Until We Meet Again (9 page)

The Crest Harbor Library rests in a bed of trees, tucked in the
center of the old downtown. Cozy little coffee shops and crafty
boutiques surround it. Finding a parking spot proves frustratingly difficult, which puts me in a cranky mood.

I find the closest librarian. She gives me a surprised look
when I ask where I can find microfilm from the 1920s, but
sends me to the basement.

I pour the next few hours into scanning every newspaper and
document from the Twenties I can get my hands on. If only I
could have applied myself like this in history class. I’m absolutely diligent. You never know where there might be a mention of him.

I can’t really say why I’m so tense. It’s almost as if I know
there’s something I’m supposed to find. Some piece of the
puzzle that will help this whole crazy situation make sense.

11544 Seaside Estates to enter foreclosure.
Owner, local banker Edward Foster, seeks
short sale, following the tragic murder of his
nephew, Lawrence Foster, on the property’s
private beach. The death has stumped
local authorities, who are still investigating
possible suspects.

he streets of Manhattan are like bathtub gin: fast, cheap,
and intoxicating. It’s the perfect place to escape to forget
Cassandra. Ned invited me to come along with him on a business trip for a few days. I agreed. Anything would beat sitting
alone on the beach, waiting for a girl who never comes, a girl
who very possibly was just a dream.

So, Manhattan it is. The lights and noise engulf me. Meeting
Ned’s business associates has turned into one party after
another, congregating at basement joints that serve bootlegged
hooch. I’m not sure why he bothers to do business with those
types, but I suppose that for a banker, money is money. I’m surrounded by sights and sounds, but even still, my mind dwells
on Cassandra.

Ned and I sit in a dim, crowded speakeasy, watching the
fellas get edged up while the flappers dance the Charleston,
their short skirts whirling around in glittering streaks of silver
and gold. Ned laughs like old friends with a raven-haired man
in his twenties. He slaps the man on the arm and orders him to
get his associates a few more drinks.

“Swell joint, eh, kid?” Ned says, turning back to me.
“Sure.”
It’s not an enthusiastic response, and Ned gives his nose a

