Until We Meet Again

by Renee Collins

  Sad, really. I almost don’t want to talk to him and have my perfect construction ruined. Couldn’t he have stayed in the distance, looking mournful and poetic?

  He bends back on his hands and looks out over the water. “Some moon, huh?”

  I follow his gaze. The moon is now a huge, golden circle of light.

  “Yeah, pretty spectacular.”

  “Very interesting moonrise too.” The boy shoots me a sidelong glance. “Did you by chance see…?”

  I tense. “See what?”

  Looking suddenly self-conscious, he shakes his head. “Nothing. Never mind.”

  I narrow my eyes. He didn’t see the flash of light too, did he? I’m about to ask him when he stretches his arms out and inhales deeply.

  “Ned was right. It’s the perfect night for a party.”

  “I suppose,” I say dryly.

  He sits up, folding his arms across his knees. “So what are you doing out here all alone?”

  The feeling of reckless abandon spreads in me again, drowning out any socially acceptable small talk I could offer. I have nothing to prove and no one to impress.

  “Not much. I’m just pondering the subtle anguish of life.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Well.” He studies me, probably thinking I’m some crazy emo girl. Then he nods, turning his gaze back to the ocean. “That makes two of us.”

  He doesn’t seem to be mocking me. In fact, he looks rather lost in his own thoughts. A little smile comes to his lips.

  “For each ecstatic instant, we must an anguish pay.”

  The words are oddly familiar, and then I remember. “Emily Dickinson.”

  “That’s right,” he says. “You seem surprised that I would quote her.”

  “I am.”

  He lets out a single laugh. “And why is that?”

  “You don’t look like a ponder-the-anguish-of-life-and-quote-Dickinson kind of guy.”

  He seems amused. “Don’t I? Tell me, what does that kind of guy look like?”

  He’d look like Mr. Perry, my balding, spindly English teacher. Not a young, stylishly dressed, uncomfortably good-looking ninja.

  “Let’s say you look like you fit right in at the party, not a poetry reading.”

  His smile fades a bit. “I suppose it was rude of me to leave the party. But I couldn’t think with all that noise. I was standing there and I realized I’d had quite enough. You know?”

  “So you left because it was too loud? That’s not exactly a typically accepted reason to brood, but I suppose I’ll allow it.”

  “It’s more than that.”

  “Okay, so what then?”

  He sighs. “Have you ever been in a room full of people and felt completely alone? And everything around you, the lights, the champagne, the people, it all feels so…”

  “Empty?”

  “Exactly.”

  He studies me so directly that my skin starts to tingle.

  “I’ve felt that,” I say, holding his gaze.

  “Is that what brought you out here to the beach?”

  This guy is either well rehearsed at wooing angsty, artistic girls, or he isn’t quite the jerk I had him pegged to be. Adrenaline pushes aside my usual wall of sarcasm.

  “I think I wanted to do something crazy, but I chickened out and came here to sulk instead.”

  “What would you have done?”

  “If I hadn’t chickened out, you mean?”

  He nods, watching me.

  “I don’t really know. That’s part of the problem.”

  He laughs a little. “You’re different. I could tell by the way you sat here looking out at the shore.”

  “You’re pretty strange too, you know.”

  “Guilty as charged,” he says with a wink. “So what do we do about it, you and I? A pair of odd ducks searching for meaning.”

  “I guess we have to do something crazy.”

  “Let’s,” he says. “What will it be?” Then he springs up. “I know.” He grabs my hands, pulling me to my feet. “We’ll jump into the ocean!”

  I laugh at the irony of his suggestion. “No thanks. I had a nice swim last night, and that got me into enough trouble.”

  “Aw, come on. It’ll be fun.”

  “Nope.”

  A sly smile creeps onto his face. “You didn’t come out here to talk. You could have done that at the party.”

  Without warning, he bursts into a run down the beach, pulling me along with him. We run into the rush of stormy ocean wind. I can barely stay on my feet to keep up with him.

