So Close to You (So Close to You - Trilogy)

by Rachel Carter

  Everyone laughs, including Mrs. Bentley. “Mary, I need to make sure the boxes are organized before they’re sent out. Will you come help me?”

  Mary sighs and glances at Lucas out of the corner of her eye. He’s looking down at the table, drawing circles on the wood with his finger. He has a tiny smile on his face and I wonder what he’s thinking about.

  “Sure thing, Ma.” Mary and Mrs. Bentley walk back into the crowd.

  Susie, Lucas, and I stand around the table. Nobody says anything, and the silence quickly becomes awkward.

  “I should go too.” Susie glances between the two of us. She seems uncomfortable now that Mary is gone.

  “It was nice to meet you,” I tell her.

  “You, too.” She walks away.

  “Bye, Susie.” Lucas looks up, and his eyes find me instantly. “Alone again.” He grins widely. There’s something endearing about his crooked bottom teeth; I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen teeth that aren’t perfect. “It’s nice of you to help out today.”

  “Of course. The Bentleys have been so wonderful, especially Mary. She’s the best.”

  “She’s a great girl.” He says the words without any inflection and I can’t read anything behind them. I want to ask him more about her, want to know if he feels the same way she does, but I don’t.

  “It’s been like having a sister.”

  “Good luck to you then. I have three of ’em. They drive me up a creek.”

  “Three sisters?” I picture Lucas surrounded by a bunch of nagging, teasing little girls. “That’s a lot of women.”

  “It’s what makes me such a big hit with the gals.” He laughs a little as he says it, but I don’t doubt the truth of his words. I see the way other women in the room are watching him, aware of his tall, broad frame, blond hair, and pretty face. His features are too soft to be considered handsome, but he has an easygoing, boyish quality about him that’s undeniably attractive.

  I tilt my head as I study him. I only met Lucas two days ago, and I’ve been so distracted—by the Montauk Project, Dean, Wes—that I never considered him as anything other than a nice guy who helped me when I needed it. But for that brief moment when I thought he was flirting with me, I became aware of him in a new way. Now I’m starting to see what Mary meant about him being “drooly.”

  My cheeks burn at the thought, and I glance down at the table. “You must miss them,” I say quickly.

  “We write.” He shrugs, dismissing the topic. “So you’re settling in okay?”

  I nod and bite my lip. He mimics the motion and I laugh. Our eyes meet.

  In my peripheral vision I see a navy uniform. I quickly turn my head to see Wes standing near the side door. His gaze cuts to me for a second, a flicker of black, before he slips out of the room.

  I automatically jerk forward. “Lucas, I’m sorry, but I have to …” I rush from the table.

  “What—?” I hear Lucas ask behind me, but I’m already gone.

  The late afternoon sunlight is bright, with clouds moving in thin streaks across the sky. I stop outside the door of the church, scanning the yard in front of me. It’s empty, with neatly cut grass stretching toward a few low, scrubby-looking trees. Beyond that the dunes rise up, covered in long, swaying grass. I can just glimpse the ocean through the gaps in the sand.

  I walk across the yard, past the trees, until I reach a large dune. My shoes sink into the sand, some of it sliding into my short socks, rough against my ankle. I hop on each foot as I pull my shoes and socks off and hold them in one hand as I climb to the top of the bank.

  Wes stands on the deserted beach. From a distance he looks like someone taking a casual moment to watch the waves break against the shore. But as I get closer, I see the contained way he carries himself: the subtle stiffness in his posture, the deliberate placement of his arms and legs.

  As I walk up to him, he turns his head. The motion is so quick that I stop abruptly and drop my shoes onto the sand.

  “The soldier you were talking to. Who is he?” Wes says it so quietly that I strain to hear him over the sound of the waves. His voice is different from how it was in the woods. It’s no longer soothing and easy but stiff and slightly robotic. There is something in the way his jaw clenches that makes me think my answer is important to him.

  He stares at me as he speaks. He doesn’t fidget, he doesn’t look around. For some reason it annoys me, and I cross my arms over my chest as I answer him. “That’s none of your business.”