tap. “Ah, I know why you’re not having much fun. Missing a
certain gal?”
I tense a little. “I…”
Ned laughs. “I think I can brighten your night, m’boy.”
His friend arrives with two drinks in hand, and Ned points at
me. “Carlo. Take Lonnie here back to the billiards room. Let’s
show him our little surprise.”
Carlo winks. “Sure thing.”
I’d really rather stay here and wait out the party, but I can see
I have little choice. Ned’s in one of those moods. Reluctantly,
I follow Carlo across the dance floor, weaving past exuberant
dancers who either laugh or drunkenly scold us for getting in
the way. We move down a dark, narrow hall where a few couples have stolen away to smooch.
Finally, Carlo opens a dingy, painted door.
“Right in here,” he says, his voice tinged with a faint accent.
I hesitate. In a joint like this, who knows what could be waiting on the other side. Grinning, Carlo opens the door, grabs
my arm, and shoves me in.
The room is dimly lit and filled with the stench of cigarette
smoke and alcohol. Three billiard tables stand in the center,
with smaller poker tables and chairs around the sides. There’s
no one in the room, though the buzz of music from the main
dance hall vibrates the walls. I have no idea what Ned expects
me to find in here.
Then a pair of hands cover my eyes. Soft hands. The scent of
flowered perfume teases my nose. And a breathy voice tickles
my neck.
“Guess who.”
I grab the slender wrists. Pulling the hands from my eyes, I
spin around.
Fay gives me her triumphant little smirk. “Why, hello. Fancy
meeting you here.”
“What are you doing in New York?” I ask, shocked by the
sight of her.
“Neddy sent for me. Said you were being a real flat tire.
Thought you needed some cheering up.”
As I try to process this, Fay slides close to me. Her lips press
to mine, sweet with traces of champagne. I’m still too surprised
by her presence to stop her. She kisses me for a moment and
then steps back. Swaying her hips slightly, she saunters over to
a billiards table and perches herself on it.
“Well? Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“Yes. It’s just that I didn’t expect—”
“I’m not so sure I’m glad to see you, Lon. You’ve been avoiding me awfully.”
“No,
I—”
“Maybe I ought to get myself another beau,” she says, examining her nails. “One who pays me proper attention.”
I come toward her. “Fay.”
“If you really cared, you’d take me out of this awful place and
carry me off somewhere nice.”
“I’d like to—”
“Dandy.” She hops off the table. “What are we waiting for?”
Taking my hand, she leads me back into the dank little hallway and across the crowded dance floor. On the street, bustling
with glittering nightlife, she calls for a taxi cab with an ease I
find surprising for an upper-crust North Shore gal.
A questionable-looking jalopy chugs up and Fay pulls me
inside.
“Where should we go?” I ask, still trying to decide how I
feel about her unexpected arrival and her increasingly forward behavior.
“How about the Ritz?” she asks slyly.
“That’s where Ned and I are staying.”
“I know that, silly,” she says, laughing. “Where do you think
Neddy put me up?”
“Oh.”
Fay leans forward and taps the back of the driver’s seat. “To
the Ritz. Make it fast.”
We lurch off, and Fay leans over to face me. The feel of her
smooth lips on my face is familiar and exciting. She pulls my
hand onto her thigh, tantalizingly close to the lacy band of
her stockings. Her actions stir desire in me but also resistance.
What’s gotten into her? She’s always made her interest in me
clear, but never quite this forcefully.
Besides, while I care about Fay, I feel a strange loyalty to
Cassandra. Something passed between us on that beach. Even
if I never see her again, she left an indelible mark on me.
And being with Fay like this, but thinking of Cassandra, is a
betrayal of both women.
By the time we arrive at the Ritz, I’m starting to panic. The
way Fay glances back at me as she leads me to her room only
makes it worse. I can’t pretend to not understand what she’s
hoping for. I need to stop her. Save her the humiliation.
“Let’s go down to the pavilion,” I say, pulling at her hand.
“Grab a bite to eat.”
She laughs. “Don’t be silly, Lon.” She saunters ahead and
pulls out the key to her room. “We’ll just order some room
service.”
With a smile, she pushes open the door. I start to follow
but freeze in the door way. Fay sits on the red settee nearby,
stretching out her legs in a relaxed, but seductive pose.
“Aren’t you coming in? I’m getting a draft from that open
door.”
I grip the door frame. “I don’t think I ought to, Fay.”
Her brow lowers. “Ought to what?”
“It’s best if we call it a night.”
She sits up, her face bright with anger. “Excuse me?”
“I’ll call on you in the morning.”
I don’t dare meet her eyes as I turn away. It does pain me to
hurt her like this. She deserves a man who’ll worship her like
she desires. That man, however, can’t be me.
She calls my name, sharply, but I close the door, wincing. I
stride down the hall, praying she doesn’t follow me. She doesn’t.
I think she’s too shocked at the blatant rejection. With a heavy
heart, I go up the six floors to the suite Ned and I share.
As I approach, I notice a strip of light gleaming beneath the
door. Ned’s back. I guess he’s had enough bad hooch and jazz.
Raised voices drift out into the hall. I pause, my hand on
the doorknob.
“We had a deal. You can’t back out now.”
It’s difficult to make out the words, and I can’t tell if it’s Ned
speaking or another man.
“I need more time,” a different, indistinguishable voice says.
“You’ve had your time.”
The voices lower to an indecipherable level. I put my ear
to the door and then suddenly feel ashamed of standing here
eavesdropping. With a frown, I turn to go. Perhaps a stroll
around the hotel lobby. Give Ned some time to finish up his
meeting. I’ve only make it halfway down the length of the hallway, however, when I hear the door open behind me. I turn
toward the nearest door, pretending to be just leaving a room.
A short, broad man passes without so much as a glance. He’s
well-dressed and older, but there’s a hardness in his eyes. I have
no idea what business he has with Ned, but something about
it troubles me.
When I open the door to our suite, Ned is sitting on the
plush sofa, smoking a cigarette and staring at a stack of papers.
His whole body tenses as I enter.
“Lonnie?” His surprise quickly becomes a scowl. “What are
you doing back?”
My mind is still buzzing with everything that’s happened in
the past hour. When I don’t immediately respond, Ned stamps
out his cigarette in the little glass tray.
“Dammit, Lon. Why aren’t you with Fay?” His anger throws
me off completely.
“Where is she?” he demands. “I was told you’d taken her back
to the Ritz.”
“I did. She’s in her room.”
“And you didn’t stay?”
“I…”
“You what?”
“I just felt like coming back, that’s all.”
“What’s wrong with you, boy?” Ned growls.
I’ve never seen him lose his temper like this. I’m not sure
if the meeting I overheard put him in a foul mood, or something else.
“Is Fay not good enough for you?” he demands.
“N-no. That’s not it at all.”
“Then what is it, pray tell?”
His tone rankles me. “What’s it to you, whether or not I go
with Fay?”
He scoffs and scrapes a thick hand through his hair. “I don’t
think you quite understand what’s expected of you, Lon.”
“You’re right. I don’t. What is expected of me?”
“You and Fay will be married. It’s all been discussed.”
I stare at him for a moment, not sure if he’s kidding around
or crazy. “Discussed? With whom?”
“Your father approves of the match. As do Fay’s parents.”
“I haven’t heard a word from my father this whole summer.”
“That’s because he trusts my damn judgment,” Ned says,
slamming his fist on the coffee table.
A charged silence fills the room. But before I can grasp what
I might say, Ned releases a shaky breath and rubs his face. He
stands. His expression calms.
“You’ve had a long night. Both of us have.”
I nod, still trying to understand what’s gotten into him, but
I’m too tired pursue it. “I’ll turn in.”
Ned calls my name as I reach the door to my room. I pause
in the doorway.
“You must use your head about these things,” he says. “You’re
a smart lad. A lot of people expect great things from you.” His
brow lowers. “You will marry Fay Cartwright. By the end of the
summer. Set your mind on that fact.”

