So Close to You (So Close to You - Trilogy) (24 page)

“Are you ready for the dance later, girls?” Mrs. Bentley asks.

“Of course!” Mary exclaims. “We’re going back to the house to get ready. Suze is coming too. I’m wearing my red dress, and I’ve been mending the blue for Lydia.”

Mrs. Bentley smiles at me. “I’m sure it will be just lovely on you, Lydia.”

“Thanks.” I smile back.

“Oh, look, there’s Dean.” Mrs. Bentley stands up and smoothes the wrinkles from her wide, flowered skirt. “Dean!” she calls out. He turns toward the sound of his mother’s voice and starts walking in our direction. He’s wearing his uniform and holding hands with his wife, Elizabeth. Her hair is so blond that it glows almost white in the sun.

Dean’s face is tanned and healthy, his body lean and slightly lanky. He’s a young man, about to go on a mission that he thinks is going to save his country. But he has no idea what really awaits him.

“Hello,” Elizabeth says as they approach our blanket. She’s wearing a plain brown dress.

“Elizabeth, dear.” Mrs. Bentley smiles and the two women hug. Elizabeth won’t let go of Dean’s hand, and they end up forming an awkward triangle.

“How are you?” Mrs. Bentley asks.

Elizabeth shakes her head a little. “Dean has to report to the base again. He says they need him for a few days and he doesn’t know when he’ll be back home.”

Dean looks grim as he watches his wife. There’s a restrained quality about him, as though he wants to break down into tears or anger and he’s barely keeping himself together.

Dr. Bentley stands up too, and puts an arm around his son. “Let’s take a walk,” he says. Dean nods, though he glances back at his wife. He too seems reluctant to let go of her hand. Dr. and Mrs. Bentley gently pull them apart and lead them away, softly speaking to each half of the married couple.

“Dean is
always
leaving,” Mary says in a whisper. “He’s usually home in a day or two.”

“They’re just worried about him.” I jiggle my foot against the blanket, frustrated and confused. It’s a terrible burden knowing someone else’s fate.

“You’re right.” Mary sighs and gestures to where her mother is hugging Dean’s wife. “I guess I wouldn’t want to watch my husband go off every few days either. Especially when he can’t tell me why.”

I don’t know what to say.

“Oh, look!” Mary brightens. “Suze is coming. And Jinx!”

The two girls plop down on the blanket. They’re both wearing plain sundresses.

“Hi, girls.” Jinx smiles. She sees my expression and pauses. “What’s the matter?”

“Dean has to leave for a few days and everyone’s upset.” Mary’s voice is soft and concerned. I bite my lip.

“He’s always back in a few days,” Susie says gently.

Mary smiles slightly. “You’re right. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

“Yeah, but what if it isn’t this time,” I snap. The three girls look at me, then exchange glances.

“Sorry. I just need something to drink.” I wave limply at the refreshment table, where large glass pitchers of lemonade and ice water sweat in the afternoon sun. I stand.

“Are you okay?” Mary shades her eyes as she looks up at me.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Get me a lemonade,” Jinx demands.

“Sure.” I quickly walk away from them, turning toward the Manor. I walk around the large building until the picnic is out of sight.

There’s a small field past the hill and I step into the middle of it, running my fingers through the tall, pale grass. I break some off and twist the stalks in my hands. They smell sweet and fresh, like dry hay.

I’m turning it all over in my head—Dean, Mary, Wes—when I hear a noise. The grass rustling and swaying. I back up slowly, my eyes darting around the field. A head suddenly pops up not far from me, and I scream out loud.

“Lydia?”

It’s Peter. My seven-year-old grandfather.

“Peter? What are you doing out here?”

“Shh,” he whispers, his small body half-hidden in the reeds. “You’ll wake them up.”

“Wake who up?”

He beckons me closer. The grass parts around my heavy skirt. I’m wearing the green dress again, with a wide-brimmed straw hat that keeps the sun out of my eyes. I lean over to see what Peter’s pointing at. There is a bird’s nest tucked into the grass, three tiny brown chicks pressed tightly together inside.

“They’re so small,” I whisper.

“I know. The mama will be back soon. But she’ll attack us if she finds us here.” He reaches up, slipping his fingers into mine. “Let’s go.” He tugs me forward and we walk toward the picnic.

“My daddy’s going on a mission soon,” Peter says.

“I know.” I squeeze his fingers in mine. They’re sticky and warm.

“He’s a big war hero.”

My throat feels tight. “He is. A big war hero.”

The lawn is covered with people. “Look.” I point into the crowd. “There’s your mother. I think she’s lost her baby bird.”

“I’m not a bird, Lydia.” He sounds highly offended.

“Really? These aren’t feathers?” I rumple the dark spikes of his hair.

He giggles, pulling away. “No!”

“Here comes your dad,” I say as Dean breaks away from his walk with Dr. Bentley and starts walking in our direction.

Peter lets go of me, running forward until he reaches his father.

“Where have you been?” Dean places his hand on Peter’s head.

“I found a bird’s nest.”

He smiles, though his tone is gruff. “You can’t go wandering off like that. Your mother was worried.”

“Sorry.” Peter grinds the toe of one leather shoe into the grass.

Dean looks at me. “Thank you for bringing him back.”

“No problem.”

“Can I go now, Dad?”

“Find your mother.” Dean lightly nudges Peter forward. “She’s looking for you.”

