Until We Meet Again

by Renee Collins

  Ned’s eyes stay on me. I swallow hard. At least I’m wearing a dress, not jean shorts and a tank top. Even still, I can’t help feeling that Lawrence’s uncle knows I’m out of place. As if my very presence screams, “Not from 1925!” But he couldn’t possibly know. Could he?

  “I’ll see Cassandra down the beach,” Lawrence says casually. “Won’t be long.”

  “Of course,” Ned says. “But don’t dawdle, Lon. We don’t want to be late.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ned hesitates, glancing back at me, but then heads toward the house. His house, I guess. As it was in 1925.

  As soon as he leaves, I release the breath I’ve been holding. Lawrence says, “I’m sorry about that. I think we gave you quite a scare.”

  “Um, you could say that.”

  “Ned can be a little gruff, but he’s a swell guy. Don’t worry about him.”

  But I am worried. It can’t be good that he saw me. Even if he bought Lawrence’s story, it seems dangerous that I was seen by someone from his time.

  “Are you going to explain what you were talking about?”

  In an instant, the brightness on Lawrence’s face vanishes. He sighs. “We’re headed to a wake. Billy Howard died yesterday.” He shakes his head. “Sorry, I forget you wouldn’t know him. He was a friend of mine. We weren’t close, but were both going to start at Harvard in the fall.”

  I set my hand on Lawrence’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It was a motor-car accident. He…well, Billy liked a good party. I guess he was a little drunk, and he didn’t see the road turn ahead…”

  I shudder. “That’s awful.”

  Lawrence turns his eyes to the sea. “I should have been there.”

  “Don’t blame yourself, Lawrence. It’s not your—”

  “No, I mean it. I was supposed to go with him, but I came to meet you instead.”

  My stomach drops. “Oh gosh.”

  Lawrence goes on as if he hadn’t heard me. “I told him I would go along. If I had, Billy wouldn’t have been driving that car. I would have. And I would have made that turn, and—”

  “You can’t think like that. It’ll make you crazy.”

  “I know… I just…” Suddenly, Lawrence throws his arms around me. He holds me tightly. I’d be thrilled at our first embrace if my heart didn’t ache for him.

  “I can’t stop picturing it,” he whispers.

  I hug him back, setting my head on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault. Sometimes bad things just happen.”

  “I know. You’re right, but I still feel responsible.” He breaks his grip. “Forgive me. I’ve felt low all morning.”

  “I wish there were something I could do.”

  “Meet me here later?”

  “Are you sure you’ll be up for hanging out?”

  “I’d like the distraction. Perhaps not tonight, as we’ll be comforting Billy’s family. But tomorrow night?” A sad half smile tugs at his lips. “I still need to give you your surprise.”

  “Oh gosh, you don’t need to worry about that.”

  “I want to.” He looks back down the path. “I should probably go now. Ned’s waiting. But I really do want to see you tomorrow, if you’re willing.”

  “Of course.”

  Lawrence nods. “Until then.”

  I sit on the beach after he leaves. I can’t shake the feeling of foreboding hanging over me. I’m probably overthinking things, as always. Death makes me squeamish. Aside from Nana dying when I was six, the closest I’ve come to losing someone I love was when Sarah McKay died of cancer in tenth grade. I didn’t know her that well, but we were in choir together so her mom asked a small group of us to sing at her funeral. I cried through the entire thing. Not really sure why it affected me so much.

  The uneasy mood hangs over me all day. There’s something about what Lawrence told me. Something that’s not right, although I can’t put my finger on what.

  After dinner, I try to concentrate on reading when I hear the doorbell ring. Mom answers. Her voice takes on that cheerful “cool mom” tone, and I know the door’s for me. Frowning, I set down my book and investigate.

  Brandon Marks stands in the entryway, chatting Mom up with a good-son grin. As I come in, he gives me a wink.

  A wink. Okay…

  “Here she is,” Mom says, smiling. “I’ll let you two chat.”