  “Hey!” I shout, my hair streaming behind me. “Stop!”

  “Enough talk! Now we act!”

  “I said no swimming!”

  He keeps running. “We’ll dive off the point, see if we can catch a mermaid.”

  “No! I’m too young to die.”

  He laughs, and I can’t help laughing too. We run until we reach the base of the rocky point, where we both stop, bending over to catch our breath.

  “Push me in that water and I’ll drown you,” I say between gasps of air.

  He grins. “I thought you wanted to do something rash.”

  “I do. I’m just not into dying with a complete stranger. Not quite what I had in mind.”

  “I am getting a little carried away, aren’t I? I don’t even know your name.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Well, are you going to tell me or have I lost my chance to know you?”

  My breathing has calmed, but something about the way he looks at me keeps my heart pounding.

  “Cass,” I say. “Cassandra.”

  He holds out a hand. For a handshake, I guess? Quaint. I give his palm an awkward tug.

  “And you are?”

  He blinks. “Lawrence,” he says, looking mildly surprised I asked.

  “Sorry, I’m not from around here. I don’t know all the cool kids.”

  His brow furrows a little.

  “You’re honestly shocked I don’t know your name,” I say with a scoff.

  “No, but since this silly party sort of centers around me, I thought you’d—”

  “Excuse me, what? The party centers around you?”

  He shrugs, looking cornered. “Easy. It wasn’t my idea.”

  “Oh, so you’re claiming that my mom and stepdad randomly decided to make you the star of their party at their house? You’re either outrageously narcissistic or delusional. Right now, I’m thinking probably both.”

  He frowns. “We must be talking about two different parties. I mean the one right there through those bushes.”

  “Uh, yeah. That’s my mom and stepdad’s house.”

  He stares at me. “You’re mistaken.”

  My face burns. “I know we don’t exactly fit in, but they rent the place fair and square, so it is, in fact, their house.”

  He furrows his brow as if straining to understand my words. “I don’t believe I know your parents.”

  “Oh, of course not. They only invited you into their home for a party, which is apparently in your honor. No, no reason to bother knowing who they are.”

  He scratches the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Whatever.”

  “Are your parents related to my Uncle Ned somehow?”

  “Uncle Ned?”

  Again, he looks surprised that I don’t know the who’s who of Crest Harbor. “Ned Foster.”

  “I suppose he’s another big-name, fancy person in this area who I need to know and worship? I’m not that girl, okay? I couldn’t care less about Ned Foster.”

  Lawrence looks at me like I’m crazy. Shame ripples across my face. This is what I get for letting my imagination run away with me. For thinking this guy was somehow different. I start to ma
rch up the beach.

  “I’d better get back.”

  “Wait.” He runs up after me. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just…very confused.”

  “Well, I’m not. I had you pegged the minute I saw you.”

  Before he has a chance to reply, I run the rest of the way up the sand and through the bushes. Once I’m on the lawn again, I slow down. But there are no footsteps rustling behind me. I come to a full stop, hating my weakness, and glance back toward the beach.

  But Lawrence isn’t following me.

  Chapter 3

  Lawrence

  She runs off, back to the party. Angry? Embarrassed? I wish I could understand what just happened. I rush after her through the brush, but she’s somehow managed to dissolve into the crowd on the lawn.

  “There you are, Lon!”

  Charles claps a hand on my back. His breath reeks of the cheap hooch Uncle Ned had brought in from New York.

  “There’s the birthday boy,” he slurs.

  “Charles, did you see a girl come in from the beach?”

  “You mean Fay?”

  My words halt. It wouldn’t sound great that I’ve been out on the beach alone with another girl. I cast my eyes around the manic crowd. The jazz band jangles and crashes like some crazy, delirious music box. Everywhere, arms raise, glasses glinting with frothy drinks in hands. A sea of bobbed hair, dark and platinum alike, bounces and dances as if of its own accord.

