the last.
My breath is as fast and short as my heartbeat. Breaking into a
full run, I crash through the bushy path.
But the beach is empty.
Waves lap against the shore in slim, white lines. Gulls screech
overhead and dip in the salty wind. But no Cassandra. A line of
doubt cuts into my heart. She should be here. I don’t want to even
approach the what-ifs, but they creep up on me all the same.
What if the doorway that allowed us to see each other has
closed? What if she’s gone forever? What if she can come back,
but she doesn’t want to? I stare at the shabby green bushes,
which quiver in the ocean wind.
She’ll come back. She has to come back. I plant myself on the
sand, facing the pathway. I’ll wait all day and night if I have to.
I’m not leaving until I see her one more time.

closed. My hand brushes against the bushes. The
smell of ocean and greenery hangs on the wind. The gentle
repetition of breaking waves pulses in my ears. I’m here. I’m
awake and very much alive. This moment is real. So, whatever
happens when I walk through these bushes will also be real.

Exhaling deeply, I open my eyes. Let’s do this.
One step follows another, each growing more confident.
And even before I set my foot on the sand, I catch sight of
him. He’s sitting on the beach, both hands pressed together
at his lips, watching the bushes with a look of deep concentration. When he spots me, his eyes light up. He jumps to
his feet.
As he walks toward me, his enthusiasm shifts to a satisfied
nod. “So, it wasn’t a dream then.”
“No. Not unless this has been the longest, most elaborate
dream in human history.”
“It’s good to see you,” he says. “For a while there, I thought
you might not come.”
“That was definitely a possibility. Last night left me pretty
shaken up.”
“I barely slept,” Lawrence concedes.
“That makes two of us.”
Standing here with him feels surreal and oddly normal at the
same time. I don’t know what it should feel like to be honest.
I realize I’ve been staring at Lawrence for at least thirty seconds in complete silence. He doesn’t seem to mind, but I look
away quickly.
“So,” I say awkwardly. “What happens now?”
Lawrence shakes his head. “I confess. I don’t really have a
plan. I just…knew I wanted to see you again.”
I narrow my eyes. “Has this whole thing been an elaborate
plot to date me? You know, you could have just asked me out.”
He lifts his hands like he’s been caught. “Was it so obvious?”
I try to hold my serious expression, but his badly hidden
smile makes us both laugh.
“No, but seriously,” I say. “You’re really from nineteen twentyfive? Like, for real?”
“Afraid I am.”
“You walk into that house, and it’s nineteen twenty-five?”
“Correct.”
I rub my forehead. “It’s so weird.”
“You said it,” he murmurs in an adorable 1920s style of
agreement.
1920s. It might be my imagination, but length of the beach
we’re standing on has taken on an almost eerie change. What
was once a simple coastline is now host to an unbelievable
truth. How is it possible that Lawrence and I are here together?
How is this happening? Why this beach? And why now? My
eyes move from the rocky point on one end of the cover to the
other. An idea bubbles up.
“What if we tried going down one of those paths?” I ask,
pointing. “Do you think the same thing would happen?”
“It’s a good question.”
“We should test it,” I say.
“It’s certainly worth a try.”
We start to climb out to the closer point. It’s windy, but the
heat of the afternoon spreads down in brilliant white light. The
crash of waves against the rocks fills the air with a salty mist
that almost sparkles in the sun.
“I’m almost afraid to try this,” I say, looking ahead at the
rocky, bush-speckled path.
“Afraid it might work?”
“I guess so. I mean…what if I can travel into nineteen
twentyfive?”
“Or what if I can come into the future?” Lawrence asks.
“I say we go to your time first. You’re living in the cooler era.”
“That so?”
“Definitely. I mean, I’m a fan of women’s rights and smartphones, but you have flappers and speakeasies and Fitzgerald.”
“So you know a little about my time, then, I guess?”
“Sure. We had a whole unit on the Roaring Twenties in
English when we read The Great Gatsby.”
Lawrence’s brow wrinkles, as if I just spoke in Chinese. I realize
those phrases are probably all modern iterations. And The Great
Gatsby probably isn’t widely known yet, if it’s even published yet.
“Things were much more exciting in your time,” I say. “More
pure. More honest. More, I don’t know…alive, I guess.”
His laugh carries a hint of bitterness. “I’m not so sure about
that. But here’s hoping things change in the next few years for
the better.”
Like the Great Depression? The Dust Bowl. World War II.
All right around the corner. And Lawrence is going to live
through them. My heart sinks a little. I give him a quick, sidelong glance, envisioning him in a soldier’s uniform, storming
the beaches at Normandy. Chills run over my skin and I shudder involuntarily.
“You okay?” Lawrence asks, his brow lowering.
