“I have questions about the Montauk Project,” I say. “A lot of them.”
His face goes hard at my words, and his mouth presses into a thin line. “There’s not much I can tell you.”
“What can you tell me?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Do you work for them?”
No response. I lean forward, consciously invading his space. The wet pine smell is stronger, and I realize that it’s coming from him.
“Then tell me this. Why did you follow me?”
For the first time on the beach, Wes’s eyes leave my face, dropping down to the sand below our feet. He seems … uncertain about something.
“I need to make sure you make it back to two thousand twelve,” he says.
“Why is that important to you?”
He looks up at me again. “Have you ever heard of the butterfly effect?”
“You mean like when a butterfly flaps its wings in Texas and then there’s a tsunami in China?”
One corner of Wes’s mouth tilts up. “Sort of. It’s a scientific theory about chaotic systems. Any small change can lead to unpredictable, potentially massive variations within a system.”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
He smiles briefly, so quick I almost miss it. “It’s not that a butterfly flapping its wings will cause a problem somewhere else, but that it could. We can’t predict when or how those small changes happen, but they could cause untold amounts of damage to a system. Time is a system, Lydia.”
“You’re saying that my being here will change something.”
“It could. The more interaction you have with this time, the more you might be altering future events that have unknown consequences.” Any trace of humor leaves his face, and his voice is firm.
If I save Dean, I’ll be changing the past. I’ll be giving my grandfather the life with his father that he’s always wanted. But no one can predict how that will affect the future.
I gaze down at the sand and picture my grandfather as he walked away from me in the woods, the rain falling on his shoulders. He seemed so old in that moment, so broken. I know that I would do anything to stop him from hurting. And now there’s Mary, Dr. and Mrs. Bentley. If there’s some small chance that I can save Dean, I’ll only be making the future a better place for everyone.
But what will the consequences be if Dean never disappears? Will I even exist? Is that a risk I’m willing to take?
“You need to go home.”
I look up at Wes, startled out of my thoughts. “What?”
“I’ll take you. We can sneak into Camp Hero tonight.”
I open my mouth, then close it. “I’m not going back yet,” I say finally, surprising us both.
He stares at me for a minute. “Did you hear what I said? I’ll take you home, Lydia.”
Home. Safe. I think of Hannah, of my mother, my father, my grandfather. I miss them. But I’ll find my way back there soon, I know I will.
I’ve never believed in fate or coincidence. I’ve always thought that we determine our own destinies. But there is something fated about me ending up in 1944. I stumbled into a secret government project by accident, and then I pushed a button and it sent me to the exact time my great-grandfather is supposed to disappear. I have to believe this happened for a reason. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hard on Hannah and her signs.
Change isn’t always a bad thing, and the butterfly effect is unpredictable. Wes doesn’t even know what will happen if I stay and save Dean. Helping my family now might have good consequences. There are obviously risks, but the reward, if it works, would be great.
I take a step back, away from Wes. “I’m not going back yet.”
His eyes narrow and I wonder if he’s angry with me, or just confused. “If you stay here, you could change everything.”
“I know.”
I step away from him again. Wes sighs, turns his head, and looks out at the ocean. He looks like he’s in a snapshot from World War II: the soldier standing in the sun as the waves break white and foamy near his feet.
I try to capture the image in my mind. Neither of us belongs in this time, but it doesn’t mean we can’t fake it for a little while.
“Lydia, I can’t let you go.” He turns back to me, and his expression is hard, set. “You don’t understand how serious this is.”
“I do understand.”
“If you understood, then you wouldn’t be staying in this time period. You’d be coming back with me.”
“Wes, I—”
“Lydia!”
We both freeze and turn toward the voice. Mary is standing on a high dune, one hand shading her eyes as she gazes at us from across the beach.
“I have to go,” I say to Wes. I pick up my shoes and take another step backward.
“Lydia. Don’t.” His voice sounds ragged.
“I’m sorry.” I move farther and farther away from him. “I have to.”
Without another word, I turn and run back up the sand, where Mary is waiting for me.
CHAPTER 10
“Would you like more tea?” Elizabeth Bentley holds out a blue and white china teapot, steam drifting into the air.
“No, thank you.” Mrs. Bentley places a delicate teacup onto the saucer in her lap.
We’re sitting in Dean’s living room, in my house, though it looks nothing like how I’m used to it. There’s a hunter-green patterned couch in the middle of the room and a tall standing radio below the window. The walls are a soft, seafoam green, with gold leaf accents framing the ceiling.
Mary and I sit together on the couch clutching our teacups. It’s the morning after the fundraiser, after I ran away from Wes on the beach. You could change everything, he said. I look out the window, into the familiar backyard where the branches of a dogwood tree hang heavy with thin white flowers. Wes doesn’t know it, but his words have filled me with hope. I want to change
