So Close to You (So Close to You - Trilogy) (23 page)

His voice changes, and it’s as though he’s reciting something he’s heard a thousand times: “Certain points in time are more precarious than others. The Facility was built in nineteen forty-three. Only one year ago. If one tiny thing goes wrong with the time line, then the entire Montauk Project could cease to exist. The people in charge don’t want that to happen, so they keep us away from this time period.”

He still hasn’t let go of the steering wheel, and he’s completely still as he speaks. “The recruits start getting involved again in the nineteen fifties. You’re lucky you were sent here.”

Outside, the sky on the horizon is shot through with streaks of light. “It was purely an accident,” I say.

“I know. For some reason the TM was set to this time period, which is strange. When you didn’t input a new date, it brought you here automatically.”

“How does it work anyway, the machine? I know about the alternating magnetic waves, but hearing about it is different from living through it....” I shudder.

“It acts as a vessel by tapping into time tunnels that already exist. The TM essentially transports you to a connecting TM.”

My hair is starting to come out of my ponytail, and pieces fall down around my face and shoulders. I tuck them behind my ears. “But wasn’t the TM only invented last year? What if you go to a time that doesn’t have a TM?”

“Then you’d be stuck there,” he says matter-of-factly. “You can’t travel without a TM.”

I sigh. “I guess it
was
lucky that I came to nineteen forty-four.”

He lifts his chin, his eyes on the sky in front of us. “You should go now. It’s starting to get light out.”

I open the door but don’t step out.

“Wes.”

He looks at me, and I forget what I wanted to say. We stare at each other in the early, early dawn.

In a quick movement, he finally lets go of the steering wheel and leans toward me. I freeze as he gently pushes a strand of hair away from my face. His fingertips trail along my cheek and I automatically close my eyes.

When I open them, he’s sitting back in his seat, gripping the steering wheel again. “You should go,” he repeats.

I slide out of the truck but pause before I shut the door behind me. “Where does this leave us? You know I want to help my family.”

His mouth tightens and he won’t look at me. “I can’t support that. It’s too dangerous.”

“I don’t expect you to keep helping me,” I say. “I just don’t want you to stop me from doing what I know is right.”

He doesn’t answer. I slowly shut the door. A moment later the engine turns over and he drives away. I watch him go, standing by the side of the road long after the truck has disappeared.

The Bentleys keep their back door unlocked, and I open it slowly. I slip into the dark kitchen, then down the hallway and up the creaking stairs. My bedroom door is open a crack and I tiptoe into the shadowy room. Closing it with a soft click, I lean forward to press my forehead into the smooth wood, aware of every bump and bruise on my body. I want to crawl into bed and stay there for a hundred years.

A light suddenly flickers on behind me and I spin around.

“Where have you been?” It’s Mary. Her hands are on her hips and she’s glaring at me.

“You scared me!” I gasp, pressing my hand to my chest.

She walks over to stand in front of me. She’s wearing a white nightgown that pools around her ankles.

“What happened, Lydia?” she asks. “I came in here to see how you were feeling and you were gone. I thought you were abducted until I saw that some of your clothes were missing. Where did you go in the middle of the night? And what happened to your cheek?”

“I, uh …”

“Well?” Mary folds her arms across her chest. “If you don’t tell me where you were, I’m gonna have to wake up my parents.”

“I met a boy,” I say quickly. “I snuck out to see a boy.” It isn’t technically a lie.

The anger fades from Mary’s face.

“A boy?” She starts to smile. “Where did you meet a boy? What’s his name?”

“It’s … Wes. The soldier from Camp Hero.”

“Wes?” She tilts her head. The soft glow of the room shines through her hair like a halo. “Oh, Private Smith.” Her voice gets breathy. “The dark hair and the eyes and the …” She holds her hand up high, indicating Wes’s height.

I nod. “We met at the hospital, and one thing led to another.” I pause. “I might be falling in love with him.” I say the words automatically, and a heavy feeling settles into the pit of my stomach. Is this
true
? Could I be falling in love with Wes?

Mary studies me carefully. Whatever she sees in my face meets with approval, because she suddenly squeals and grabs my arm.

I’m almost panting, my breath becoming short at the thought of falling in love with Wes. I’ve never even had a real boyfriend, but in the past few days I’ve
almost
fallen for Lucas, and I’ve maybe, sort-of-already fallen for Wes. One is destined to marry my great-great-aunt and the other is a slave to a top-secret government organization.

What am I supposed to do with that?

Mary pulls me over to the bed and squeezes my arm. “Tell me everything.”

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. “Wes is … good looking.” Mary gives me a
duh
look. “He wants to protect me,” I say, relaxing slightly as I think about how he makes me feel when I’m with him. “He keeps showing up when I need him. I don’t know how he does it, it’s like he has this radar or something. And I feel like I can be myself around him. Even when that self isn’t very pretty. Does that make sense?”

She nods, a small smile tugging on the corners of her lips.

“There’s something dark and dangerous about him, but there are these moments where I see something deeper inside of him. He’s capable of so much more than he thinks he is. And sometimes I look at him and our eyes lock and it’s like I’m physically incapable of pulling away.”

“All that in just a few days?” Mary teases.

I smile. “It’s been a long week.”

“It’s like something out of a fairy tale.” She studies my face more closely. “But how did you get all hurt?” She straightens and her smile fades. “Did he do that?”

