Until We Meet Again

by Renee Collins

  “You can’t mean that,” he says.

  “I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

  “How are you so sure it does?”

  “Lawrence—”

  “This whole business with Billy Howard could be a coincidence. A misunderstanding—”

  I smash my fingers to my temples. “People don’t just disappear, Lawrence! We can’t fight it. We have to move forward with our lives as if none of this ever happened.”

  “You think I can do that? Can you?”

  “I can, and I will.”

  His eyes intense, he pulls the folded sheet of paper from his coat pocket and presses it in my hand. “Read this first.”

  “No.”

  “Please, Cassandra.”

  “You’re making this more difficult than it has to be.” I pull away from him, my heart pounding. “Look, it’s been really amazing getting to know you. But this is where it ends, okay?”

  He shakes his head. As I hand him back the poem, you’d think I was slapping him across the face. “I wish it could work, Lawrence. I mean that.”

  “I’ll wait for you,” he says, his voice tight. “I’ll come out every day and night and wait on this beach.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “I will.”

  “I have to go.” Band-Aid, Cass. The faster the better. I turn away. “Good-bye, Lawrence.”

  And then, all at once, he catches me in his arms. For an electric moment, he holds me, staring into my eyes with a power that could light up half the Eastern Seaboard. Then he presses his lips to my cheek.

  “I will wait for you,” he whispers into my ear, sending a shiver over my entire body.

  Grasping for composure, I back away. I can feel my pulse beating from my scalp all the way down to my toes. This is when I was supposed to say my poignant, preplanned words of farewell. Instead, I turn away in a daze and run off without another word.

  Chapter 13

  Cassandra

  “There’s, like, a monthlong waiting list to get into this place. Lucky my dad knows the mâitre d’.”

  Brandon’s smile is probably supposed to come across as casually smug, though his eagerness to impress me seeps through. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. It’s incomprehensibly lame that I’m here. On a date with Brandon. I was perfectly happy sitting on the couch wrapped in my bedspread, eating a tube of processed cookie dough, and binge-watching Netflix. So, of course, Mom had to ruin everything and make me go out. She thinks she’s fixing the problem.

  “Can’t see why there’s such a big wait,” I say, perusing the menu.

  It’s so strange to be around Brandon without Travis. Even stranger to wrap my head around the fact that I am literally living in an alternate reality right now, one where Brandon is top dog in Crest Harbor, not just Travis’s wingman. Because Travis has never existed. The difference is tangible, and unfortunately I liked Wingman Brandon much better. There was something almost endearing about his nervous, trying-too-hard-to-please manner. Confident, triumphant Brandon makes me want to punch something.

  “So,” Top Dog Brandon says, glancing down at his menu. “What have you been doing this past week, Cass? I feel like you disappeared.”

  Because I did. Because I met someone infinitely more interesting and charming than you. I’d be with him now, if not for…

  I close my eyes and draw in a quick breath. I need to get ahold of myself. I’m supposed to be forgetting about Lawrence. That’s the only reason I came on this date. Anything to keep from thinking about that beach.

  “Oh, you know,” I say, shrugging. “Just the typical stuff. Joined a street gang. Sold some crack. Killed my first man in a switchblade fight.”

  Brandon raises an eyebrow. “Sounds interesting.”

  “That’s Crest Harbor for you—Little America.”

  “You know, after seeing you break into your neighbor’s backyard, I’m not totally sure you’re joking right now.”

  I wink at him. “A lady never tells.”

  He offers a strained smile, and I realize I should probably lay off the sarcasm a little. Jade’s always telling me I scare guys off with it.

  But Lawrence liked my sense of humor.

  I clench my jaw. Stop it.

  “So,” I say, trying for a light, cheerful tone. “How about you? Do anything cool lately?”

  Brandon grins. Talking about himself proves second nature for him.

  “Getting ready for the lacrosse championships. We practice a ton, but it’s paying off. The Crest Harbor league is killer strong this summer.”

  Taking his pause as a cue, I smile and nod. “Awesome.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty sweet,” he says. “We all meet up at Hector’s after the games, have some drinks, swim—you know, hang out.” His left eyebrow rises suggestively. “You should come sometime.”