  “Thanks, Amber.”

  Um, since when are he and my mom on a first-name basis?

  “Well, hello there,” Brandon says when she’s gone.

  I raise an eyebrow. “Hi.”

  “You’re not answering your phone. Did you lose it or something?”

  I wrack my brain to remember the last time I used it. When your best friend is cavorting around Europe and your only potential romantic interest lives eighty years before cell phones, you don’t use yours much.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, glancing behind him. No one else is waiting in the driveway. It’s just him.

  Brandon leans against the door frame. “I told you. I couldn’t get hold of you. I was in the neighborhood, so I figured I’d swing by.”

  “For…?”

  “Well, I wanted to ask you on a date.”

  “A date,” I repeat.

  Brandon gives a “Why on Earth wouldn’t I be asking you out?” kind of smile. “I can get us into Mancuso’s,” he adds, cocking his head triumphantly.

  I glance past him again, looking to see if someone else is in the car. “Oh, is this a double with Travis?”

  Brandon frowns. “Travis?”

  “Well, if anyone can get us into Mancuso’s, it’s him.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I hold up my hands defensively. “Hey, don’t be offended. It’s no mark of superior character that his dad is better connected. I’m merely making an observation.”

  But Brandon is still confused. If anything, he looks more puzzled. “Who are you talking about?”

  I roll my eyes. “Um, Travis? You know, your best friend.”

  “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

  “Ha-ha,” I say deadpan. “You’re killing me, Brandon. Stop. I might die from laughing.”

  Brandon seems exasperated. “I’m not joking! Who’s Travis? Does he live in Crest Harbor?”

  “No, he’s actually from Outer Mongolia. That’s why he likes to come here for summer vacations. All that yurt living can be hard on the spine.”

  Brandon just stares. I fold my arms across my chest.

  “Where is Travis? Did he put you up to this? I bet your phone is on right now, and he’s listening to every word, isn’t he? Hi, Travis. Nice attempt, but try again.”

  Now Brandon seems concerned. “Are you okay, Cass?”

  “Excuse me?” I scoff.

  He pulls his phone out of his pocket and holds it up to show me. It’s off.

  “I’m not joking,” he says slowly. “I don’t have any clue who you’re talking about. I’m racking my brain, but the only Travis I know is my eight-year-old nephew, and I don’t think you mean him.”

  He seems completely sincere. I never took Brandon for much of an actor. He’s either improved a thousand percent or he has short-term amnesia.

  I stare hard at him. “You’re telling me that you don’t know Travis Howard?”

  The moment I say his full name, a light snaps on in my brain. That’s it! That’s what was bothering me about my conversation with Lawrence this morning. His friend who died…his last name was Howard.

  The air in the room suddenly feels thin. There’s a faint ringing in my ears.

  “Travis Howard,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “Never heard of him.”

  I take a staggering step backward. My lungs suddenly seem incapable of drawing i
n a breath. Then a thought comes to me, and the only thing that matters is getting to my phone. I make a beeline for the stairs.

  “Cass?” Brandon runs after me. “What are you doing?”

  I don’t respond. My mind is racing so fast that I can’t grasp on to a single thought. My cell phone sits on my desk. I grab it and turn it on. Brandon comes to my doorway, his brow furrowed.

  “Are you okay? Cass, talk to me.”

  I swipe a hand at him to make him shut up. “I have a picture of Travis. From the night we jumped the Andersons’ fence.”

  “That was just me and you, Cass.”

  “No,” I say firmly. “Travis was there. We took a picture. I’ll prove it to you.”

  Fingers trembling, I slide through my photos. A few pictures of Eddie. Some shots of me looking bored that I sent to Jade. A picture of the house exterior from when we first came here. And then…I’m back in Ohio, waving to Jade at the airport. Frowning, I scan through the pictures. It was there. It was right there. The selfie we took in front of the fence. Travis put his arm around me. We made ironic thumbs-up gestures.

