the time prick at me, but I shake them away.
“Will you meet me here tomorrow?” Lawrence asks. “Will
you spend the day with me, if it…”
His voice drops off, but I know what he was going to say. If
it is our last day together.
“Of course,” I say.
He rises, brushing the sand from his pants. His steps to the
bushes are slow, conflicted. He turns just before going back
to his own world. His beautiful brown eyes are flush with
sadness.
“I need you, Cassandra. Now more than ever.”
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…