Until We Meet Again(40)

through my somber silence like a firecracker. I spin around.

It’s Lawrence. The sight of his warm brown eyes and tall, lean

frame shatters me. He’s dressed in a light khaki shirt and dark

slacks, his sandy hair tousled. He’s even more beautiful than I

remembered. His eyes light up with surprise, and then a heartbreakingly joyful smile.

“You came back!”

I rush to him, unable to speak. Lawrence closes the gap

between us. All I can feel is the thud of my heart. All I can

see is the faintly blurred print from the Crest Harbor Sentinel:

“Following the tragic murder of his nephew, Lawrence Foster,

on the property’s private beach.”

“I can’t believe it,” he says, beaming. “I came every day,

hoping against hope that you’d change your mind.”

Tears sting my eyes. Keep it together, Cass. Keep. It. Together.

Lawrence grips my arms. “Is it really you? Or are you some

beautiful vision coming to torment me?”

This makes me smile, in spite of the agony inside. “It’s almost

like you’re happy to see me, Lawrence.”

“Happy is an understatement,” he says, beaming.

I should go. I’ve seen him now, and every second that I stand

here in front of him, I feel the weight of the information I

know. I should walk away while I still can.

“What made you change your mind?” he asks.

“It’s a long story.”

“I know what you mean.” Suddenly his expression shifts to

seriousness. “I thought about you every day, Cassandra. You

have no idea how glad I am that you came back.”

I’m not sure how much of this I can take. I’m going to break.

Any second, I’m going to break.

“Cassandra.”

“Yes?” My voice breaks.

“Will you walk with me for a bit?”

Once again, logic is shattered by the hammer of emotion. “Sure.”

Lawrence holds out his forearm for me. I’ve seen enough old

movies to know why. I lace my arm in his. He tucks it close.

A rush of pleasure zips through my stomach. Being around

him again, touching him, smelling the faint tinge of his vintage

cologne, fills me with a dangerous amount of happiness.

It’s still a beautiful morning. Perhaps a bit cooler than it

should be at the end of July. Two gulls cry at each other as

they swoop overhead. I wonder which world they come from,

Lawrence’s or mine. Or are they also separated by a century of

time? For some reason, thinking about it depresses me.

Lawrence leads us toward the far point, where the waves are

most tumultuous.

“I don’t think a week has ever felt so long,” he says as we

walk slowly.

“I know what you mean.”

He smiles, but this only twists the blade deeper in my gut.

He doesn’t deserve to die. Not in a homicide. It can’t be true.

Why does it have to be true?

We come to a rocky ledge at the base of the point. Lawrence

climbs up, then holds out his hand to help me up. I wobble

a little on my climb, nearly slipping. He grabs for my other

hand. As he helps me to the higher ledge, we’re face-to-face for

a moment. Separated by little more than a breath. My eyes fall

to his lips, but I force myself to step away.

“You’re pretty quiet,” Lawrence says as we head to the end of

the point. “Is something wrong?”

Yes, Lawrence. Yes. The worst possible thing. The words

scream in my head: “following the tragic murder of his nephew,

Lawrence Foster, on the property’s private beach.”

“I’m fine,” I say weakly.

His eyes sweep over my face. He can see I’m holding something

back. I force a little smile and lead on, inwardly kicking myself. I

can’t be weak. I’ve been through this in my mind, assessing every

possible path. You can’t cheat Death. It’s a fact. And you can’t

mess with fate. Telling Lawrence that he’s going to die in a week

could set into motion the very events that will bring it to pass.

I close my eyes and try to breathe. I will be strong. I’m not

going to tell him. I’m just going to spend a little bit longer with

him, say good-bye, and move on with my life.

Waves slam against the craggy rocks at the tip of the point.

With each thundering crash, a faint mist of water tingles on my

skin. Wind bites at me, but the view of the shore, stretching for

miles in either direction, makes the elements worth braving.

Lawrence finds a somewhat smooth patch of rock near the

edge and sits. I hesitate but ultimately can’t resist sitting down

next to him. He scoots closer, smiling, and I have to fight the

impulse to nuzzle my face into his shoulder. The desire to feel

his arms around me rages through my heart. I stare out at the

horizon to keep from bursting.

“I’m facing a crossroads,” Lawrence says, also looking out