  It’s gone.

  “It was here,” I say, my voice weak. “I had…I had a picture of him.”

  Brandon comes cautiously into my room. “Cass. I don’t know what you’re talking about. That night, it was just you and me. I’ve never even heard of a Travis Howard. I think you might be confusing him with someone you knew in Ohio.”

  I shake my head. “No. No.” I scan through the pictures again. Nothing. No texts. His name is missing from my contacts. With a trembling hand, I pull up Facebook. The only Travis Howards are people I’ve never met. He’s gone. There’s no trace of him.

  I look up and back away from Brandon. “This can’t be happening.”

  He stares at me, concerned and weirded out. “What’s going on, Cass? You’re super pale all the sudden.”

  The floor feels unsteady beneath me. Dinner suddenly rises in my stomach.

  “I want you to leave,” I say, backing up.

  “Cass—”

  “Now…please.”

  He puts up his hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll take off, let you sort this out. Can I call you later?”

  I don’t respond. He nods and turns to go.

  What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to think? I need to calm down. I’m probably overreacting. I’m sure there is a perfectly good explanation for all of this.

  Glancing at my phone again, I run downstairs. Mom’s in the library, sitting at the computer with her reading glasses on. When I burst in, she looks up with motherly concern.

  “Cass?”

  “Travis Howard,” I blurt out.

  “What?”

  “I can’t find a picture of Travis that I took on my phone. Did you…delete it or something?”

  Mom frowns. “No, I haven’t touched your phone.”

  “But you know who Travis is, right?”

  Her lips twist to the side in thought. “Is he from around here or back in Ohio?”

  The floor feels unsteady. “Mom, Travis. Brandon’s best friend? Tall, blue eyes? Only child of the Howards?”

  Mom shakes her head. “And I know them?”

  “They came to your party! Don’t you remember? They brought you that über-expensive bottle of wine that you and Frank were gushing over.”

  “Well…” She’s trying really hard.

  “You can’t honestly not know who I’m talking about,” I say. There’s a tremor in my voice. “You’ve met him at least five times this summer. He’s come to the house.”

  Her silence says everything I need to know. I drop into one of the deep maroon armchairs to keep from falling over. This can’t be happening. It’s impossible.

  But Lawrence’s voice echoes in my ears. Billy Howard died yesterday. It can’t be. It can’t.

  “What’s wrong, Cass?” Mom’s voice sounds fuzzy. It’s like I’m listening to her with my head underwater. I rise to my feet and stagger out of the room.

  • • •

  The butterfly effect.

  Three hours of frantic research on the Internet, and this is the answer I have come up with. The idea that a small event can cause big ripples over time. Lawrence choosing to meet me instead of his friend led to Billy Howard’s car accident and death, which in turn eliminated the entire genealogical line he would have created, which means that as of yesterday, Travis Howard ceased to exist. He’s not dead. He never lived in the first place. Either way, he’s gone.

  And it’s my fault. Lawrence should have been with Billy. Billy should have lived, married, and had kids who had kids, who gave birth to Travis Howard.

  I should have thought of this before. I’ve seen enough sci-fi movies to know there are ramifications when you mess with time. The time-space continuum is a fragile thing. There are consequences to even the smallest unplanned shift.

  I lie on my bed, but sleep won’t come. It’s not possible with the chaos in my brain. I even snuck one of my mom’s Xanax because I was afraid I was having a nervous breakdown. But the medicine has only slowed my pulse, not my mind.

  Turning over, I stare at the red numbers of my alarm clock, glowing in the darkness like eyes—2:48. I roll to my back again. The ceiling is less stressful to look at. I try to clear my head and relax. But my thoughts are impossible to hide from. They march through my brain, an unrelenting army.

  The tears return. It’s been like that on and off all night. Tears of mourning for Travis. I never got to know him all that well, but I liked him. And to me, it’s like he’s dead. Which isn’t far from reality. In a lot of ways, Travis was sitting in that car with Billy Howard as it careened off the cliff.

