Until We Meet Again(22)

drawer with a tug. I pull out my notes and scan over the words.

Almost like a portal, they draw me right back to the emotions

of yesterday. It’s afternoon now. Cassandra might be waiting

for me. I set the pages down and soar out of my room.

Uncle Ned is in the library, sipping a brandy and reading the

paper. As I rush by, he sits up abruptly.

“There you are, Lonnie! Being the slouch today, are you? You

know, you missed Fay coming by.”

“Don’t worry. I saw her.” I make a motion to the door. “Have

to run, Ned.”

Without waiting for his reply, I continue on to the back

patio. Each step over the back lawn feels longer than the last.

My breath is as fast and short as my heartbeat. Breaking into a

full run, I crash through the bushy path.

But the beach is empty.

Waves lap against the shore in slim, white lines. Gulls screech

overhead and dip in the salty wind. But no Cassandra. A line of

doubt cuts into my heart. She should be here. I don’t want to even

approach the what-ifs, but they creep up on me all the same.

What if the doorway that allowed us to see each other has

closed? What if she’s gone forever? What if she can come back,

but she doesn’t want to? I stare at the shabby green bushes,

which quiver in the ocean wind.

She’ll come back. She has to come back. I plant myself on the

sand, facing the pathway. I’ll wait all day and night if I have to.

I’m not leaving until I see her one more time.





Chapter 8





Cassandra


stand at the entrance to the pathway. My eyes are





I


closed. My hand brushes against the bushes. The

smell of ocean and greenery hangs on the wind. The gentle

repetition of breaking waves pulses in my ears. I’m here. I’m

awake and very much alive. This moment is real. So, whatever

happens when I walk through these bushes will also be real.

Exhaling deeply, I open my eyes. Let’s do this.

One step follows another, each growing more confident.

And even before I set my foot on the sand, I catch sight of

him. He’s sitting on the beach, both hands pressed together

at his lips, watching the bushes with a look of deep concentration. When he spots me, his eyes light up. He jumps to his feet.

As he walks toward me, his enthusiasm shifts to a satisfied

nod. “So, it wasn’t a dream then.”

“No. Not unless this has been the longest, most elaborate

dream in human history.”

“It’s good to see you,” he says. “For a while there, I thought

you might not come.”

“That was definitely a possibility. Last night left me pretty

shaken up.”

“I barely slept,” Lawrence concedes.

“That makes two of us.”

Standing here with him feels surreal and oddly normal at the

same time. I don’t know what it should feel like to be honest.

I realize I’ve been staring at Lawrence for at least thirty seconds in complete silence. He doesn’t seem to mind, but I look away quickly.

“So,” I say awkwardly. “What happens now?”

Lawrence shakes his head. “I confess. I don’t really have a

plan. I just…knew I wanted to see you again.”

I narrow my eyes. “Has this whole thing been an elaborate

plot to date me? You know, you could have just asked me out.”

He lifts his hands like he’s been caught. “Was it so obvious?”

I try to hold my serious expression, but his badly hidden

smile makes us both laugh.

“No, but seriously,” I say. “You’re really from nineteen twentyfive? Like, for real?”

“Afraid I am.”

“You walk into that house, and it’s nineteen twentyfive?”

“Correct.”

I rub my forehead. “It’s so weird.”

“You said it,” he murmurs in an adorable 1920s style of

agreement.

1920s. It might be my imagination, but length of the beach

we’re standing on has taken on an almost eerie change. What

was once a simple coastline is now host to an unbelievable

truth. How is it possible that Lawrence and I are here together?

How is this happening? Why this beach? And why now? My

eyes move from the rocky point on one end of the cover to the

other. An idea bubbles up.

“What if we tried going down one of those paths?” I ask,

pointing. “Do you think the same thing would happen?”

“It’s a good question.”

“We should test it,” I say.

“It’s certainly worth a try.”

We start to climb out to the closer point. It’s windy, but the

heat of the afternoon spreads down in brilliant white light. The

crash of waves against the rocks fills the air with a salty mist

that almost sparkles in the sun.