I know I shouldn’t do it. I should stand my ground. Telling
Lawrence what I know might set off the butterfly effect. And
who knows what could happen next? What if the next person
to vanish from existence was Mom or Frank or Eddie?

It’s nearly dawn. Above me, the clouds are a swirl of silver,
steely blue, and watered pink with the early light. Closing
my eyes, I picture the way the beach would look right now,
the water all soft and metallic, the sand pristine and cool.
Unbidden, the image of Lawrence appears near the shore. He’s
waiting for me. Once again, I can see him taking me into his
arms and pressing his lips to my cheek.

I push my hands to my eyes, bending over into my lap. This
is torture. I’ve spend the last forty-eight hours going back and
forth about what to do. And no matter how many times I come
to the proper, logical conclusion, my emotions always take over.

How can I not go to see him again? Am I really supposed to
know what I know and simply carry on as usual? Can’t I see
him once more, just to say good-bye?

Those questions always lead to the one overwhelming
dilemma.
How can I not tell Lawrence that he’s going to be killed?
Honestly, how am I supposed to keep this information to
myself? The guy has less than two weeks to live. He ought to
know. Maybe if he knows, he can avoid it. Murdered. The word
sends a churning sensation through my stomach. I grip two
fists full of my hair and try to breathe.
I envision the beach again, all watery blue in the dawn light,
and this time imagine a bloodstain spreading across the sand.
And in that moment, my body makes the decision for me.
I’m on my feet. I’m walking across the cold, wet grass. I’m going
to the beach, and all the reason in the world can’t stop me.
As I pass through the bushes, the air takes the heavy, surreal
quality of a dream. A nightmare. Calm down, Cass. He’s probably not even going to be there. If he is, you have no idea what
you’re going to say, what you’re going to do. You’re insane to
keep walking, but you knew that already. He’s not going to be
there. He’s…
Not there.
The beach is empty. Like it always is. Rocks. Water. That’s it.
My feet drag out a few steps. I close my eyes. I can’t be
surprised about this. I told him I’d never come back to the
beach. Despite what he said, he obviously gave up hope that
I would change my mind. Coming out here today was futile.
I flop onto the ground, trying hard not to cry. But I’m sitting
in the spot where we first met. My fingers trace a line in the
cold, gray sand, every part of me aching.
Then I notice the wide indent. It’s a footprint. Men’s shoes.
Frank hasn’t come out here since we moved in. And no one
else would be walking around in men’s shoes.
It was him! He was here. Swallowing hard, I hover over the
print, touching it lightly with my hand. It’s old. Probably
made yesterday.
I look to the bushy path. Wind pulls strands of hair across
my face, but no one’s there. I missed him. One day late, and I
missed him.
I could scream. Falling back on my knees, I swipe my hand
over the shoe print, sending the sand flying to the wind. Curse
me and my stupid hesitation.
“Ughhhhhhhhhhh,” I say loudly, smashing my fists to my
forehead. “You suck, Cass.”
I sit for a long time, partly out of despair, partly out of a crazy
hope that he’ll come. The waves break against the sand: curling, crashing, rushing up the shore in white lacey foam, and
then pulling back to the sea. I watch the pattern repeat itself
until I’ve lost count. I wait, hating myself more each minute
for missing my chance. My chance to say good-bye. A chance
to help him.
But Lawrence doesn’t come. I finally have to accept the reality that he’s gone for good. My legs feel heavy as I pull myself
up. I don’t bother to brush the sand from my knees. I’ll carry it
back to the house. My last memento of this place. Because one
thing’s for sure, I’m never coming back.
The sound of footsteps rustling through the bushes bursts
through my somber silence like a firecracker. I spin around.
It’s Lawrence. The sight of his warm brown eyes and tall, lean
frame shatters me. He’s dressed in a light khaki shirt and dark
slacks, his sandy hair tousled. He’s even more beautiful than I
remembered. His eyes light up with surprise, and then a heartbreakingly joyful smile.
“You came back!”
I rush to him, unable to speak. Lawrence closes the gap
between us. All I can feel is the thud of my heart. All I can
see is the faintly blurred print from the Crest Harbor Sentinel:
“Following the tragic murder of his nephew, Lawrence Foster,
on the property’s private beach.”
“I can’t believe it,” he says, beaming. “I came every day,
