Until We Meet Again(62)

“Tell me one true thing, Fay. Just one thing.”

She searches my gaze, as if analyzing what to say. And then,

all at once, her face hardens.

“I’ll tell you one true thing,” she says, her voice low. “You’ll

be sorry for the way you treated me, Lawrence Foster. Mark

my words.”

Glaring, she pushes past me, and this time I let her go.





Chapter 24





Cassandra


fter another long day of research at the library, the

A



thought of coming home to dodge suspicion at dinner

makes me linger in my car long after I’ve parked it. You’d think

Mom would be happy I was staying away from drugs or bingedrinking parties or whatever else most parents worry their teenagers will get into. But no. My mother is on full watch because her daughter spends too much time at the library. Who’s the

abnormal one here? Her or me?

When I finally drag myself into the house, however, only

Frank and my little brother are there. Frank’s making pancakes

for dinner and letting Eddie sit on the counter to help pour

the batter on the griddle. For a three-year-old, it’s basically the

coolest thing ever. When Eddie looks up at me, his big, blue

eyes sparkle with delight.



“We’re cookin’, Cassie!”

I come over and ruffle his hair. “I can see that. You’re doing

pretty awesome, kiddo.”



Frank flips a mostly burnt pancake high in the air and tries to catch it with the spatula. It flops back on the griddle, crumpled

in a gloopy blob. Eddie giggles loudly.

“Nice one, Frank,” I say.

He grins sheepishly. “What can I say? I’m no cook, Cassarino.”

“Clearly. Where’s Mom?”

“Having dinner with some friends.”

“Some stuck-up society ladies, you mean?”

Frank just shrugs. “Hey, if that’s her jam.” He flips another



pancake. This one tears in half. “How about you? Have a hot

date?”



I sneak a glance toward the back door. “Actually, I think I might go for a little swim or something.”

Frank smiles. “You’ve been spending a lot of time out there,

haven’t you?”

I go on alert. “Um, well, I guess. I-I really like swimming.”

“I think it’s fantástico,” Frank says, swirling his spatula with a

flourish. “It’s nice that someone is getting use out of the beach.

I always found it too rocky for swimming, but hey…”

“If that’s my jam,” I finish.

He winks and taps his nose. “Exactly.”

“Well, enjoy your pancakes,” I say, giving Eddie a quick kiss

on the top of his head.

“Enjoy your swim,” Frank says.

“I will.”

In my room, I toss my bag on the bed and am about to head

out, but passing the mirror makes me stop cold. Could I look

any more disheveled? I guess a day of intense research doesn’t

exactly lend itself to glamour. Who knew?

I instinctively reach for a T-shirt and jean shorts, but another

outfit inside the closet catches my eye. Hanging near the back

is a pale pink sundress. I had written it off as too prissy, but

tonight, it strikes me as romantic and feminine. I pull it on.

Examining myself in the mirror, I find myself pulling my hair

out of its messy bun. Loose waves fall over my bare shoulders.

Grabbing my research, I run back downstairs toward the beach.

Halfway down the path, music wafts past my ears. I pause, listening, uncertain of the source. I find it when I reach the beach.

Lawrence has been busy. A deep red blanket is spread across

the sand, held down by big, brass lanterns on each corner.

Plates of food rest all across the top. And a gorgeous, vintage

record player, the kind with the big, dark horn curling out the

side, sits in the center. Scratchy old jazz music lifts over the soft

pound of surf.

Lawrence reclines on the blanket, reading a worn book and

eating some funny-looking candies. When he notices me, he

sits up. Then he pauses, seeming to take in every inch of me.

The look in his eyes releases a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. I give the dress a self-conscious tug.

“I don’t know why I—”

“It’s lovely, Cassandra,” Lawrence says, a smile spreading over

his face. “You’re lovely. Truly.”

I blush and sit by him on the blanket. “So, what’s all this? A

picnic? Looks like mostly junk food.”

“My favorite foods. Minus Starsparkles, of course, given that

I’m supposed to forget they exist.”

“You mean Starbursts,” I say, laughing. “But I’m glad you’ve

remembered your solemn oath.”

He gives me a salute and then pops a grape in his mouth.

“You’re listening now to my favorite music,” he says, motioning to the record player.