So Close to You (So Close to You - Trilogy) (12 page)

I trace my fingers over the dusty lettering on a basketball trophy.
STATE CHAMPIONS, 1935.
A stamp collection and a few comic books vie for space with novels—John Steinbeck’s
The Grapes of Wrath
, Ernest Hemingway’s
A Farewell to Arms
.

I pull out Virginia Woolf’s
A Room of One’s Own
. I carry it over to the bed and sit down, flipping through the pages. A quote jumps out at me: “I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out; and I thought how it is worse, perhaps, to be locked in.” I snap the book shut. Am I locked in or locked out by being here?

I turn to the window, where the black fabric hides the night sky. Wes is out there somewhere. He followed me to the past. He helped me escape. I need to find him again. He’s the only one who can tell me about the Montauk Project. And, for some reason, he might want to help me.

I wonder if he’s furious that I left him in the woods. I wonder if he’s looking for me, and if he wants to take me back into the underground labs. I look away from the window. While I’m not exactly glad that I’m temporarily trapped in 1944, I can’t deny that it’s exciting—and feels important—to meet my relatives, to see the past, and to get more answers about what will happen to my great-grandfather in the coming days.

I always thought going off to college and becoming a journalist would be my big adventure. But this feels bigger.

Maybe I am supposed to do more than just figure out the truth of what really happened to Dean. This might be my chance to make a difference, and to help my family. Dean will disappear in just a few days
unless
I can figure out a way to stop it. But should I try to fix the past instead of just learning its secrets?

It’s one thing to look for answers; it’s another thing entirely to change the question.

Overwhelmed, I lie back on the bed. The model airplanes stir in the empty air above my head, suspended forever, flying nowhere.

I
wake
to the sound of raised voices. The dress Mary gave me yesterday is draped over the back of a chair. I pull it over my head and quickly yank out the rag rollers in my hair. Heavy curls fall in ropes down my back. I slip out of the room and creep down the stairs, stopping at the bottom step.

Dr. and Mrs. Bentley are in the parlor, perched on the overstuffed cream and yellow couches. A tall, dark-haired man about ten years older than me paces in front of the fireplace. I immediately recognize him from my grandfather’s photograph: it’s Dean Bentley, my great-grandfather.

“What were you thinking? How could you just let a
stranger
into the house?”

Someone clears his throat, and I notice that Lucas is sitting on a chair by the window. Both he and Dean are wearing fitted dark olive jackets over their uniforms.

“It wasn’t like that, Dean.” Lucas’s voice is firm.

Dean scowls at him. He’s squeezing a light brown cap tightly in one hand. It has a visor and a gold metal eagle attached to the top. “Don’t you dare talk to me right now, Clarke. Mary told me it was your idea for that girl to stay here. How could you put my family in this position?”

Lucas stands up. “Lydia needed help.” His face is harsh, with only his words suggesting the warmth I saw yesterday.

“You could have passed her on to the Red Cross, or one of the women’s organizations. You didn’t need to bring my family into it.”

The two men square off across the parlor. Dr. Bentley stands, stepping between them. “We’re happy to take Lydia in—”

Dean cuts him off harshly. “She’s a stranger.”

“Stop this.” Mrs. Bentley holds up her hands. Her voice is filled with a quiet authority. “Arguing isn’t helping. Lydia has nowhere to go. We need to help our neighbors during wartime.”

Both Dean and Lucas look at her and step away from each other. Dean faces the mantel and rests his arm on it heavily. He lowers his head, visibly collecting himself. Lucas turns to the window, his shoulders tense.

“Find out anything good?” I hear a voice say quietly behind me. I spin around on the steps to see Mary leaning over the stair railing.

“Not really,” I whisper back.

She laughs and skips down the stairs, her blue dress fluttering around her legs. It has a pattern of all white roses, and a matching ribbon is threaded through her curly hair.

“Come on. It’s time you met Dean.”

The conversation stops when we reach the parlor. I hover near the doorway, gripping the fabric of my skirt with both hands.

“Just look, Daddy! Isn’t Lydia such a dilly?”

Dr. Bentley smiles, so I assume being a dilly is a good thing.

“Hi, Lucas. When did you get here? Has Dean been talking your ears off? I bet he has.” Mary pulls me into the room.

Lucas’s eyes slowly scan my dress and my clean, curled hair. He opens his mouth, then shuts it.

“Mary, could you stop talking for two minutes?” Dean snaps. “We need to figure out what to do about … this situation.” He waves in my direction.

“What’s there to figure out? Lydia’s staying with us. And she isn’t a spy. Just look at her!”

“Putting her in a pretty dress doesn’t make her any less of a spy.” Dean glares at me. I glance around the room in an effort to avoid his stare. Framed black-and-white photos are propped on the fireplace mantel. Mary and Dean with their arms around each other, standing in front of the house. A small, dark-haired boy standing with Dean and a blond lady. A family portrait, taken in this parlor, everyone smiling into the camera.

“Oh, phooey.” Mary drops my arm and stalks across the floor toward Dean. “You don’t know anything.”

He leans down to look her in the eye. “Mary, we’re a country at war. You’d think that would teach you to be careful around strangers.”

She scowls at him, her hands on her hips. “I trust Lydia.”

“Why? Because you want a new friend?”

Lucas turns to me, ignoring the siblings. “How are you feeling, Lydia? You look …” He pauses, clearing his throat. “Well. Better. I mean, good.” He’s standing by the window, and the morning light streams across his face and turns his hair to gold.

