Until We Meet Again (15 page)

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.

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

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.
I point to the book he’d been reading when I arrived. “Your
favorite poetry?”
He nods, and then his smile fades. I touch his hand.
“I want to enjoy them all,” he says. “In case…it’s my last
chance to do so.”
I squeeze his hand. “It won’t be. Don’t even let yourself think
it.” I hold up the papers I brought. “Look. I did tons of research
into Cooper Enterprises today. There’s some really incriminating stuff. We’ve got our culprit. Here, look at this.”
“Cassandra…”
“Just one second. Let me find this article…”
As I shuffle through the pages, Lawrence sets his hand over
mine. He pulls the pages away gently and sets them aside.
“Not tonight,” he says.
“We have to discuss this, Lawrence. There isn’t any other
time to do it.”
“I know.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to take a break, but we’re down to
the wire here. We have three days. Less than three days. We
have to figure this out now.”
A soft, thumping sound draws Lawrence’s attention. It’s
the record player, reaching the end of the song. He lifts the
needle gently. For a moment, he studies the four records resting
against the player before choosing one. A women’s soft, melancholy voice drifts out of the horn. Lawrence stands and holds
out a hand. “Dance with me?”
“Lawrence…”
“Please, Cassandra. Just one dance.”
We need to discuss my research. It’s the key to keeping
Lawrence safe. And yet I find myself standing. He slides an
arm around my waist and takes my hand in the other. Gently,
he pulls me close, and we start to sway to the music. Lawrence
moves with confidence and ease. He doesn’t take his eyes from
mine. He’s different tonight. So much more intense than
normal, and it’s making me all fluttery. I can’t stay with the
beat, and I keep stumbling over the blanket.
Lawrence presses a single kiss on my cheek. “You’re a pretty
lousy dancer. You know that?”
“Hey! Do you want me to step on your foot?”
“More than you have already?”
“Careful. I have access to futuristic weapons that will blow
your nineteen-twenties mind.”
He laughs. “You’re right. I don’t know who I’m dealing with.”
“No. No, you don’t.”
He twirls me out for a spin, which I only barely complete.
“I propose we be done with dancing now,” I say, sitting down.
Lawrence comes beside me. “On one condition.”
“Okay…”
“No more of this,” he says, pressing a hand over my printouts.
“But
Lawrence—”
“Please,” he says. “I know it’s important, but it’s not the way
I want to spend one of my last nights.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I have to say it, Cassandra. We both have to accept the fact
that, no matter how hard we try or what we know, I will probably die on Saturday.”
The cold truth of his words stare me down, unavoidable.
Lawrence holds my hands firmly. “Tonight, I want to live. I
want to be with you. I want to show you the things I love and
I want you to show me the things you love. Give me one night,
Cassandra, and then tomorrow we’ll go back to dodging fate.”
“Can you give me tonight?” he whispers.
I nod. He presses a kiss to my lips. My heart blossoms,
wanting more. I meet his lips with passion. He pulls back, an
amused smile tugging at his mouth.
“Easy, dollface. I’ll be here all night.”
“Oh please! You’re the one who brought a blanket, not to
mention your puppy-dog-eyed request to enjoy your favorite
things one last time. Don’t try to tell me this isn’t an elaborate
scheme to get in my pants.”
Lawrence laughs, seemingly shocked and delighted by my
talk. He puts a hand over his heart.
“I had no intention of defiling you, I swear it. Unless, of
course, you want to be…”
I go to elbow him, but he pulls me against his chest. The momentum makes us topple to the ground, and I land on top of him.
“Why, Cassandra!” Lawrence says with feigned shock.
I punch his shoulder and then kiss him hard.
When we sit up, Lawrence unbuttons his shirt collar. “I think
you and I need something to cool off.”
“Don’t tell me you want to go swimming.”
He searches the food on the blanket and then grabs two glass
bottles. He holds them up.
“How about a Coca-Cola instead?”
“Nice!” He tosses me a bottle and I examine it. “Vintage Coke.
They’ve stopped putting cocaine in it by the Twenties, right?”
Lawrence shrugs and lifts his Coke. “So what should we
toast to?”
“To tonight,” I say, clinking my bottle to his.
“Here’s to not getting a wink of sleep.”
I raise my eyebrows as we sip our drinks. He totally wants me.
But for the next few hours, things stay completely tame.
After a quick trip back to the house to make Mom think I’m
in bed, I sneak back out, and we eat every single piece of candy
and cookie on the picnic blanket. Then Lawrence tries to teach
me to Charleston, an endeavor that doesn’t end well. We listen
to every one of his records, dancing like fools. Well, I look like
a fool. Lawrence may be from the Twenties, but the boy has
swagger. It’s incredibly sexy.
After the records, we drink more Coke and then walk along
the shore break, laughing and running as the waves splash
against our legs. Lawrence recites poetry. I draw a portrait of
him in the wet sand. We talk endlessly about everything.
It’s perfection.
We finally settle on the blanket. I lay tucked in Lawrence’s
arms, gazing up at the stars. The rhythm of the waves lull us
into a drowsy silence.
“Cassandra,” Lawrence finally says.
“Mmm?”
He turns on his side to look at me. He brushes a lock of
windblown hair from my face. “I don’t know what will happen
in three days…”
“You
shouldn’t—”
He sets his fingers against my lips. “I don’t know what will
happen on Saturday, but I’ve decided it doesn’t matter. No
matter what, I’m lucky to have met you. And if I have to die, if
fate insists on having me, then I’ll leave this life happy. Because
I met you. Because I was able to know you and love you. Even
if just for a few weeks.”
A lump lodges in my throat. But it’s too late. I have no control over my emotions at two in the morning.
“You love me?” I ask, my voice choked.
He nods, stroking the back of his fingers down my cheek. “I
do. I’m in love with you, Cassandra.”
I can barely process his words without crying.
“I’m going to save you,” I whisper.
“But don’t you see? You already have. My soul is full just
knowing you.”
My eyes tingle with the threat of tears. “I’m in love with you
too. I can’t lose you. I need to know that all of this wasn’t for
nothing.”
He sets his hand to my cheek. “You have me tonight. That’s
all we can know for certain.”
I hold his gaze, yearning to feel the calm that he possesses.
And then I understand. Either one of us could die in the next
three days. We could die tomorrow. All we have is right now. A
fire burns through every inch of me. I kiss his hand.
“Then let’s make tonight count,” I whisper.
He kisses me, his lips soft and achingly sweet. Lawrence pulls
me on top of him, and every nerve end tingles with sensation.
I’ll worry about tomorrow later. For this one breathtaking,
beautiful moment, we have forever.

