Until We Meet Again (21 page)

Then came the sorrow. In many ways, sadness that you knew
was coming feels worse than the unexpected. I spend the first
nights lying in bed, staring at the ring Lawrence gave me, and
crying as I never had before.

Mom does her best to help. We talk a little about it, when
I can manage. She knows that I’ve had to say good-bye to
Lawrence. Her encouragement that we can come back next
summer and see him again only sharpens the sorrow. But I
know she’s just trying to help.

And in many ways, it does help. Spending time with Mom
and Eddie, even with Frank, reinforces something I knew all
along: That as much as I loved Lawrence, I couldn’t have left
my family forever.

Little by little. Piece by piece. Hour by hour, the pain softens.
It’s still there, but more a dull, ever-present ache. Then, one
morning I’m halfway through my first painting of the summer,
and I know. I’ll be okay. I’ll make it through.

I’m finally ready to go back to the library. This time I don’t need
to search through boxes and boxes of microfilm. Just one. The one
that started this all. I know the date, of course, and I’m sure I have
the exact box because it has the same red smudge on the left side.

August 1925. I know exactly where to look. I scroll to where
I first read about Lawrence’s murder.
The article is gone.
It skips from the story above it neatly down to the next. It’s
done. Lawrence is truly safe. Now I’m ready to read the pages
he gave me on our last day together.
I take them to the beach. It’s the first time I’ve stepped foot on
the sand since the day Lawrence left. I honestly never thought
I’d be able to come here again, but there’s no better place to feel
close to his soul.
My fingers tremble as I untie the string. For the first few
moments, I can only stare at the vague shape of his words. The
curve of the letters and gentle indentations on the page, these
are his. Maybe I’m not ready for this. I’ve worked so hard to
heal in the last few weeks. Do I really want this to tear open the
wound again?
But then, the first line sharpens into focus.
We may never be together again, but I will love you for the rest
of my life.
As clearly as if he were still beside me, I can hear Lawrence
speak those words, the final words before we parted. The sensation of hearing his voice radiates through me. Every inch of my
body tingles with happiness.
Hungrily, I pore through the rest of the pages. I don’t cry
a single tear as I read. I can only soar with joy. I read every
last word and then immediately read them again. I stay on the
beach for hours, reading and watching the waves, reliving the
time we shared. Sitting here in our spot, savoring his words, I
can almost feel Lawrence beside me. I can almost feel his arms
pulling me close, his fingers brushing my face. It hurts, but I
feel happier than I’ve been in weeks. I feel close to Lawrence
again, and that’s worth any amount of pain.
As the sun starts to shift to afternoon, I reread the pages
where Lawrence describes how important his writing is to him.
He’s writing fast. I can tell from the way the words slant and are
pushed into the paper. He’s excited to share his longest held,
deepest dreams. As I read one line in particular, however, I stop.
I reread the lines.

And then all at once I know. Winthrop. As clear as a flash of
white light, I can see the large banner stretching across the wall
in the library:

I make it back to the library with less than fifteen minutes
before closing. Panting and red-faced, I run in from the parking lot and crash through the doors. The librarian at the front
desk gives me a swift, disapproving glance. These people are
probably sick of seeing me. But I don’t care. Ignoring the desk
lady, I head into the main lobby.

The banner and decorations are gone. Breathing hard, I scan
the area. I need to find that librarian who helped me with the
microfilm. I have to speak with her. I have to know.

I run through the aisles, looking down each length for her.
Library patrons glance at me with varying levels of annoyance
and curiosity.

I see her. She’s shelving encyclopedia volumes in a tall, cherrywood display case. I’m so happy she’s here that I literally have
to keep myself from throwing my arms around her. “Can I help
you find something?” she asks with a tinge of disapproval at my
galloping approach.

Her face immediately brightens. “Well, of course. What
would you like to know?”
“Everything,” I say breathlessly. “Everything.”

We sit at a table in the sunny courtyard. The library has closed,
but Evelyn, my new favorite librarian in the entire world, seems
to have no problem letting me stay. She sets a stack of books in
front of me.