  In a blink, I can picture what it would be like to date Brandon. Hangouts at Hector’s. Stupid drinking games. Lots of talk about lacrosse and other sports. A few make-out sessions in his car. Perhaps one or two in the Jacuzzi, while his new, alternate-reality guy friends drink beer from red Solo cups and high-five each other for their epic displays of manliness.

  It would be a perfectly adequate, entertaining summer fling. And don’t I have every right to that? I’m seventeen. It’s not like I’m searching for my soul mate or something.

  Soul mate… The words send tremors through my stomach. I clench my teeth. Get a grip, Cass. Seriously.

  “We have a game Friday night actually,” Brandon says, interrupting my thoughts. “You can sit with Sara, Jake’s girlfriend. You met her the other night, didn’t you?”

  “I think so.” I really have no idea.

  “Sweet. It’s a date.” He smiles in triumph, as if simply acknowledging that I know someone is agreeing to go out with him.

  Another date. Just what I’m in the mood for. I take another long drink of my water, wishing it were something stronger.

  Brandon goes on. “We could hang out at my place after the game, but my mom killed that idea. She’s totally freaking out about her lame party.”

  “Another party, huh?”

  “Yeah, she does it every year. Her Great Gatsby party.”

  I choke a little on my water but swallow before I make too much of a spectacle. “Great Gatsby?”

  “Yeah, it’s kind of a nineteen-twenties thing. Nineteen-twenties costumes, nineteen-twenties music.”

  This is unbelievable. In spite of my greatest efforts, I can’t escape Lawrence. First, there was the movie on TV about the two time travelers who make a mess of things. Then, yesterday, when I talked with Jade, she kept going on and on about the surrealists living in Paris in the twenties. And now this.

  I am supposed to be forgetting Lawrence, but thus far, I’m failing quite spectacularly.

  “Sounds like a swell time,” I say, my heart aching at the phrase.

  Brandon keeps talking, but my mind races away from this conversation. Away from the clanking silverware and stuffy food smells and buzz of a hundred conversations in this restaurant. And I let myself go to the beach, with the gentle crash of the ocean and the soft wind and the clean sea smell. And Lawrence standing beside me, his eyes dark and thoughtful. In careful detail, I replay how he took me in his arms, how his lips pressed to my cheek. I savor the memory, each moment of it.

  Poor Brandon doesn’t stand a chance. I’ve just checked out of this date entirely.

  Later, after he’s dropped me off, I lie on my bed and stare at the moon, which is framed perfectly in my window. I wonder if Lawrence is looking at it as well. Is he really waiting on the beach, like he said he would? The urge to find out pulls at me. I envision myself tiptoeing down the stairs, across the lawn, and through those bushes. It would be so simple. One quick peek.

  I puff out a breath. No, Cass. T
hink about Travis. I can’t risk that happening again.

  It really is over. There’s just no other way. The thought unreasonably depresses me. I roll to my side, pulling my blanket over my shoulders. I think I’ll sleep the rest of the summer. Or at least lie here in bed feeling sorry for myself.

  I wish I’d at least taken that poem. I could have had something to remember him by. I sigh deeply.

  And then a thought occurs to me: What if there is another way? Lawrence is from the past. There has to be information about him somewhere. Surely it won’t mess with any time-space continuum to look him up. I sit up in bed, the idea lighting within me like a sudden flame.

  I don’t know why I never thought of it before. But there’s got to be some form of information out there. Maybe a class photo from his graduating year of high school. A family picture. Something. Anything. I feel light and tingly at the possibility. Seeing him again, even in a grainy black-and-white photo, would be a dream. It’s going to require all of my research-nerd skills. No Internet search will do. This is a job for an archives sweep. First thing in the morning, I’m heading straight to the Crest Harbor library.

  I flop back on my bed, my heart light. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I’ll see Lawrence again.

  • • •

  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.

  And then I find it.

  A few lines on an inner page. Dated August 9, 1925. A few lines that strike me like a bullet in the throat.

  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.

  The crime was committed August 5. That’s only two weeks away.

  Chapter 14

  Lawrence

  The 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 taxicab 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 Cass
andra 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 doorway. 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 I'll take a stroll around the hotel lobby, give Ned some time to finish up his meeting. I’ve only made 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.