“No! No,” I protest. “I, uh, fell off the rose trellis. I climbed out your bedroom window but fell halfway down and hit my head. Wes was really sweet. He took care of me.” I feel the ghost of his fingers skimming across my cheek.

“You’re blushing!” Mary exclaims. “You must really like him.”

I stare down at my hands, remembering the way his skin felt under mine, and wondering when I’m going to see him again.

“So, Lydia.” Now Mary’s the one blushing. “Did you …”

“Did we what?”

“You
know
. Did you do anything with him?”

“Like, did we kiss?”

“Or other things.”

“Mary!”

She grips my hands excitedly. “There’s this girl Theresa from school who everyone knows is
fast
, and last year she had to be sent away for a little while. Suze told me she had a
baby
. Can you believe it? Suze knows all about it. She told me her and Mick have gotten
really
close to doing it.”

“We didn’t even kiss!”

Mary sighs, clearly disappointed.

“But I wanted to,” I say honestly.

Mary’s face lights right back up. She leans forward and her voice drops to a whisper. “Have you ever been kissed?”

“A few times. Have you?”

“Oh, lots of times. I had a beau a few years ago. Tommy Sullivan, I told you. And then there are all those soldiers, missing home. Someone has to provide a little comfort.” She winks, and I laugh.

“Anyway, those kisses didn’t mean much.” She looks up toward the ceiling. “It’s easy to get caught up in the excitement. I still write to some of them. But if I kissed someone like Lucas, I think it would be different. I think it would
matter
.”

I picture Lucas, his earnest face, those crooked bottom teeth. “You’re probably right.” I smile, and realize that any small feelings I may have had for Lucas are starting to dissolve completely. He and Mary are clearly meant to be together, and I can’t get Wes out of my head.

“I’m glad that you care about someone. Now you don’t have to get bored listening to me blather on about Lucas.” She stands, pulling her long nightgown down around her legs. “Anyway, you should get some rest. And put on a nightgown. Why are you wearing those factory clothes again? I can’t imagine what Wes thought of you.” She moves to the door. “Good night, Lydia.”

“’Night.”

As soon as she leaves, I unbutton my shirt, ready to pull on a nightgown. But my fingers brush against coarse paper instead of skin. I completely forgot about the file tucked into my shirt. I pull it out, sitting down on the bed as I place it in front of me.
CONFIDENTIAL
is stamped across the back in bold red ink. I open it and pull out the Project Hero mission statement again. I read the brief report:

Subject has volunteered for the highly selective mission … On the 5
^th
of June, 1944, in a coordinated attack against Axis forces, Subject will travel in Tesla’s Machine to 1920. Subject will go to Germany to find and eradicate Adolf Hitler, then a rising public figure … Subject will use any means necessary to dispose of this threat to the United States of America
.

Dean’s name is the only one on the paper. He
must
be the Subject.

I drop the paper. It floats onto the bed, resting gently against Dean’s old blue quilt. In two days, Dean is going to be sent to 1920 to carry out a mission that’s destined to fail. Even if by some miracle he makes it through the machine unscathed, there are no Tesla Machines in 1920. Dean will be trapped there forever, unable to return.

M
ontauk
Manor gleams in the bright sun. Red brick and brown woodwork accent white stone walls that rise into massive gables. The flagpole stands tall on the front lawn, an American flag twisting in the wind.

It looks like it does in my time. But instead of tourists in beach gear, uniformed soldiers roam the dirt paths surrounding the main road. Gray navy jeeps are parked near the entrance. Gear is thrown across the white porches, replacing beach chairs and outdoor dining tables.

“Lydia! Over here!” I turn to see Mary waving at me from the sloping lawn on the south side of the mansion. She sits with her parents on the edge of the hill, surrounded by children and soldiers and families spread out on blankets.

Montauk’s annual spring picnic is hosted by members of the neighboring towns in support of the navy and army bases stationed in Montauk. Tonight is the USO-sponsored dance, and they’re holding it on the lawn of the old tennis auditorium. Mary can’t stop talking about our dresses and which soldiers we’ll dance with, and her enthusiasm is infectious. But I keep thinking about Dean and his doomed mission. How can I prevent him from going?

I know it’s time to tell Dean the truth and I’m dreading it. I don’t know how to make him believe me, short of pulling out the file I found. But then he’ll know I snuck into the Facility, and he might even accuse me of being a spy. I also can’t get Wes’s words out of my head. The minute I tell Dean the truth, I’ve changed the future forever. I want to believe it will be a good change, but I’m still afraid of the unknown possibilities. What if I erase myself and return to a life where no one knows me? I’m not ready to face that fear yet.

My grandfather remembers saying good-bye to Dean on the morning of June 5. It’s also the date of Project Hero. That gives me two days—including today—to work up the nerve to talk to Dean.

I wave back at Mary and make my way toward the buffet table, covered in an array of jellies, tiny sandwiches, and dark, thick cookies. I take a little bit of everything. I walk through the groups of people, clutching my plate. Mary and Mrs. Bentley are sitting on a checkered blanket, looking out over the crowd, while Dr. Bentley lounges on the grass nearby, smoking a pipe and contemplating a deviled egg. I sit down next to Mary, who tosses an apple in my direction. Mrs. Bentley hands me a cloth napkin from a basket by her feet.