hoping against hope that you’d change your mind.”
Tears sting my eyes. Keep it together, Cass. Keep. It. Together.
Lawrence grips my arms. “Is it really you? Or are you some
beautiful vision coming to torment me?”
This makes me smile, in spite of the agony inside. “It’s almost
like you’re happy to see me, Lawrence.”
“Happy is an understatement,” he says, beaming.
I should go. I’ve seen him now, and every second that I stand
here in front of him, I feel the weight of the information I
know. I should walk away while I still can.
“What made you change your mind?” he asks.
“It’s a long story.”
“I know what you mean.” Suddenly his expression shifts to
seriousness. “I thought about you every day, Cassandra. You
have no idea how glad I am that you came back.”
I’m not sure how much of this I can take. I’m going to break.
Any second, I’m going to break.
“Cassandra.”
“Yes?” My voice breaks.
“Will you walk with me for a bit?”
Once again, logic is shattered by the hammer of emotion. “Sure.”
Lawrence holds out his forearm for me. I’ve seen enough old
movies to know why. I lace my arm in his. He tucks it close.
A rush of pleasure zips through my stomach. Being around
him again, touching him, smelling the faint tinge of his vintage
cologne, fills me with a dangerous amount of happiness.
It’s still a beautiful morning. Perhaps a bit cooler than it
should be at the end of July. Two gulls cry at each other as
they swoop overhead. I wonder which world they come from,
Lawrence’s or mine. Or are they also separated by a century of
time? For some reason, thinking about it depresses me.
Lawrence leads us toward the far point, where the waves are
most tumultuous.
“I don’t think a week has ever felt so long,” he says as we
walk slowly.
“I know what you mean.”
He smiles, but this only twists the blade deeper in my gut.
He doesn’t deserve to die. Not in a homicide. It can’t be true.
Why does it have to be true?
We come to a rocky ledge at the base of the point. Lawrence
climbs up, then holds out his hand to help me up. I wobble
a little on my climb, nearly slipping. He grabs for my other
hand. As he helps me to the higher ledge, we’re face-to-face for
a moment. Separated by little more than a breath. My eyes fall
to his lips, but I force myself to step away.
“You’re pretty quiet,” Lawrence says as we head to the end of
the point. “Is something wrong?”
Yes, Lawrence. Yes. The worst possible thing. The words
scream in my head: “following the tragic murder of his nephew,
Lawrence Foster, on the property’s private beach.”
“I’m fine,” I say weakly.
His eyes sweep over my face. He can see I’m holding something
back. I force a little smile and lead on, inwardly kicking myself. I
can’t be weak. I’ve been through this in my mind, assessing every
possible path. You can’t cheat Death. It’s a fact. And you can’t
mess with fate. Telling Lawrence that he’s going to die in a week
could set into motion the very events that will bring it to pass.
I close my eyes and try to breathe. I will be strong. I’m not
going to tell him. I’m just going to spend a little bit longer with
him, say good-bye, and move on with my life.
Waves slam against the craggy rocks at the tip of the point.
With each thundering crash, a faint mist of water tingles on my
skin. Wind bites at me, but the view of the shore, stretching for
miles in either direction, makes the elements worth braving.
Lawrence finds a somewhat smooth patch of rock near the
edge and sits. I hesitate but ultimately can’t resist sitting down
next to him. He scoots closer, smiling, and I have to fight the
impulse to nuzzle my face into his shoulder. The desire to feel
his arms around me rages through my heart. I stare out at the
horizon to keep from bursting.
“I’m facing a crossroads,” Lawrence says, also looking out
over the water. “A decision has been pushed on me, and I don’t
know what to do.”
“A decision about your career?”
“And other things…” He sighs. “My choices are to accept my
family’s plan for me or I’m kicked to the street.”
“It’s wrong,” I say, shaking my head. “They should let you
decide how you want to spend your life.”
He smiles ruefully. “I wish I lived in your time. I can’t imagine having that freedom.”
“I wish you had it. You deserve better.”
He scrapes a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure I do. That’s
part of the problem. I’m willing to accept the responsibilities
that come with my life of privilege. Without my father’s money,
I’m nothing. I should be grateful that practicing law is even an
option for me, rather than, say, digging coal out of the ground,
a mile under, or breaking my back behind a plow. Is it wrong
