Free Until We Meet Again by Renee Collins Page A

world was
about to end, would I want to know about it?
“What’s wrong?” Lawrence asks, breaking my train of
thought. “You look scared all of a sudden.”
I rub my arms, unable to shake the cold. “It’s…really weird to
know some of the things that are going to happen in America
in the next few decades.”
Lawrence perks up. “What kind of things?”
“I feel like I shouldn’t tell you.”
“Aw, come on! You can’t tease like that.”
“I’m serious,” I say. “It seems unethical somehow.”
“All right then. Have it your way. If you won’t tell me about
your time, at least tell me more about you. I can’t help but wonder
if you’re related to my Uncle Ned through the generations.”
“I don’t think so. My mom and stepdad rented this place
a few months ago. Apparently, it had been sitting empty for
forever.”
“So, you’re not from the North Shore?”
“No. I hail from the most boring town in the most boring
state in the Union.”
A smile tugs at Lawrence’s lips. “Ohio?”
I laugh. “How did you guess?”
“I’m from America too, you know, albeit a slightly earlier
version.”
“Maybe not as much has changed as you think.”
“Maybe,” he says, his brown eyes shining. “So, what do you
do in Ohio? I take it from your clever conversation that you’re
being educated?”
“I guess. When I actually make it to class.”
“I think that’s swell. A lot of girls I know have no interest in
learning. They don’t see the point.”
“Thank goodness for progress.”
“You said it. I admire a gal who likes to learn.”
I shrug, but I feel undeniably light inside at his compliment.
We walk in comfortable silence. I steal another glance at him.
He looks sharp in his slacks and linen button shirt with the
sleeves rolled up to the elbows. That’s probably as casually as
they dress in the 1920s. His hair is feathered by the wind in a
way that’s effortlessly sexy. I swallow hard.
I’ve been so preoccupied thinking about this whole 1920s
thing that I can tell I’m not being myself.
“So,” I say, going for casual banter. “You write poetry, huh?”
“I suppose. A few scribbles. I’m not too swell at it.”
“You’re pretty swell. I mean, you’re no Whitman, but I liked
what I heard.”
“Well, thank you. Like I said, my old man thinks it’s a waste
of time. He says I should focus on preparing for college and
then law school.”
“A five year plan, eh? Sounds familiar.”
“Something like that.” There’s an edge of sadness to his voice.
“It’s not that I don’t want to go, necessarily. I just…I never
had the choice, you see. My path has been laid out for me
since I was born. Harvard, like my father. Law school, like my
father. Work in corporate law, like my father. Marry a society
girl my father approves of. Have sons. Throw polite parties at
my summer home on the North Shore.”
“What if you just tell him you don’t want to do all that? Tell
him you want to find your own way.”
“If only it were that easy,” he says, shoving his hands in his
pockets.
“He can’t force you.”
“You don’t know my father. He’s a powerful man. Ever since
my mother died last year, it’s like I’ve become his employee,
rather than his son.”
I’m starting to see why Lawrence was brooding on the beach
that first night. “I’m so sorry,” I say softly. “I can’t imagine what
it must be like to lose a parent.”
He concentrates on the ground as we walk. “I don’t mean to
bring the mood down.”
“After what you’ve gone through, I’d say you have every right.”
“I’m fine. I just wish I could talk to him, you know? And that
he’d actually listen to what I want. Of course, you understand
having little choice in life. Being a woman.”
I feel a twinge of guilt at moping over my First World
Problems. “Actually, things are pretty equal between men and
women in the future. I can do anything I want.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“I