  He turns to face me without breaking eye contact. “Lydia. You being here isn’t right. This isn’t your time.”

  I step closer to him. I can smell the salt of the ocean, and something else—something spicy and clean, like pine needles and rain. “Why didn’t you tell me I traveled through time? And why did you help me get out of the labs?” As soon as I ask one question, I think of another, and another, and I can’t stop as they pour out of me. “Are you connected to the Montauk Project? Are you a guard there? Why didn’t you kill me for knowing too much? Who are you?”

  The corners of his lips tighten slightly.

  “This isn’t a joke,” I say coldly. “I refuse to be in the dark, stumbling around trying to figure out what’s happening.”

  “I know it’s not a joke.” He’s serious again. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  I find myself growing defensive at his tone. “It’s not like I meant to go back in time. I didn’t know what would happen in that machine. Maybe I shouldn’t have pressed a button, but I was trying to get away from you!”

  He shifts closer to me. The movement is so small it’s almost invisible but I notice it instinctively. “I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

  “I didn’t know that. I still don’t know that.”

  Wes takes a full step closer and we’re only a few feet apart. He’s tall, just a little shorter than Grant. I’m not that short, but I have to crane my neck to look up into his face. The sun is behind him and it reflects off the metal buttons of his uniform. I wonder briefly where he found it—then where he’s been sleeping and what he’s been doing for these past two days. I look at his clean-shaven face, at his newly cut military-short hair and decide he can probably take care of himself.

  “I won’t ever hurt you, Lydia.” He sounds so sincere that I feel most of my anger and fear dissolve. I’m not even surprised that he knows my name.

  I take a deep breath. I won’t let him distract me from the reason I’m here. I need answers. “Let’s start from the beginning. Why was the bunker open?”

  For a moment I think he won’t answer. Then he says, “There was a security breach. That door opened automatically. It’s not a commonly used entrance—it’s usually sealed shut.”

  “A security breach? Who was it?”

  “I …” he hesitates. “I left the Facility before the suspect was apprehended.”

  “Is that what you call the underground lab? The Facility?”

  He nods.

  The wind whips the curls around my face. I brush them away impatiently. Wes follows the movement with his eyes. We’re close enough to touch, though he keeps his hands tight against his sides.

  “I have questions about the Montauk Project,” I say. “A lot of them.”

  His face goes hard at my words, and his mouth presses into a thin line. “There’s not much I can tell you.”

  “What can you tell me?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Do you work for them?”

  No response. I lean forward, consciously invading his space. The wet pine smell is stronger, and I realize that it’s coming from him.

  “Then tell me this. Why did you follow me?”

  For the first time on the beach, Wes’s eyes leave my face, dropping down to the sand below our feet. He seems … uncertain about something.

  “I need to make sure you make it back to two thousand twelve,” he says.

  “Why is that important to you?”

  He looks up at me again. “H
ave you ever heard of the butterfly effect?”

  “You mean like when a butterfly flaps its wings in Texas and then there’s a tsunami in China?”

  One corner of Wes’s mouth tilts up. “Sort of. It’s a scientific theory about chaotic systems. Any small change can lead to unpredictable, potentially massive variations within a system.”

  “Isn’t that what I just said?”

  He smiles briefly, so quick I almost miss it. “It’s not that a butterfly flapping its wings will cause a problem somewhere else, but that it could. We can’t predict when or how those small changes happen, but they could cause untold amounts of damage to a system. Time is a system, Lydia.”

  “You’re saying that my being here will change something.”

  “It could. The more interaction you have with this time, the more you might be altering future events that have unknown consequences.” Any trace of humor leaves his face, and his voice is firm.

  If I save Dean, I’ll be changing the past. I’ll be giving my grandfather the life with his father that he’s always wanted. But no one can predict how that will affect the future.

  I gaze down at the sand and picture my grandfather as he walked away from me in the woods, the rain falling on his shoulders. He seemed so old in that moment, so broken. I know that I would do anything to stop him from hurting. And now there’s Mary, Dr. and Mrs. Bentley. If there’s some small chance that I can save Dean, I’ll only be making the future a better place for everyone.