Peter scampers down the hill. Dean and I stand there awkwardly. He crosses his arms over his chest and stands with one leg out to the side. It’s a pose I’ve seen my father take a thousand times.

“How are you, Lydia?” he asks, his tone overly polite.

“I’m well. I really like staying with the Bentleys.” It’s difficult to get the words out.

“I’m sure you heard I’m leaving soon?”

“Yeah, I heard.” I open my mouth, then shut it again. Is this the right moment to tell him? Will there ever be a right moment?

“I don’t know when I’ll be back, so I won’t be around to keep an eye on you anymore. Let’s hope you are who you say you are.”

I look at him and am shocked to find that he’s smiling at me, that he’s joking around. He’s always so serious that it’s hard to think of him in any other light. “You can trust me,” I say. “I’ve started to think of them as my own family.”

He stares at me for a moment, taking in the red hair curling out from under my hat, my green eyes, so similar to his own. “You look like Mary.”

“I do?”

He nods, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes. “You could be sisters.”

“That would make you and me related too, you know.”

He smirks a little, lights the cigarette, and inhales deeply. “Now, let’s not get carried away.”

I smile.

“Take care,” he says. He starts to walk away.

“Wait!” I reach out, my hand hovering in the empty space between us. He pauses and turns slightly. “Where you’re going, it’s dangerous, right?”

He doesn’t say anything, squinting at me in the sun.

“Be careful. Please. It would hurt your family if something happened to you. And if you have the option of not doing it, then don’t. Do it, I mean.” I mentally cringe, not knowing what to say, not knowing how to tell him the truth.

He takes a drag of the cigarette. “Good-bye, Lydia.”

I watch him walk down the hill to where Elizabeth and Peter wait for him near the Bentleys’ blanket. Mary talks rapidly to Dr. Bentley as Mrs. Bentley stands to hand Peter an apple. Dean joins them, his arm curling around Elizabeth. Mary says something and they all laugh. They’re a family, connected by love, by affection. They’re
my
family.

I had a chance to tell Dean the truth, but I didn’t take it. I only have one more day to make things right. Tomorrow I can’t fail. I won’t be a coward.

That evening, Susie and I sit in Mary’s bedroom, watching as she does her hair. She’s still in her slip, and the lines of her girdle press into her skin. Susie is dressed already, in a slim black dress with a high neckline and short sleeves. Beads dangle from the hem, making a clinking noise as she moves. She looks pretty, her light hair pulled back in a soft swirl around her face.

Mary helped me get ready a little while ago. My hair is twisted up on one side with pins. The rest falls in heavy curls around my shoulders. Mary insisted on doing my makeup, and now my eyes are heavily lined, my cheeks tinted pink, my mouth a deep burgundy. It makes me look less like a high school girl and more like a young woman. She even covered my scraped cheek with a thick foundation, and you can barely see the cut. I’m in a slip, waiting until the last minute to put the blue dress on.

“Here, let me do that.” Susie takes the bobby pins from Mary’s hand. Mary expertly applies bright red lipstick, then makes a kissing face at her reflection. Susie giggles.

“Are my legs dry yet?” Mary turns to examine them in the mirror. They’ve been painted with something called “Stocking Stick”—a cakelike makeup that’s supposed to look like stockings.

“I think so,” I say. She tried to put it on me, too, but I resisted the heavy texture of the stuff.

Susie hands Mary her red dress and helps her zip up the back. The fabric hugs Mary’s curvy frame, with a narrow waist and full skirt. She slips into the matching jacket. Her hair is a dark enough red that it doesn’t clash with her dress, and her lipstick perfectly matches the bright fabric. She looks like a pinup girl.

“You look amazing!” I tell her.

“Oh, hush.” She waves her hand, dismissing my comment. “So will you once you put your dress on.”

I smile, overwhelmed by my affection for her. Mary has made this past week so much easier.

“So.” Mary blots her lipstick with a tissue. “Is your beau going to be there tonight?”

“Wes? Maybe. I don’t know.” I have no idea. At the fundraiser he told me he’s been spying on me, and considering how he surprised me at Camp Hero last night that’s probably still true. I can’t picture him showing up to a dance, but the thought of seeing him again makes my heart start to race.

“He’s so drooly, Lyd,” Mary gushes.

“Lydia has a fella?” Susie bends to apply her own lipstick in the mirror.

“She does, and he is …” Mary is uncharacteristically at a loss for words, and I don’t blame her—Wes is certainly hard to describe.

“He’s … nice,” I say, for lack of a better word.
Nice
really isn’t how I picture Wes, but somehow
intense
doesn’t seem very romantic.

“And the way he looks at Lydia.” Mary sighs, and mock fans herself. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Not even from my Mick looking at me?” Susie pouts into the mirror.

Mary scoffs. “Oh, you know Mick thinks you hung the moon, and it shows all over his face. But Wes … I thought he’d set Lydia on fire with just his eyes.”

“That’s not true.” I look down, embarrassed.

“It is too true. That boy would swallow you whole, if he could.”

“So he’s nice, good-looking, and he loves you.” Susie looks at me in the mirror, still holding the lipstick in her hand. “Sounds like a good thing to me. Maybe you’ll be engaged soon too.”

“I want to be a bridesmaid,” Mary cuts in. “And I want to wear pink. Maybe we can have a double wedding, you and Wes, me and Lucas.”

I shake my head at her and she laughs. But her words make me pause. I have feelings for Wes, but it still feels so hopeless. We’re from such different worlds. We’re even from different time periods.