Until We Meet Again(39)

I’m too tired pursue it. “I’ll turn in.”

Ned calls my name as I reach the door to my room. I pause

in the doorway.

“You must use your head about these things,” he says. “You’re

a smart lad. A lot of people expect great things from you.” His

brow lowers. “You will marry Fay Cartwright. By the end of the

summer. Set your mind on that fact.”





Chapter 15





Cassandra


should have seen this coming. The ultimate test of my





I


resolve. After all my big talk about preserving the timespace continuum, now I find myself sitting on the back porch in the early morning, staring at the pathway to the beach.



I know I shouldn’t do it. I should stand my ground. Telling

Lawrence what I know might set off the butterfly effect. And

who knows what could happen next? What if the next person

to vanish from existence was Mom or Frank or Eddie?

It’s nearly dawn. Above me, the clouds are a swirl of silver,

steely blue, and watered pink with the early light. Closing

my eyes, I picture the way the beach would look right now,

the water all soft and metallic, the sand pristine and cool.

Unbidden, the image of Lawrence appears near the shore. He’s

waiting for me. Once again, I can see him taking me into his

arms and pressing his lips to my cheek.

I push my hands to my eyes, bending over into my lap. This

is torture. I’ve spend the last forty-eight hours going back and

forth about what to do. And no matter how many times I come

to the proper, logical conclusion, my emotions always take over.

How can I not go to see him again? Am I really supposed to

know what I know and simply carry on as usual? Can’t I see

him once more, just to say good-bye?

Those questions always lead to the one overwhelming

dilemma.

How can I not tell Lawrence that he’s going to be killed?

Honestly, how am I supposed to keep this information to

myself? The guy has less than two weeks to live. He ought to

know. Maybe if he knows, he can avoid it. Murdered. The word

sends a churning sensation through my stomach. I grip two

fists full of my hair and try to breathe.

I envision the beach again, all watery blue in the dawn light,

and this time imagine a bloodstain spreading across the sand.

And in that moment, my body makes the decision for me.

I’m on my feet. I’m walking across the cold, wet grass. I’m going

to the beach, and all the reason in the world can’t stop me.

As I pass through the bushes, the air takes the heavy, surreal

quality of a dream. A nightmare. Calm down, Cass. He’s probably not even going to be there. If he is, you have no idea what you’re going to say, what you’re going to do. You’re insane to

keep walking, but you knew that already. He’s not going to be

there. He’s…

Not there.

The beach is empty. Like it always is. Rocks. Water. That’s it.

My feet drag out a few steps. I close my eyes. I can’t be

surprised about this. I told him I’d never come back to the

beach. Despite what he said, he obviously gave up hope that

I would change my mind. Coming out here today was futile.

I flop onto the ground, trying hard not to cry. But I’m sitting

in the spot where we first met. My fingers trace a line in the

cold, gray sand, every part of me aching.

Then I notice the wide indent. It’s a footprint. Men’s shoes.

Frank hasn’t come out here since we moved in. And no one

else would be walking around in men’s shoes.

It was him! He was here. Swallowing hard, I hover over the

print, touching it lightly with my hand. It’s old. Probably

made yesterday.

I look to the bushy path. Wind pulls strands of hair across

my face, but no one’s there. I missed him. One day late, and I

missed him.

I could scream. Falling back on my knees, I swipe my hand

over the shoe print, sending the sand flying to the wind. Curse

me and my stupid hesitation.

“Ughhhhhhhhhhh,” I say loudly, smashing my fists to my

forehead. “You suck, Cass.”

I sit for a long time, partly out of despair, partly out of a crazy

hope that he’ll come. The waves break against the sand: curling, crashing, rushing up the shore in white lacey foam, and then pulling back to the sea. I watch the pattern repeat itself

until I’ve lost count. I wait, hating myself more each minute

for missing my chance. My chance to say good-bye. A chance

to help him.

But Lawrence doesn’t come. I finally have to accept the reality that he’s gone for good. My legs feel heavy as I pull myself up. I don’t bother to brush the sand from my knees. I’ll carry it

back to the house. My last memento of this place. Because one

thing’s for sure, I’m never coming back.

The sound of footsteps rustling through the bushes bursts