  But what will the consequences be if Dean never disappears? Will I even exist? Is that a risk I’m willing to take?

  “You need to go home.”

  I look up at Wes, startled out of my thoughts. “What?”

  “I’ll take you. We can sneak into Camp Hero tonight.”

  I open my mouth, then close it. “I’m not going back yet,” I say finally, surprising us both.

  He stares at me for a minute. “Did you hear what I said? I’ll take you home, Lydia.”

  Home. Safe. I think of Hannah, of my mother, my father, my grandfather. I miss them. But I’ll find my way back there soon, I know I will.

  I’ve never believed in fate or coincidence. I’ve always thought that we determine our own destinies. But there is something fated about me ending up in 1944. I stumbled into a secret government project by accident, and then I pushed a button and it sent me to the exact time my great-grandfather is supposed to disappear. I have to believe this happened for a reason. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hard on Hannah and her signs.

  Change isn’t always a bad thing, and the butterfly effect is unpredictable. Wes doesn’t even know what will happen if I stay and save Dean. Helping my family now might have good consequences. There are obviously risks, but the reward, if it works, would be great.

  I take a step back, away from Wes. “I’m not going back yet.”

  His eyes narrow and I wonder if he’s angry with me, or just confused. “If you stay here, you could change everything.”

  “I know.”

  I step away from him again. Wes sighs, turns his head, and looks out at the ocean. He looks like he’s in a snapshot from World War II: the soldier standing in the sun as the waves break white and foamy near his feet.

  I try to capture the image in my mind. Neither of us belongs in this time, but it doesn’t mean we can’t fake it for a little while.

  “Lydia, I can’t let you go.” He turns back to me, and his expression is hard, set. “You don’t understand how serious this is.”

  “I do understand.”

  “If you understood, then you wouldn’t be staying in this time period. You’d be coming back with me.”

  “Wes, I—”

  “Lydia!”

  We both freeze and turn toward the voice. Mary is standing on a high dune, one hand shading her eyes as she gazes at us from across the beach.

  “I have to go,” I say to Wes. I pick up my shoes and take another step backward.

  “Lydia. Don’t.” His voice sounds ragged.

  “I’m sorry.” I move farther and farther away from him. “I have to.”

  Without another word, I turn and run back up the sand, where Mary is waiting for me.

  CHAPTER 10

  “Would you like more tea?” Elizabeth Bentley holds out a blue and white china teapot, steam drifting into the air.

  “No, thank you.” Mrs. Bentley places a delicate teacup onto the saucer in her lap.

  We’re sitting in Dean’s living room, in my house, though it looks nothing like how I’m used to it. There’s a hunter-green patterned couch in the middle of the room and a tall standing radio below the window. The walls are a soft, seafoam green, with gold leaf accents framing the ceiling.

  Mary and I sit together on the couch clutching our teacups. It’s the morning after the fundraiser, after I ran away from Wes on the beach. You could change everything, he said. I look out the window, into the familiar backyard where the branches of a dogwood tree hang heavy with thin white flowers. Wes doesn’t know it, but his words have filled me with hope. I want to change everything. I want to fix my family.

  But first I have to find out how—and if—Dean is connected to the Montauk Project.

  Peter, my grandfather, sits on the floor in front of us playing war with small metal figurines. “Pow, pow, pow,” he murmurs, knocking one of the army men onto the rug.

  When his mother disappears into the hallway, I ask, “Who’s winning?”

  “The Allies.” He doesn’t look up from his toys. “We’re bumping off those Jerrys one by one.”

  Mary fidgets in her seat. “I don’t know why we had to come over for tea,” she whispers to her mother. “Lydia and I were supposed to go to the beach with Suze and Jinx. You know I’m volunteering at Camp Hero later this afternoon. This was my only time to go.”

  “Shh,” Mrs. Bentley scolds. “This is your brother’s home. Be polite.”