are wrapped in each other’s arms and the blanket, but
it’s still chilly enough to wake me. In a way, it’s a good thing. I
need to sneak back inside before Mom wakes up. I turn a little,
searching for my phone amid the tangle of blanket.

Lawrence releases a sigh in his sleep, drawing my attention.
He looks so sweet that I impulsively want to kiss his eyelids.
Thinking about last night, a rush of heat crackles over my
cheeks and neck. I’m instantly self-conscious. Does my breath
stink? Do I look like death warmed over?

Not that Lawrence would say anything if I did. I lay back on
the blanket and watch him for a minute. This whole situation
still feels like a weird dream. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that a
tiny part of me wonders if he’s a ghost. An even bigger part of
me wonders if there’s really any chance to save him.

I touch Lawrence’s hand lightly, feeling the smoothness of
his skin. I’ve been so focused on trying to figure out who’s
going to hurt him that I’ve barely entertained the question
of what comes next. Each moment I’ve spent with Lawrence
has been with the urgency that it could be our last. What will
happen when we can be together without limits? And more
importantly, where will we be together? We can’t stay on the
beach forever. So whose world do we settle in? Mine? His? Can
I really leave my life behind to be with him? Can I ask him to
do the same?

The questions pile on, and I pull my hand from Lawrence’s.
Unease seeps into what should be a perfect morning. I close
my eyes, wanting to unthink these thoughts.

Lawrence shifts beside me. He opens his eyes, blinking
slowly. A smile spreads across his face.
“It wasn’t a dream then.”
This makes me smile as well. “Nope.”
He stretches with a happy sigh. “Divine.” I laugh a little, and
he traces a line along my jaw. “You’re perfection, Cassandra.”
“Mental note: Lawrence is particularly complimentary in
the mornings.”
He smiles. “You should take advantage of that more often
in the future.”
“I’ll try.” But his mention of the future calls back the unsettled feeling. I check the time on my phone. Six a.m.
“What’s that?” Lawrence asks, resting his chin on my shoulder. His messy morning hair is outrageously cute. I tuck my
phone beneath me, giving him a quick kiss.
“Futuristic stuff. You’re not allowed to see it yet.”
“If you insist.” But he darts a hand to my pocket to try to
grab it.
“Hey!” I successfully pull away my phone, and he grabs my
key ring instead.
“Aha!” He says. “I’ve got your…” He holds up my keys,
examining them with a furrowed brow. “What on earth is
this thing?”
I laugh. I carry a lot of junk on my key ring. It must look
like a pretty crazy contraption to him.
He holds up my house key. “This is some kind of key, but
what are these other things?”
I grab the little stuffed elephant. “Meet Charles Xavier. I got
him in junior high. Long story, that one.”
“And this?” he asks, touching my mini flashlight.
“Push that little button there, and see for yourself.”
He does, and the flashlight glows white and then flashes red.
Lawrence startles and stares with amazement. It’s pretty adorable.
“Do I even want to know what this one does?” he asks,
pointing to the pepper spray.
“Actually, no. You don’t. All I’ll say is that it’s a weapon of
sorts. Meant to protect me from bad guys.”
He turns an awed look at me. “Fascinating.”
“Trust me, there are way cooler things in the future than this
piddly little key ring.”
“What kinds of things?” he asks. “Describe them to me.”
I waggle a finger at him. “No more future talk. We’re in a
precarious situation as it is. Let’s not push our luck.” I sit up
and pull my fingers through my hair, which must look like
a mangled sloth perched on my head. “Speaking of which, I
think we should plan our next three days.”
Lawrence sighs. “Back to business.”
“Um, yes. We don’t know how things are going to play out
on Saturday. So today and tomorrow is our last, safe, fortyeight-hour period. We have to make it count.”
“Make it count?” Lawrence repeats, looking at me with a
hopeful smile.
I shove him. “You know what I mean.”
“Killjoy,” he says glumly.
I start gathering the papers from last night. “Is everything
still going as planned with the party Saturday? Nothing out of
the ordinary?”
He starts to shake his head but stops. His brow furrows. He’s
quiet, as if he’s wrestling with an idea.
“Lawrence?” I touch his arm. “What is it?”
“Well…something happened.”
Fear unfolds in me. “What?”
“It didn’t have anything to do with Cooper Enterprises.”
“Okay. So tell me.”
Lawrence shakes his head. “It seems like madness to
even suggest.”
“Spit it out, Lawrence. You’re scaring me here.”
“See if you learn anything about the Cartelli family from
New York. Lower East Side.”
What’s with the sudden shifty eyes?
“Okay…”