I look away from his gaze. “Fine. Just got cold for a second.”
Should I warn him? Maybe toss out a subtle “I wouldn’t do
much investing in the stock market, if I were you.” Or, “Keep
an eye on the Germans. They’re still pissed about World War I,
and it’s not over yet. Not even close.”
I follow the thought through a few scenarios. If I told him,
would anyone believe him? Hey, I met this girl from 2015 on
the beach, and she said we should assassinate some German
guy named Adolf Hitler.
Yeah, right.
Would it even help Lawrence? Maybe knowing all the crap
he’s about to face would make him go crazy. If the world was
about to end, would I want to know about it?
“What’s wrong?” Lawrence asks, breaking my train of
thought. “You look scared all of a sudden.”
I rub my arms, unable to shake the cold. “It’s…really weird to
know some of the things that are going to happen in America
in the next few decades.”
Lawrence perks up. “What kind of things?”
“I feel like I shouldn’t tell you.”
“Aw, come on! You can’t tease like that.”
“I’m serious,” I say. “It seems unethical somehow.”
“All right then. Have it your way. If you won’t tell me about
your time, at least tell me more about you. I can’t help but wonder
if you’re related to my Uncle Ned through the generations.”
“I don’t think so. My mom and stepdad rented this place
a few months ago. Apparently, it had been sitting empty for
forever.”
“So, you’re not from the North Shore?”
“No. I hail from the most boring town in the most boring
state in the Union.”
A smile tugs at Lawrence’s lips. “Ohio?”
I laugh. “How did you guess?”
“I’m from America too, you know, albeit a slightly earlier
version.”
“Maybe not as much has changed as you think.”
“Maybe,” he says, his brown eyes shining. “So, what do you
do in Ohio? I take it from your clever conversation that you’re
being educated?”
“I guess. When I actually make it to class.”
“I think that’s swell. A lot of girls I know have no interest in
learning. They don’t see the point.”
“Thank goodness for progress.”
“You said it. I admire a gal who likes to learn.”
I shrug, but I feel undeniably light inside at his compliment.
We walk in comfortable silence. I steal another glance at him.
He looks sharp in his slacks and linen button shirt with the
sleeves rolled up to the elbows. That’s probably as casually as
they dress in the 1920s. His hair is feathered by the wind in a
way that’s effortlessly sexy. I swallow hard.
I’ve been so preoccupied thinking about this whole 1920s
thing that I can tell I’m not being myself.
“So,” I say, going for casual banter. “You write poetry, huh?”
“I suppose. A few scribbles. I’m not too swell at it.”
“You’re pretty swell. I mean, you’re no Whitman, but I liked
what I heard.”
“Well, thank you. Like I said, my old man thinks it’s a waste
of time. He says I should focus on preparing for college and
then law school.”
“A five year plan, eh? Sounds familiar.”
“Something like that.” There’s an edge of sadness to his voice.
“It’s not that I don’t want to go, necessarily. I just…I never
had the choice, you see. My path has been laid out for me
since I was born. Harvard, like my father. Law school, like my
father. Work in corporate law, like my father. Marry a society
girl my father approves of. Have sons. Throw polite parties at
my summer home on the North Shore.”
“What if you just tell him you don’t want to do all that? Tell
him you want to find your own way.”
“If only it were that easy,” he says, shoving his hands in his
pockets.
“He can’t force you.”
“You don’t know my father. He’s a powerful man. Ever since
my mother died last year, it’s like I’ve become his employee,
rather than his son.”
I’m starting to see why Lawrence was brooding on the beach
that first night. “I’m so sorry,” I say softly. “I can’t imagine what
it must be like to lose a parent.”
He concentrates on the ground as we walk. “I don’t mean to
bring the mood down.”
“After what you’ve gone through, I’d say you have every right.”
“I’m fine. I just wish I could talk to him, you know? And that
he’d actually listen to what I want. Of course, you understand
having little choice in life. Being a woman.”
I feel a twinge of guilt at moping over my First World
Problems. “Actually, things are pretty equal between men and
women in the future. I can do anything I want.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“I guess. Sometimes I think that’s part of the problem. Too
many choices.”
“I wish I had your problems.”
“Yeah, well, part of me wishes I had yours. I wish someone
would just tell me what I’m good at and what I should be.”
“You’re good at painting,” he offers.
“Am I? You’ve never even seen my stuff.”
“I want to see it. I’m sure you’re excellent.”
“That’s sweet, but for all you know, I royally suck.” I kick at
a pebble in front of me. “Maybe if I knew where I truly had
talent, I’d know what I wanted to do with my life.”
“It’s official then,” Lawrence says. “If we find a way to travel
into each other’s time, we’ll swap places.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
We shake on it. Then Lawrence points to the sandy path
ahead. “Here’s our chance. There’s the trail.” His hand extends
for mine. “Shall we?”