  “My brother’s not even here....” She trails off as Elizabeth returns, carrying a tray of cookies.

  “Help yourself.” Elizabeth places it onto the low wooden coffee table.

  Mary snatches up one of the cookies and takes a bite.

  “Ohhh,” she sighs, “real sugar.” She finishes the cookie and reaches for another one. “How is it that you always have so many rations? First the tea, then the sugar cookies.” She drops her voice. “It’s the black market, isn’t it?”

  “Mary!” Mrs. Bentley exclaims. “The stories you come up with.”

  Elizabeth’s pale skin stands out against the dark red of her high-necked dress. “Your brother brought tea, sugar, and white flour home the other day. He said the army gave him these supplies to pass on to his family.”

  “Lucas never has stuff like this.” Mary eats the second cookie, closing her eyes as she chews.

  Mrs. Bentley picks up a cookie from the tray. “I’m sure it’s only for the senior officers.”

  “I thought we were all making do with less.”

  “That’s for us civilians, not our soldiers. They’re making the ultimate sacrifice. We do what we can on the home front.” Mrs. Bentley touches Mary gently on the arm. “That means sacrificing in a different way.”

  “Well, it just seems like some of us are sacrificing more than others.” Mary pouts.

  “Oh Mary, have another cookie.” Elizabeth hands her the plate. She sounds like she’s trying not to laugh, even as Mary glares at her. “We can all benefit from your brother’s important position.”

  Speaking of Dean. I glance toward the hallway. Mary might have been disappointed about this tea, but the minute Mrs. Bentley told us we were going, I started to plot. To find out what Dean really does at Camp Hero, I’ll need to become the spy he originally accused me of being. What better place to start than in his own house?

  I stand up, smoothing the fabric of my narrow blue skirt, another castoff from Mary. “Could you tell me where the bathroom is?”

  “Of course.” Elizabeth’s tone is cool but polite. “I
t’s down the hallway, to the right of Dean’s study.”

  “Thank you.” As they start to talk about the upcoming USO dance, I walk out of the room. Dean’s study is across the hall from the kitchen and I find it easily. The door is slightly ajar. I check the hallway to make sure I’m alone, and then I slip into the room.

  The blackout curtains are pulled tight across the small window, the only light coming from the open door behind me. There’s a wide wooden table in the center of the room, with two straight-back chairs flanking it. Neat stacks of paper rest on its surface. A large black-and-white map of the world covers one wall, with careful lines drawn across it, marking where the Allies are advancing through Europe. Another large writing desk takes up half of the opposite wall, with open compartments built into the top and drawers along one leg.

  I carefully rifle through the papers on the table. Most of the sheets are blank, and I put them aside, turning to the desk. The compartments are filled with letters, stamps, and envelopes. Moving quickly, I pull open the drawers. The top one is filled with pens and paper. The middle drawer has bills and receipts. I yank at the bottom one, but it’s stuck. I pull harder. The wood creaks, then pops open.

  I glance at the door. I’ve only been gone a minute or so, but I need to be careful. I don’t know what Dean would do if he heard I was snooping through his stuff, but I know he wouldn’t be happy. The top of the drawer is filled with papers, a deed to the house, a recent bank statement. I pull out a smaller stack of papers. They’re covered in Dean’s neat handwriting.

  “The fuse box is in the basement near the furnace,” the top one reads. “Flip the switch if one is blown.” I rifle through the sheets. They’re all like that—instructions on how to fix the furnace when it overheats, on how to refill the oil in the hot water tank.

  Why is Dean leaving his family instructions on how to maintain the house? Is he expecting to disappear? Perhaps every soldier does this in order to prepare his family for the worst.

  I put the papers back but notice a strange bundle in the very bottom, hidden underneath a file. I pull it out. It’s a small stack of magazines, held together with twine. I cut the twine with a letter opener from Dean’s desk. All six magazines are the Electrical Experimenter from 1919. One cover shows a red plane crashing into the sea. One is of a scientist holding a glowing lightbulb under the words THE TESLA WIRELESS LIGHT.