Until We Meet Again

by Renee Collins

  I can’t breathe. Part of me wants to collapse right here. Even if we die here on this beach, it has to be better than watching him disappear forever.

  “Good-bye, Lawrence.”

  “Know this. We may never be together again, but I will love you for the rest of my life.”

  I hold him with all of my strength. I press my face into his chest, willing him to stay a minute longer. Just a minute more. But as he holds me, the pressure from his grip softens. The colors of his body become muted. A glowing line of light rises from the dark water.

  It’s happening.

  Lawrence pulls back from our embrace. He’s fading into the sand around me, as I know I am for him. Our eyes meet—his so beautiful and sad. As I stare back at him, an unexpected wave of happiness rushes over me. I don’t know what I did to deserve a love this beautiful, but for the rest of my life, I’ll give everything I have to do it justice.

  I set my hand to Lawrence’s vanishing face. With tears spilling from my eyes, I press my lips to his in a final kiss. We stay that way, locked in a kiss that will endure forever, even if just in our memories. We stay together until Lawrence Foster disappears back into 1925.

  Chapter 40

  Cassandra

  The next two days pass in utter blankness. I have no memory of what I did, what I said, what I felt. There was nothingness.

  Then came the sorrow. In many ways, sadness that you knew was coming feels worse than the unexpected. I spend the first nights lying in bed, staring at the ring Lawrence gave me, and crying as I never had before.

  Mom does her best to help. We talk a little about it, when I can manage. She knows that I’ve had to say good-bye to Lawrence. Her encouragement that we can come back next summer and see him again only sharpens the sorrow. But I know she’s just trying to help.

  And in many ways, it does help. Spending time with Mom and Eddie, even with Frank, reinforces something I knew all along: that as much as I loved Lawrence, I couldn’t have left my family forever.

  Little by little. Piece by piece. Hour by hour, the pain softens. It’s still there, but more a dull, ever-present ache. Then, one morning I’m halfway through my first painting of the summer, and I know. I’ll be okay. I’ll make it through.

  I’m finally ready to go back to the library. This time I don’t need to search through boxes and boxes of microfilm. Just one. The one that started this all. I know the date, of course, and I’m sure I have the exact box because it has the same red smudge on the left side.

  August 1925. I know exactly where to look. I scroll to where I first read about Lawrence’s murder.

  The article is gone.

  It skips from the story above it neatly down to the next. It’s done. Lawrence is truly safe. Now I’m ready to read the pages he gave me on our last day together.

  I take them to the beach. It’s the first time I’ve stepped foot on the sand since the day Lawrence left. I honestly never thought I’d be able to come here again, but there’s no better place to feel close to his soul.

  My fingers tremble as I untie the string. For the first few moments, I can only stare at the vague shape of his words. The curve of the letters and gentle indentations on the page, these are his. Maybe I’m not ready for this. I’ve worked so hard to heal in the last few weeks. Do I really want this to tear open the wound again?

  But then, the first line sharpens into focus.

  We may never be together again, but I will love you for the rest of my life.

  As clearly as if he were still beside me, I can hear Lawrence speak those words, the final words before we parted. The sensation of hearing his voice radiates through me. Every inch of my body tingles with happiness.

  Hungrily, I pore through the rest of the pages. I don’t cry a single tear as I read. I can only soar with joy. I read every last word and then immediately read them again. I stay on the beach for hours, reading and watching the waves, reliving the time we shared. Sitting here in our spot, savoring his words, I can almost feel Lawrence beside me. I can almost feel his arms pulling me close, his fingers brushing my face. It hurts, but I feel happier than I’ve been in weeks. I feel close to Lawrence again, and that’s worth any amount of pain.

  As the sun starts to shift to afternoon, I reread the pages where Lawrence describes how important his writing is to him. He’s writing fast. I can tell from the way the words slant and are pushed into the paper. He’s excited to share his longest held, deepest dreams. As I read one line in particular, however, I stop.

  I reread the lines.

  I plan to fully abandon the carefully constructed life my father has laid out for me. I’m even going to shed his name. I’ll take on my mother’s name, Winthrop. I’ll start my life fresh.

  I ponder the passage. A memory blossoms deep in the recesses of my mind. Why is that name familiar?

  And then all at once I know. Winthrop. As clear as a flash of white light, I can see the large banner stretching across the wall in the library:

  L. James Winthrop: Crest Harbor’s Greatest Treasure.

  • • •

  I make it back to the library with less than fifteen minutes before closing. Panting and red faced, I run in from the parking lot and crash through the doors. The librarian at the front desk gives me a swift, disapproving glance. These people are probably sick of seeing me. But I don’t care. Ignoring the desk lady, I head into the main lobby.

  The banner and decorations are gone. Breathing hard, I scan the area. I need to find that librarian who helped me with the microfilm. I have to speak with her. I have to know.

  I run through the aisles, looking down each length for her. Library patrons glance at me with varying levels of annoyance and curiosity.

  I see her. She’s shelving encyclopedia volumes in a tall, cherrywood display case. I’m so happy she’s here that I literally have to keep myself from throwing my arms around her. “Can I help you find something?” she asks with a tinge of disapproval at my galloping approach.