to live the life people expect of you? To please the people who
helped make you who you are?”
I shake my head. “But you’re still entitled to your dreams.
Being rich doesn’t exclude you from that.”
“My old man thinks dreams are a waste of time. Work is the
only thing that matters.”
“You don’t believe that, do you?”
He sighs. “I guess not. Otherwise I wouldn’t fill notebooks
with my writing when he thinks I’m asleep.”
“You deserve to follow your dreams, Lawrence.” My eyes
sting with tears as I speak the words, knowing he’ll never get
the chance. He sets his hand beneath my chin, turning my face
to him. His intensity melts me.
“In my mind, you have come to embody those dreams,” he
says softly. “A girl from another time. Who only exists on one
windswept beach. You’re a poem, Cassandra. You’re my poem.”
He takes my hand and presses it to his chest. My heart is
pounding so hard that I can barely breathe.
“I feel like, if this is real, then my dreams can be real. If these feelings I have for you are truth, then the truth of my words is worth
fighting for, and it doesn’t matter what people expect of me.”
Lawrence sets his hands on my face. His fingertips slide
gently into my hair. My ears are ringing. I shouldn’t let this
happen. But everything in me longs for it.
Lawrence’s gaze brushes over my face, tender and hungry at
once. And then he presses his lips to mine.
For a moment, there’s only the crash of surf, the clean smell
of cologne, and the burning heat of this kiss.
We part. Then, like magnets, our lips come together again. I
turn fully to him, hooking my arms around his neck. He grips
my back. Our breathing rises and joins in unison. I want more.
I want to lose myself.
But then the inevitability of Lawrence’s death seizes me.
He keeps kissing me, but I freeze. These lips, this hair, those
eyes—they’ll be gone forever in a matter of days. Less than
two weeks.
I pull away. Lawrence looks dazed. His cheeks are flushed. I
push to my feet. The truth bears down on me, oppressive and
overwhelming. I can’t breathe.
I have to tell him. He deserves to know. I would want someone to have the courage to tell me, if they knew I was about to
die. I have to do the hard thing and tell him or break under the
weight of this secret.
Lawrence stands, his brow furrowed. “Cassandra? What’s
wrong?”
“I can’t…” Tears burn in my eyes. I can’t meet his gaze or I’ll
lose it. I shake my head, trying to find a breath, let alone the
words to tell him he’s going to die.
Lawrence cups my face in his hands. His expression is so earnest, so caring. “What’s wrong?” he asks. “Is it the kiss? I shouldn’t
have done it, should I? It was taking advantage of you.”
“No. It’s not that.”
He pulls me into his arms, and I don’t resist. I can’t. I lay my
face against his shoulder. His body feels firm and warm against
mine. Can’t we just stay here together? Why does he have to
die? Why?
“What is it, then? Tell me, Cassandra. Please.”
“I know something. Something that’s going to happen…
to you.”
He’s quiet. I push through the wall of resistance in my heart.
I have to do this. “I came across a newspaper from your time.
At the library.”
I reach for the words. They’re there, but they refuse to pass
my lips.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Lawrence says softly.
The perfectly horrible, perfectly correct words to say. I am
looking at a ghost, Lawrence.
“Tell me,” he says again.
Drawing in a sharp breath, I press my face to his shoulder.
The horrible words come out in a trembling whisper. “It says…
that you will…die. There. On our beach.”
I’ve done it. I’ve broken the one rule I knew I shouldn’t break.
And yet I don’t feel regret as much as a horrible emptiness.
Lawrence pulls me back a little to look into my eyes. “You
must be mistaken,” he says, but he doesn’t sound very convinced. My oracle-like words seem to have rattled him.
I shake my head. “You have no idea how much I wish I
were
mistaken. But I cross-referenced with a few other newspapers
to confirm. It happened. It…will happen. In ten days.”
Lawrence stares out at the ocean. “Good God.”
Nothing could hurt me more than the look on his face. Fresh
tears sting my eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Lawrence. I had to tell you. I know it goes
against everything I said before. I know we shouldn’t mess with
time, but we can’t let it happen.”
A dazed, distant look glazes over his eyes. The color drains
from his cheeks. “I don’t…” His voice fades into the wind. He
looks back towards the house, voice trembling. “I have to go.”
“Lawrence, wait!”
But he doesn’t turn back. As he staggers back toward the
beach, I realize I’ll probably never see him again.