I pause at the foot of the dirt path, then set my hand in his.
“Let’s do this.”
A few steps on the trail, and nothing has changed. Our
eyes meet.
“This is scary,” I whisper.
Lawrence smiles. “Well, you’re still here.”
A few more steps. Still a solid entity.
“Dude,” I say, eyes wide. “It’s working.”
His face bright with excitement, Lawrence breaks into a
run down the path, pulling me along behind him. But before
we’ve gone six feet, a fuzzy shimmer falls over him. His grip
goes soft. We run a little farther, and the effect intensifies.
Lawrence meets my gaze, crestfallen, and then disappears.
Though the first test of his theory failed, Lawrence is determined to test every angle. We even walk out to the tip of the
point, but it doesn’t change the outcome. We make our way
over to the other point too. I don’t think it will be any different,
but I don’t say as much. Maybe because a part of me wants to
keep up our conversation and the long hike along the shore will
do just that.
But as I’d thought, the other trail is no different. After more
than two hours of walking, we end up back on the beach.
Lawrence brings some sandwiches and fruit from his house—or
my house, I guess—and we eat on the sand.
“So, I guess this is it,” Lawrence says, taking a bite of apple. “I
can only see you here on this beach. Nowhere else.”
I nod. “It’s weird. Like some cosmic force is trying to keep us
apart. I guess this is the universe’s way of telling me I’d make a
really awful flapper.”
In spite of my joking around, the strange sadness of the situation pricks at me.
Lawrence rotates his apple in front of him, examining it. “Who
knows? Maybe the universe is trying to bring us together.”
I look at him sidelong. His dark brown eyes meet mine,
unembarrassed by his words. I try to play it cool.
“Saying stuff like that doesn’t do anything to refute my ‘this
is all an elaborate scheme to ask me out’ theory.”
He raises a sly eyebrow. “So far, I’d say my plan is working
pretty well.”
I bump him with my elbow, pressing down a smile.
He grins and takes another bite of his apple. “I do have one
other theory to try out… I don’t know if you’re up for it.”
“If it involves me taking off my clothes, you can forget it.”
He looks both shocked and amused by my words. I guess it’s
a pretty racy joke for a 1920s kid.
“Tell me your theory,” I say, redirecting the conversation.
“Well…what if this all has something to do with the ocean?
The currents. The tides.”
I look out at the water, considering this. “It does have a certain logical symbolism to it. What are you thinking?”
“What if we swim out and see how far we can go?”
“You really like swimming, don’t you?”
“Yes, but it’s not that. I really think there might be something
to this.”
I consider for a moment. I’m not the strongest swimmer. But
something about his theory intrigues me.
“It’s worth a try, I guess.”
“Excellent.” He stands. “Let’s run put on our swim clothes.
Meet you here in five minutes.”
“Aha! So it does involve me undressing!”
Lawrence laughs. “Aw, go change, would ya?”
We walk together through the bushes until he vanishes. My
stomach twists as I watch him fade to nothing. Even though
we’ve tested it a dozen times, I can’t help but worry that this
dematerializing was the last, and that this weird crack in time
will close forever.
I rush up to my room, wanting to get back to the beach as
soon as possible. Tugging out my overstuffed drawer, I survey
my pathetic selection of swimwear. I settle on a black bikini,
toss on my swim dress, and run downstairs. As my hand brushes
down the banister, it sinks in that Lawrence is here. Right now.
Separated by almost a hundred years. The thought quickens my
heartbeat. I try to calm down on the walk back to the beach.
Lawrence is waiting for me in those adorably short, vintage
swim trunks of his.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yep.” I pull off my swim dress. “Ready.”
Lawrence’s eyes widen a little. “Holy Toledo,” he says
breathlessly.
I guess a bikini is also scandalous for the 1920s. This awareness pleases me.
“Fashion changes a lot over the next hundred years,” I say.
“You ain’t kiddin’.”
“Okay, Lawrence, eyeballs back in sockets.”
He grins. “For some reason, I’m more anxious than ever to
try to travel to your time.”
I whack his arm.
We wade out together, wobbling a little on the rocks under
our bare feet, but soon it’s deep enough to swim. The water
is cold and goose bumps rise on my skin. The current pulls
against me like a promise. Waves bob us up and down, slapping
lightly against our shoulders.
“This probably isn’t the best time to say that I’m not a great
swimmer,” I call over the rush of surf.
A warm, firm hand wraps around mine. Lawrence smiles.
“I’ll watch out for you.”
We swim on. Soon my feet can no longer touch the bottom.
A dark feeling settles over me. This is not good. Who knows
what could be swimming around beneath my feet, watching
me from below?