  I smudge the tears away with my pajama sleeve, sniffling. It’s not all for Travis. I’m also crying for myself. Because this turn of events has surfaced a fear that I’ve tried to bury thus far.

  It’s not safe to know Lawrence. It’s not normal. It’s not natural. As this case proves, interacting with him can have serious, even deadly repercussions.

  And I ugly cry, because I know that tomorrow night I have to say good-bye to Lawrence Foster forever.

  Chapter 12

  Cassandra

  I thought I had prepared myself, steeled my mind and heart for saying good-bye, but as Lawrence appears on the glistening white beach, I realize how desperately wrong I am. I’m not prepared. Not prepared at all.

  He comes up to me with a smile that kicks me right in the chest. “I was hoping you’d be here already,” he says. “Have you been waiting long?”

  I shake my head. Words aren’t possible yet. All I can do it stare at him.

  “I brought your surprise,” he says, patting his jacket pocket. “I wrote you a poem. Nothing Byron-esque, mind you. Just a few words on paper. But I thought you might like it.”

  Longing twists my throat. He wrote me a poem. In a moment of supreme foolishness, I’m pretty sure that I’m in love with him. It’s pathetic, I know. But I’m about to lose it all. Might as well drag myself as low as possible.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. No, you have to do this. If I’m going to follow through with what I know is right, I can’t delay a minute longer. Time to rip off the Band-Aid.

  “Come sit by me,” Lawrence says. “I’ll read it to you.”

  I grab his arm to stop him from sitting. “Wait.”

  His deep brown eyes search mine, and they’re so beautiful that I almost cave again. “We need to talk.”

  “All right,” he says hesitantly, still searching my face. “Is everything okay? You look a little pale.”

  “I’m not okay.” The tightness in my throat winds into a knot.

  “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

  “It’s more something that didn’t happen.”

  “Not sure I understand.”

&
nbsp; “It’s Billy Howard.”

  Lawrence frowns. “What about him?”

  “He wasn’t supposed to die.”

  “What?”

  “I knew someone related to him. In my time. And yesterday, he just…ceased to exist.”

  He studies me, thoughts flickering behind his eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “I know it sounds crazy, but you have to believe me. One minute I knew him. Everyone around me knew him. I had pictures of him on my phone. And then after yesterday, it’s like he never was. Not even his best friend knew who I was talking about when I mentioned his name. The pictures are gone. He’s gone.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Billy Howard wasn’t supposed to die. You were supposed to be with him, but you weren’t because of me. And as a result, Travis Howard is essentially dead as well. Don’t you get it? You and I have messed with time. We’ve changed things that weren’t supposed to be changed, just by knowing each other.”

  Lawrence shakes his head. “But how could that be possible? You haven’t come into my time nor I into yours. How could we have changed a thing?”

  “Because you’re in the past. You’re not supposed to even know I exist. Look, I think we can both agree that the simple fact we can see each other is a freak of nature. Right?”

  “Yes. But what does that matter?”

  “This proves why it matters! Because people are vanishing, Lawrence. Because of us. Because we’re playing with something you just don’t mess with. I mean, for all we know, this conversation could be altering history as we speak. I could walk back into my house and find out that Hitler the Fifth has just been reelected Global Chancellor!”

  Lawrence sets a hand on my shoulder. His brow is furrowed with concern. “Cassandra, you’re very worked up.”

  I back away from his touch. “Don’t tell me I’m crazy. You need to accept it.”

  “Accept what? I’m still not sure I understand what’s going on. What are you suggesting we do about this?”

  Now we come to it. I turn my face away from him, focusing instead on the shimmering curl of waves.

  “We have to say good-bye.”

  Lawrence’s silence cuts into me, but I push forward with what must be said. “You have to forget that you ever met me. And I will forget that I met you. We have to leave this beach and never come back again.”