  But I don’t see the strange girl from the beach anywhere.

  Aware of Charles watching me, I nod vaguely. “Sure. Where is Fay?”

  “She’s over by the band. She was looking for you earlier. I tried to get her to dance with me, but she wouldn’t have it. She only has eyes for you, lover boy.”

  I swat him away, grinning as I walk past, but the smile fades the moment he’s out of view. A woman with a glittering headband and feather boa crashes into me, giggling, before she runs off to join her friend. To the left, several swells are laughing it up and slapping their knees. I want to go back to the beach. To the soft, cool sand. The breezy quiet of the surf.

  At the top of the patio, I scan once more for the girl. For Cassandra. She should stand out pretty well—her unique dress, her hair, all long and golden brown.

  “Looking for someone?”

  Fay Cartwright’s voice curls up like a purring cat on my shoulder. I turn and she’s standing beside me with that half smile that suggests a dozen secrets. The dark lining around her lashes brings out the hazel of her eyes in a sultry, sleepy way. She always looks like she knows something I don’t want her to know. For a moment, a flicker of fear lights in me that she somehow spotted me on the beach talking with Cassandra.

  She moves a little closer and her arm grazes mine. I can smell the perfume she’s dabbed on her slender neck. Her raven hair falls in a sharp angle against her cheek. The Cartwright family is hardly a fixture in North Shore society—I’ve never even seen her folks at any of these parties—but Fay’s beauty is enough for most to overlook her new money.

  “Big crowd tonight,” she murmurs.

  “Ned shouldn’t have.”

  “Sure he should. It’s not every day a boy turns eighteen.”

  “Maybe so. But I would have been happier with a simple dinner, a few friends. Maybe going to a talkie in Crest Harbor.”

  Fay smirks a little. “Not a fan of the crowds?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “They rather excite me,” she says, a glint in her eye. “But tell you what, why don’t you and I go somewhere a little more secluded? I can help you relax.”

  Her finger traces my jacket sleeve and brushes ever so slightly against my hand. She turns and walks slowly toward the house, her gold dress shimmering with the gentle sway of her hips. It’s like a siren’s song, and I find myself drawn after her.

  Just before I enter the house, Uncle Ned calls my name. He’s sitting on the patio with his neighborhood cronies. The gleam of burning cigar ends light their genial smiles. Ned is by far the largest man in the group. He’s tall and broad, with a belly to beat them all. His crop of black hair is the only physical trait he and my father share.

  “Lon, my boy, come over here.”

  I cast a look at Fay, who’s paused at the base of the marble staircase. She shrugs a little and grabs a drink from a passing waiter’s tray. Lifting it, she winks and takes a sip. She’ll wait for me. I hope.

  Ned pours a round of brandy as I approach.

  “Here, son. You take a drink. You’re a man now, by George.”

  He speaks with genuine affection. Ned’s wife, Stella, died before she could give him any children and he’s always treated me like a son. I think that’s why, when Mother died last year, Ned became more involved in our lives than ever before. Because he understands the loss.

  “Thanks,” I say to him.

  Orson Baker gives me a slap on the back. “Little Lonnie’s all grown up. Who could believe it? When are you going to college, kiddo?”

  “His pop back home has it all set up,” Ned answers for me, his smile positively brimming with pride. “He starts Harvard in the fall.”

  The middle-aged men all nod with approval and lift their brandies to me. I want to tell them to save their breath. I want to tell them that my father may have it all set up, but that doesn’t mean I’m going. But I offer as genial a smile as I can manage.

  Aunt Eloise joins us. She’s Ned and my father’s older sister. She lives an hour or so away and acts as Ned’s mother hen, always keeping an eye out for the lonely old bachelor. Tonight, she’s wearing her gaudiest dress, a knee-length number with sewn-on pearls and crystals. She wants to look like the wildest flapper in the room—anything to hide her graying hair and sagging face. I try my best to compliment her. Aging does vex her so.

