Until We Meet Again(86)

Lawrence


T he telegram from my father arrived early this morning. It lies flat on the desk. Like a wound. I try to ignore the neatly printed message and pour my pain onto the page. I pause in writing for a moment, brushing my finger lightly over one of my wounds. The place where Ned’s fists split my skin is hot to the touch. Overnight, an angry bruise has spread over the skin.

The police took Ned in last night. As it turns out, the Feds had been monitoring him from a distance, aware of his dealings with the Cartelli family. They were waiting for the announcement of the merger with Cooper Enterprises—another company they’d had their eye on—and they would have closed in.

After a restless night of sleep, it all feels like a bad dream or some sensational story I heard at a party. But then, many things have felt that way this summer.

I look back down at my writing. I’ve amassed several pages since I started. It’s as if I’m searching for the answer to how to keep Cassandra in my own words. Nothing has come. Instead, I flail in the deluge of sadness and anger and despair. The only way to breathe is to keep writing.

This telegram certainly doesn’t help.

My father’s words are written out in neat print: Bad business, this situation with your uncle. Your Aunt Eloise is quite beside herself. She’s purchased you a ticket home on the afternoon train this Tuesday, 7th of August. Don’t be late.

They’re the first words I’ve had from my father all summer. I close my eyes and set the telegram down. It’s just as well. If Cassandra is right, if tonight truly is the last time I’ll be able to see her, then I might as well be on a train back to Connecticut. If I can’t see Cassandra on that beach, then I never want to set foot on it again.

I don’t want to seem ungrateful after escaping the grasp of death, but at this moment, all I can feel is pain.

Tomorrow. I leave for home tomorrow afternoon. And tonight I say good-bye to my Cassandra.





Cassandra


t’s another perfect summer evening as I walk across

I



the lawn to the beach. A warm wind curls through

the air, and the blue of twilight almost sparkles. Hearing the

familiar sound of the ocean as I draw near, I’m overcome by

how beautiful the place really is.

Lawrence and I spent most of the day together and agreed to

meet just after sunset. I’m a little early, despite the fact that I

spent a good amount of time getting ready. I brushed my hair

in long waves, perfumed my skin, and put on the green silk

dress that’s hung unused in my closet all summer. It’s childish,

perhaps, but I want his final image of me to be beautiful.

I find myself lingering on the path. I have the strangest

desire to see if I can feel Lawrence pass through me as he

comes to the beach. Will I be able to sense him? Even separated by a hundred years?

But then movement on the shoreline draws my attention. It’s

Lawrence. He’s already there. He’s wearing his best suit. Dark

gray with elegant pinstripes, and a deep crimson tie. He dressed

for me too. For some reason, this makes me want to cry.

Lawrence looks up. At first, his eyes widen with awe, and

then a sad smile brightens his face.

“Come here,” he says, holding out his arms.

I run to him. As his arms close around me, the threat of tears

returns. This isn’t going to be a cry-fest. I swore to myself.

We break apart, and Lawrence gazes at me. “You look…

sublime.”

He cups my face in his hands, resting his forehead on mine,

and sighs. There’s a hitch in his voice.

“I don’t want to speak,” he says softly. “I know anything I

say will just be the beginning of good-bye.”

“That’s all there is left to say, Lawrence.” I can’t meet his

eyes or I’ll lose the tenuous grip I have on my emotions. “We

know we have to say it. Why prolong the inevitable?”

“No,” he says resolutely. “No, there’s so much more I have

to say to you before good-bye.”

He pulls what looks like a large envelope from his inside

jacket pocket. The pale gold paper is tied with a brown string.

I can see the shadow of words pressed through from the other

side. Lawrence puts the envelope in my palm and closes my

fingers over it with both of his hands.

“For you,” he says. “My very soul is on these pages. You can

have something to remember me by.”

Not going to cry. Two rogue tears escape and splash on the

envelope.

“And there’s something else,” he says softly. He reaches into

his pocket. When he opens his hand, a glint of light flickers

off the object in his palm. I draw a sharp breath.

It’s a sapphire ring. Blue and bright as the moon.

Wide-eyed, I look up at him. His expression is sweet and sad.

“It was my mother’s. Father gave it to her when he went to

Vienna for a summer, as a promise that he wouldn’t forget

her. She passed it on to me to give to the love of my life. I