“His major poetry volumes,” she says. “
Gray Coast
is his
most popular.”
The second book in the stack peeks out from beneath
Gray
Coast
. The bottom part of a man’s jacket glistens on the cover.
I draw in a sharp breath. A picture of him?
Unable to resist, I set my hand on the top book. The ring
Lawrence gave me glitters faintly in the sun. The sight of it
gives me strength. Slowly, so slowly, I pull the book away. There
he is. Lawrence.
He’s much older but still achingly handsome. In fact, if possible, he looks even better with age. Either way, it’s Lawrence,
smiling his beautiful smile.
“Are you all right?”
I look up at Evelyn, and only then do I realize that tears are
rolling down my cheeks. I wipe them away quickly.
“I’m just…a big fan.”
She smiles. “I can see that.”
“Did he live a good life?” I ask, trying to compose myself.
“Was he happy?”
“From all accounts, he was. Very happy. He married, had
three children. His later writings won him recognition by
the Academy of American Poets three times. He’s the most
acclaimed poet to come from the state of Massachusetts, let
alone Crest Harbor.”
I close my eyes, too elated to speak.
“A remarkable man,” Evelyn says. “You know, I met him
when I was just out of college. Got to shake his hand.”
“Did you? What was he like?”
“So charming,” she beams. “And very kind. I actually attended
his readings several times. He spoke with every person who
waited in line for his autograph. He seemed to really care and
really enjoy chatting.”
“Yes,” I say to myself. “That’s Lawrence.”
Evelyn nods. “You’re right. His first name was Lawrence.”
“And…he’s not alive?”
“Sadly, no. But he is buried here in Crest Harbor. Near the
end of his life, after his wife died, he came back here to finish
out his days. He bought the mansion his uncle had built in the
nineteen twenties, where he’d lived as a teenager. They say he
went out every morning to the property’s beach and wrote. He
penned some of his most famous poems there.”
She grabs one of the volumes and flips through the pages.
“Here. This group here. His final poems.”
Trembling, I take the book. The poems are listed by date. My
eye falls immediately to the final one. The last poem of his life.
It’s titled: “For Cassandra.”

Hugs and thank you to Annette Pollert-Morgan. It has been
an absolute pleasure working with you! You’ve helped me tell
this story in the strongest way possible. And I love that the
ending made you cry. Mission Accomplished!

Thank you to the awesome people at Sourcebooks and
Foundry Literary + Media. So many wonderful people have
helped bring this book into the world. Seeing my story come to
life like this is a dream come true that will never get old.

I also want to thank all of my amazing friends who have been here
for me during the highs and lows of this crazy writer life. Natalie
Whipple, Kasie West, Jenn Johansson, Candice Kennington,
Michelle Argyle, and Sara Raasch. I love you all. And I don’t see
you ladies nearly enough! We need more Paolo in our lives.

A dozen doughnuts of gratitude to Tyler Jolley for being my
local writer BFF. And a huge Dr Pepper to my previously-local
life BFF, Natalie Holmgren. You know this book wouldn’t be
what it is without your help and amazing ideas! Thanks for
always being there for me. I miss you like crazy.

Thank you to everyone else who keeps me sane and happy
and makes me laugh: Lisa, Susan, Aubrey, Mindy, The Best
Book Club Ever, the Fruita Bike Chicks, and all my local
friends! I am truly blessed to know so many amazing people.

Once again, I know that I couldn’t be where I am today without my wonderful family. Mom and Dad, you have helped me
in every way to make my dreams come true. I love you. I can
never express my gratitude for all you have done for me and
given me. When I stood on that cliff in Ireland, looking out at
the most beautiful view I had ever seen, I knew I was the luckiest girl in the world.

Rebecca, Sarah, Jared, Amy, Rachel and all the in-laws: Thank
you for the support and good times! And Diana, my story consultant, life coach and best friend, I know I can never express
how much you mean to me. Thank you for always listening.
For always talking with me. And for understanding me better
than anyone else on this Earth. I love you, twin sister.

So many hugs to my beautiful children: Amber, Logan and
Ella. You guys are the light and joy of my life. I don’t know
how I deserve such delightful, loving, hilarious kids. And to my
dear, Ben. I hope you know how truly wonderful your support
has been. I love that you’ve been with me through all the greatest moments of my life thus far. I know we’ll see many more
together. I wouldn’t want it any other way.