  “Lonnie,” she says loudly, already tipsy. “There you are. Fay was looking everywhere for you.”

  “I’m all right, Aunt Eloise,” I say, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

  “You lovely boy.” She laughs, touching my face. She turns to her companions. “Such a treat to have him so close by for the summer. We begged and begged. Didn’t we, Ned? And he’s having a fine time. You’re having a fine time, aren’t you, Lonnie?”

  “Sure am.” I check to make sure Fay’s still waiting for me. She is, but she’s passing the time chatting with some tall, grinning joe who can’t keep his eyes off Fay’s bosom. My left hand tightens into a fist.

  “I better run,” I say. “Fay’s waiting for me.”

  “Of course,” Ned says, giving me a pat on the back. “You have fun. But be back by midnight to blow out the candles! There may be a surprise waiting for you.”

  He winks at his friends. There’s a dancing girl in the cake. I’ve already heard from Charles. With a weary smile, I remind myself to act surprised.

  “See you later.”

  I weave my way past the jubilant partygoers into my uncle’s house. When Fay spots me approaching, her lips curl in an irrepressible smile. I come up beside her. The fellow gives me a dumb look.

  “You got a problem, pal?” he asks. “I was talking with the lady.”

  “You were trying. Here’s a hint for next time: her eyes are up here.”

  Fay laughs behind her hand. The rube bristles, but he can read the writing on the wall.

  “Ah, keep her,” he says. He fiercely smooths his hair back and sulks off. When he’s gone, Fay folds her arms.

  “Well, I had to get your attention somehow.”

  “Believe me, you have it.”

  She smiles and straightens my tie, even though it’s perfect as is. “Now,” she murmurs. “Where were we?”

  “I believe you wanted to help me relax.”

  “That’s right.” She turns and glides up the stairs with the grace of a cat. I take a step after her, but s
omething makes me pause. The thought of the strange girl on the beach. Silly, perhaps. I don’t even know her. But even that brief encounter reminded me of everything I’ve let myself fall into this summer. The parties, the gang of friends, even Fay. They seem to be everything I want. And yet…why do I feel like I’m floundering and doing nothing to stop it?

  Fay pauses on the stairs, looking back at me. She tilts her head just so, beckoning. Maybe it’s because I’m a weak man, but I accept what Ned and Fay and my father place before me. Self-loathing settles in my gut like a coiled snake. Thrusting my hands into my pockets, I follow Fay into the whispering shadows beyond the party.

  Chapter 4

  Cassandra

  By the time I’ve dragged myself into the kitchen for breakfast, the omelet Frank made me is cold. Mom’s wiping the counters and calling for Eddie to pick up his race-car track. When she notices me, her eyes shadow with an inscrutable look.

  “I’m surprised you slept in so late. You went to bed pretty early.”

  I shrug and slump up to the bar. I stab a fork into the rock-solid omelet.

  “Have one of these instead,” Mom says, sliding a raspberry pastry across the granite bar. I accept the olive branch with a smile. A half smile, really. It’s the best I can manage with the mood I’m in this morning.

  Frank glides in, the Wall Street Journal tucked under his arm.

  “Mornin’, Sassy Cassie. Have a good rest?”

  I shrug, hoping my mouth full of pastry will excuse me from having to make small talk.

  Frank pours himself a glass of orange juice. “So, did you have a nice time at the party last night?”

  “Mmm,” I mumble noncommittally through my food. My mind is pulled once again to my strange, ultimately frustrating conversation with Lawrence.

  “Keep getting to know the folks around here,” Frank says, giving an optimistic wink. “Lots of really great people.”

  “Mm-hmm.” I say again. I mentally calculate my fastest tactful exit from this conversation.

  “Some really important people too,” he goes on, thinking I’ll be impressed. But his words do spark a question.

  “That reminds me,” I say. “Someone at the party was talking to me about Ned Foster. I’m guessing you know who he is.”