Until We Meet Again(73)

I play my cards right with Mom, we can work this out. And

then I can get back to the beach. Lowering my gaze penitently,

I head into the house.

Mom follows me all the way up into my room. I sit on my

bed, trying to think of the perfect, humble thing to say.

“I expected so much more from you, Cass.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough. It’s going to take time to earn back

my trust.”

She starts to close the door but pauses. “Oh, and while we’re

on the subject, there’s no way you’re staying home tomorrow.”

“What?”

“You’re coming on the sailing trip. I’m going to keep a close

watch on you. Whoever this boy is, he can fend for himself

tomorrow.”

No. No. This isn’t happening. I jump to my feet, staring at Mom

in complete horror. But she’s unmoved. Without flinching, she

pulls the door shut. With a harsh bang, I’m sealed in my room.

And Lawrence is on his own.





Chapter 29





Lawrence


ow would you spend your last day on earth? It’s a

H

popular party game to ask around a circle. I can’t

remember now what I’ve said. I’d never imagined I’d spend my

last hours on the beach.



Waiting.

It’s been hours, but she still hasn’t come back. Watching

the sun set slowly on my final day, it hits me that she might

not come back at all. Maybe she got into more trouble than I

thought. Maybe she’s sick or hurt. Maybe the strain of trying

to save me became too much, and she left forever. Moved on to

less bizarre, more uncomplicated relationships.

I want her back. It’s more than I can bear. I’m exhausted from

the desperate loneliness of waiting here, staring at the bushes,

yearning for her to come.

And then, at long last, I hear the rustle of branches. My heart

leaps into my throat. I spring to my feet.

But it isn’t Cassandra. It’s Aunt Eloise. I feel like I’ve been

thrown against a wall and shattered into a million pieces.

“There you are, Lonnie!” she cries. “Ned’s been looking everywhere for you! How long have you been out here?”

I’m so disappointed I can hardly speak. “Not long.”

Eloise bustles over to me, frowning deeply. “I was hoping

you’d help me get things ready for your uncle’s party tomorrow.” She looks me over. “Are you all right? You’re quite pale.”

“I’m fine,” I say, but I can’t even manage a forced smile to

assuage her concern.

Her frown deepens. She reaches out and puts her hand to my

forehead. “I believe you’re ill, Lon. Come inside and rest.”

“I’ll be all right. I’d like to stay out here and think a little more.”

Eloise stammers. “Well, you can’t. It’s suppertime. I have to

be heading back home, you know.”

“I’m sorry I missed your visit today,” I say, the words falling

from my lips with no conviction.

“Well, Ned has someone he wants you to meet.”

I swallow my frustration with Aunt Eloise. She isn’t trying

to be tedious. I have no intention of eating tonight, but I can

see that she’s not going to leave me alone until I come inside.

With a sigh, I head back to the house. Eloise struggles to keep

up with my pace.

“Better go in and freshen up, Lon,” she says. “He’s a very important guest for your uncle. Businessman. A bigwig, Ned says.”

I stop in my tracks and Eloise nearly crashes into me.

“Jerome Smith?”

Eloise blinks, startled. “What?”

“Ned’s guest,” I say, speaking carefully so she’ll understand the

gravity of the question. “Is he a bigwig from Cooper Enterprises?”

“I believe so. You know I don’t follow those kinds of things,

Lonnie. I can barely keep up with Ned’s dinner conversations.”

She motions me back inside. The house looms ahead, glowing through the darkness of night. It’s inviting and lovely. And yet my feet plant in the grass. My knees are locked, and a persistent ringing sound is growing louder in my ears. A chill I can’t shake rushes over my entire body.

So it begins.

We enter the house. I walk Aunt Eloise to the door, perhaps to

stall the inevitable. But once she’s on her way home, I have no

choice. I have to face whatever this night will bring. Each step

feels like something out of a strange, shadowy dream. I can hear

Ned and his guest talking. Their voices sound cordial enough,

but my stomach crawls. I move stiffly into the dining room.

I expect to see the heartless assassin from the warehouse, but

Jerome Smith looks quite normal. He’s older, with a thick,

white mustache and an expensive suit. He appears rich and

snobbish, not evil. And yet as I enter the room and he looks up,