He releases a slow sigh. “See if the name Fay Cartelli
comes up.”
“Fay Cartelli. Got it.” He doesn’t look at me. I draw a little
swirl in the sand, trying not to feel suspicious. “So, who is
she?”
His cheeks flush with color. “Have I never mentioned her?”
“You haven’t.”
“She’s a…friend of mine.”
My heart drops. “A friend.”
He seems uncomfortable. “Essentially… Perhaps a bit more.”
I want him to be joking, but I can tell he’s not. I try desperately to keep calm. “Oh.”
“Cassandra, it’s not like it sounds.”
“So, she’s not your girlfriend?”
“No…not exactly.”
“What does that mean? ‘Not exactly.’”
He rubs the bridge of his nose. This time, his silence tells me
everything I need to know. I push to my feet. Lawrence jumps
up after me.
“I meant every word I said last night. I love you, Cassandra.”
I shake my head but don’t dare speak. “Fay means nothing to
me,” he says. “She never did. And once I met you, she meant
even less.”
“But that didn’t stop you from dating her?”
“Don’t be this way. Please, Cassandra. I never gave myself to
her. You have to believe me.”
I can’t even look at him. “I need some time.”
He sighs. “Time is the one thing we don’t have.”
Bitterness rises in my throat. “You think I don’t know that?”
It’s taking every ounce of my strength not to cry. “I have to go.
My mom will be up soon.”
“Cassandra, please.” He sounds miserable. “Will you come
back?”
I turn back to the house without responding.
“I’ll wait here,” he says. “All day if I have to.”
Back in my room, I crawl into bed and curl up in a ball
beneath the blanket, body and spirit spent. I lie there for at
least an hour, eyes shut, heart aching with each beat. But sleep
won’t come. It’s probably just as well.
Eventually, the clanking sounds of breakfast being cooked
drift up into my room. I have no intention of going downstairs, but the longer I lie here, the more I realize that I can’t
risk getting on Mom’s bad side. I slink down to the kitchen
and sit zombie-like through breakfast with Mom, Eddie, and
Frank. They’re discussing a sailing trip up the coast for the
weekend. I feel like my insides are being ripped apart. I want
to be furious with Lawrence, but I may only have two days
left with him. Do I really want to waste them being angry?
Last night was very special. Some people never get the chance
to have that kind of romance. I know that. I can’t let my
insecurities taint that. But to think of Lawrence being with
another girl… it makes me physically exhausted.
After breakfast, I drag myself upstairs and collapse on my
bed. I get under my blanket again. Part of me wants to stay
here the rest of the day and feel sorry for myself. But thankfully, the rest of me knows I can’t do that. It’s already nearly
eleven. The day is slipping away. Every minute I waste in this
bed is a minute I could be spending with Lawrence.
Rolling onto my back, I press my hands over my eyes, wishing I could push the knowledge of this Fay girl out of my head.
But I can’t. So it’s time to grow up and deal instead of sulking
about it. Lawrence is all that matters now.
I grab my laptop and flop it on my stomach. I enter “Fay
Cartelli” into the search engine. It’s a long shot, I know.
Sure enough, I find the website for a graphic designer in
Dallas. Some random girl’s Facebook page. Pursing my lips to
the side, I try “Fay Cartelli 1925.”
After sifting through five pages of search results, I find nothing. I try at least ten more variations of her name, adding different words with no success.
And then I search: “Cartelli Lower East Side New York
1925.” On the second page, I notice a site dedicated to New
York during Prohibition. It’s right there.
The Cartellis. A prominent crime family from the Lower
East Side.
The hair on the back of my neck prickles. I stare at the
screen. It can’t be possible. There are probably dozens of
Cartellis on the Lower East Side. The likelihood of one of
them being related to this Fay chick is astronomically small.
But then…what if? We’re dealing with a murder here. Last
time I checked, murder is kind of the mob’s specialty. Of
course, you have to wonder why they would bother killing a
seventeen-year-old living in ritzy Massachusetts.
Unless, of course, he was cheating on their daughter. The
thought slams me right in the chest.
Am I the reason Lawrence is killed?