Until We Meet Again(10)

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.