“I’m fine.” I smile at Lucas, but I can’t stop staring at Dean. He’s so different from what I expected. Younger. Tougher. Harsher.

“Listen to her!” Mary yells at Dean. The two of them are facing each other, only a foot apart. “She doesn’t even have a little bit of a German accent!”

Dr. Bentley picks up a pipe from a nearby table and lights it. He seems unconcerned by the shouting match between Dean and Mary. I suspect it’s a regular occurrence.

Mary turns to me. Her nose is scrunched up and her hands are clenched at her sides. “Lydia, tell him. Tell him you’re not a spy!”

I look at Dean, his long face, sharp jaw, and heavy brows, his frown. I certainly never thought my great-grandfather would hate me on sight. The thought is disappointing and, somehow, I’m a little hurt.

“I’m not a spy.” My voice is softer and quieter than I’d intended.

Mrs. Bentley gives Dean a look. “No one thinks you are, dear.”

Dean runs a hand over his short dark hair. He avoids everyone’s stares and looks out the front window. “If I really thought she was a spy, do you think I would have let her leave the base? Do you think any of the officers at Hero would have?”

I let out a breath, but he isn’t finished yet.

“That doesn’t mean she’s a trustworthy person, or that my family should be taking in strangers off the street.”

The smoke from Dr. Bentley’s pipe floats into the air, and the spicy scent reminds me of my grandfather. Thinking of him makes me feel instantly stronger. He’s the reason I’m here. I can face anything for him.

I turn to Dr. and Mrs. Bentley. “I know I’m a stranger. It means a lot to me that you’d take me in and help me when I have no other options. I promise I won’t overstay my welcome.”

The lines of Dean’s face are severe in the sunlit room. “What if you already have?”

Mary throws herself down onto the couch next to her father. “Gee whiz, Dean, leave her alone! You never know when to stop.” She crosses her arms, clearly finished with the topic.

Lucas frowns as he watches the scene. He looks like he wants to say something, but whatever it is, he holds his tongue. He catches me looking at him and his face smoothes into a slight smile. I give him an identical look, grateful that I’m not the only non–family member here.

As far as they know.

“Dean.” Mrs. Bentley stands up. The room falls silent. She steps forward until she’s right next to me. I smell her perfume, rose water and mint. “Lydia needs our help, and our family helps those in need. Now we’ll ask around town to see if anyone has heard of her aunt. What did you say her name was, dear?”

“Julia Roberts,” I mumble.

“Of course. Julia Roberts. But until then, Lydia is a welcome guest in our home.”

I scan the room, stopping at Dean’s scowling face. “I promise I won’t be a burden.”

As I say the words, I wonder if it’s a promise I’ll be able to keep.

A little while later, I sit outside on the front steps and watch as Dean’s jeep disappears down the dusty driveway. He’s heading back to Camp Hero to work on his mysterious project—a project I’m no closer to figuring out. I turn away and stare out at the Bentleys’ yard. The grass is short and neat and there are flower beds tucked around the side of the house. In the far corner is a large vegetable garden with pale green sprouts rising from the ground. Mrs. Bentley calls it a Victory Garden, where she grows food for the family so they don’t have to live only on rations.

The door opens behind me and I look up. Lucas is standing there. He stares down at me. “How are you?”

I take a deep breath. “I wanted to thank you. Without your help, I’d still be wandering around the camp right now.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” He comes forward and sits on the step, close enough that the fabric of my dress grazes his leg. “Everything will be just dandy, you’ll see.”

“Just dandy?” I repeat, smiling.

“Are you teasing me?” When he smiles the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly.

“I thought only old ladies used that word.”

“You shouldn’t make fun of an old country boy.”

“Where are you from, anyway?”

“White Plains, Georgia. A tiny town in the middle of nowhere.”

There’s a slight breeze in the air that ruffles my skirt. I lift my face into the wind and close my eyes, breathing in the early summer smell of Montauk: fresh earth and the sharp scent of the ocean.

I open my eyes to find Lucas watching me. “So how did you end up at Camp Hero?” I ask.

He clasps his hands between his knees. “I was sent to the Western Front after training. Bomb went off nearby one day. I was fine but lost my hearing for a few weeks. I was classified as injured. They sent me back here to help train new recruits over at Hero. I’m lucky, really. Not to be on the front lines.” He smiles, but there’s disappointment hidden behind his expression.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Lucky maybe, but you’re not happy about it, are you?”

He tilts his head, surprised. “No, not happy exactly. I’d rather be back in Europe. I’m not much help over here.”

“That’s not true. You’re training soldiers, aren’t you? That’s a huge job.”

“You’re right.” He laughs softly. “And someone has to find lost girls wandering around the base.”

“You’re my hero.” I mean to say it sarcastically, but somehow it comes out sounding sincere. He looks at me strangely. “Anyway,” I say quickly, trying to cover up the awkward moment. “Thanks again. I don’t know what came over me.”

His smile falls. “Grief makes you do things you wouldn’t normally.”

The front door swings wide-open. “There you two are!” Mary exclaims. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. It’s time to go. Are you coming to the fundraiser, Lucas?”

I turn to look up at Mary. She’s beaming down at me, sneaking little glimpses at Lucas.

“I might stop by later, but I need to check on some supplies at the base first.” He stands up without looking at me and starts walking backward toward a green army truck in the driveway. “Bye, y’all.”