Until We Meet Again(57)

wholesale. It seems a little hard to believe that you’re spending

your gorgeous summer days in the library.”

“Well, I am. As you can clearly see. I suppose you can give me

a little credit now.”

She shrugs. “I guess I have to. What are you doing here

anyway?” She examines an empty microfilm box labeled

“December 1, 1928–February 1, 1929.”

My hands tense on the edge of the table. It takes all my

restraint not to snatch the box away from her. Must appear

calm. Must not arouse suspicion.

“Oh nothing, really.”

Mom’s eyebrow raises, and I know I won’t get away with that

answer. My mind races. Think, Cass. There has to be something

plausible I can tell her. In desperation, I scan the secluded lower level of the library for ideas. Think. Think!

All at once, it comes to me.

“It’s something for Jade,” I say with a shrug. “She’s studying

the surrealists in the nineteen twenties. I guess she thinks we

could collaborate on a senior project for AP Art History when

she gets back.”

Mom frowns slightly, looking back at the box. I hold my breath.

“Well…it seems pretty unfair of her to ask you to spend your

summer holed up in the library while she flits around Paris.”

I swallow a sigh of relief. “It’s fine. She’s doing research in

Paris. Granted, it’s more entertaining, but c’est la vie.”

Mom looks into my eyes. It’s that “I’m trusting you to be

honest with me” gaze that has leveled me many times before.

And sure enough, guilt surges through me. I hate lying to her.

I avoid it at all costs. But this is different. I could never explain this to her. At best, she’d think I was crazy and worry even more.

At worst, she’d ban me from the beach. So I give her a smile and

pat her arm.

“I’ll be fine, Mom. You can go knowing you’ve done your

motherly duties and checked up on me.”

Her eyes narrow. “Okay, but I want you home for dinner.

Five thirty. Not one minute late, you understand? And we’re

spending time together as a family after that. It seems like

between this research business and your newfound love of running, I barely see you.”

I bite my lip. Dinner is doable. Spending a night with the

family is out of the question. But I’ll cross that bridge when I

come to it.

“Sure, Mom. I’ll be there.”

She gives me a kiss on the top of my head. “Don’t you study

too hard, okay? School is great, but during the summer, you

need to be out enjoying the world.”

“Okay, Mom.”





h


When dinnertime rolls around, I’m not ready to leave the library. But time keeps moving, no matter how much you want it to wait. I’d never before realized how precious a minute could be. An hour. A day. They pass by so fast, and you can’t do anything to stop them.

I trudge up the steps into the main wing of the library. As I reach the top step, my eyes fall on a painting hung across the way. Light from the sunroom above has illuminated the painting despite the nearly hidden obscurity of its placement.

I can’t say why, but I find myself walking toward it. It’s a painting of a beach—not exactly our beach, but similar. Above the indigo water, a full moon glows. The light from the moon paints over the ocean and the shore in a thick band. Something about that moon pricks at my brain.

Wasn’t it a full moon when I met Lawrence? In my mind, I picture it. I remember a pulse of light that seemed to flash across the waves, but I’m not sure if that really happened, or if it was a dream. That whole first meeting feels like a movie that I watched happen to someone else.

I stare at the painting for a moment before leaving, a strange, disconcerted feeling coiling around me. As I walk through the automatic doors of the library’s main exit, I toss another glance back at the painting. The pale circle of the moon in the painting stands out across endless shelves and stacks of books between.

Walking to my car, I pull out my phone and type “next full moon” into my Google app. A little moon icon pops up, along with the information.

The next full moon is August 6. I draw in a sharp breath. August 6. The day after Lawrence is supposed to be killed. I stop in my tracks. What does it mean?

I need to go home and get some food in my system. I’m seriously starting to crack.

As I drive away, however, I can’t help but feel that this is all somehow significant.





Chapter 22





Cassandra


inner has never lasted so long. Don’t get me wrong. I

D



love my family. Frank’s up to his usual corny humor,

and Eddie is his always adorable self. But all I can think about

is Lawrence. The anxiety has been building all day. I have to

see him soon or I’m going to go genuinely insane.

I’m almost done helping Mom clean up from dinner when

Frank marches in, holding Candyland like a waiter presenting