  “I need you to tell me about L. James Winthrop.”

  Her face immediately brightens. “Well, of course. What would you like to know?”

  “Everything,” I say breathlessly. “Everything.”

  • • •

  We sit at a table in the sunny courtyard. The library has closed, but Evelyn, my new favorite librarian in the entire world, seems to have no problem letting me stay. She sets a stack of books in front of me.

  “His major poetry volumes,” she says. “Gray Coast is his most popular.”

  The second book in the stack peeks out from beneath Gray Coast. The bottom part of a man’s jacket glistens on the cover. I draw in a sharp breath. A picture of him?

  Unable to resist, I set my hand on the top book. The ring Lawrence gave me glitters faintly in the sun. The sight of it gives me strength. Slowly, so slowly, I pull the book away. There he is. Lawrence.

  He’s much older but still achingly handsome. In fact, if possible, he looks even better with age. Either way, it’s Lawrence, smiling his beautiful smile.

  “Are you all right?”

  I look up at Evelyn, and only then do I realize that tears are rolling down my cheeks. I wipe them away quickly.

  “I’m just…a big fan.”

  She smiles. “I can see that.”

  “Did he live a good life?” I ask, trying to compose myself. “Was he happy?”

  “From all accounts, he was. Very happy. He married, had three children. His later writings won him recognition by the Academy of American Poets three times. He’s the most acclaimed poet to come from the state of Massachusetts, let alone Crest Harbor.”

  I close my eyes, too elated to speak.

  “A remarkable man,” Evelyn says. “You know, I met him when I was just out of college. Got to shake his hand.”

  “Did you? What was he like?”

 
; “So charming,” she beams. “And very kind. I actually attended his readings several times. He spoke with every person who waited in line for his autograph. He seemed to really care and really enjoy chatting.”

  “Yes,” I say to myself. “That’s Lawrence.”

  Evelyn nods. “You’re right. His first name was Lawrence.”

  “And…he’s not alive?”

  “Sadly, no. But he is buried here in Crest Harbor. Near the end of his life, after his wife died, he came back here to finish out his days. He bought the mansion his uncle had built in the nineteen twenties, where he’d lived as a teenager. They say he went out every morning to the property’s beach and wrote. He penned some of his most famous poems there.”

  She grabs one of the volumes and flips through the pages. “Here. This group here. His final poems.”

  Trembling, I take the book. The poems are listed by date. My eye falls immediately to the final one. The last poem of his life.

  It’s titled: “For Cassandra.”

  Acknowledgments

  I first have to thank my amazing agent, Mollie Glick. I feel so lucky to be your client. I owe you lots and lots of chocolate.

  Hugs and thank you to Annette Pollert-Morgan. It has been an absolute pleasure working with you! You’ve helped me tell this story in the strongest way possible. And I love that the ending made you cry. Mission accomplished!

  Thank you to the awesome people at Sourcebooks and Foundry Literary + Media. So many wonderful people have helped bring this book into the world. Seeing my story come to life like this is a dream come true that will never get old.

  I also want to thank all of my amazing friends who have been here for me during the highs and lows of this crazy writer life. Natalie Whipple, Kasie West, Jenn Johansson, Candice Kennington, Michelle Argyle, and Sara Raasch. I love you all. And I don’t see you ladies nearly enough! We need more Paolo in our lives.

  A dozen doughnuts of gratitude to Tyler Jolley for being my local writer BFF. And a huge Dr Pepper to my previously local life BFF, Natalie Holmgren. You know this book wouldn’t be what it is without your help and amazing ideas! Thanks for always being there for me. I miss you like crazy.

  Thank you to everyone else who keeps me sane and happy and makes me laugh: Lisa, Susan, Aubrey, Mindy, The Best Book Club Ever, the Fruita Bike Chicks, and all my local friends! I am truly blessed to know so many amazing people.

  Once again, I know that I couldn’t be where I am today without my wonderful family. Mom and Dad, you have helped me in every way to make my dreams come true. I love you. I can never express my gratitude for all you have done for me and given me. When I stood on that cliff in Ireland, looking out at the most beautiful view I had ever seen, I knew I was the luckiest girl in the world.

  Rebecca, Sarah, Jared, Amy, Rachel and all the in-laws: thank you for the support and good times! And, Diana, my story consultant, life coach and best friend, I know I can never express how much you mean to me. Thank you for always listening. For always talking with me. And for understanding me better than anyone else on this Earth. I love you, twin sister.

  So many hugs to my beautiful children: Amber, Logan, and Ella. You guys are the light and joy of my life. I don’t know how I deserve such delightful, loving, hilarious kids. And to my dear, Ben. I hope you know how truly wonderful your support has been. I love that you’ve been with me through all the greatest moments of my life thus far. I know we’ll see many more together. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

  About the Author

  © Darcy Case Photography

  Renee Collins grew up on a beach in Hawaii. Sadly, she never met anyone from the past on those shores, but she did go on to get a degree in history, which is almost the same. She currently lives in Colorado with her family. Visit her at reneecollinsauthor.com

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