I promised Wes I wouldn’t talk to Dean, and I won’t … at least not yet. Three days. It’s not a lot of time, but it could be enough to stop a man from disappearing.
I push at the liver with my fork, staring down at the plate.
“Lydia, are you all right?” I look up to see Mrs. Bentley standing over me. She has a glass in her hand, and she’s obviously trying to clear the table. “You’ve been so quiet all night.”
I hand her my plate. “I guess I’m feeling a little tired. I’m all right. Thank you, Mrs. Bentley.”
Dr. Bentley leans forward. “I meant to tell you, Lydia, I’ve been asking around town about your aunt.”
I sit up straight. “Really?”
“No one has heard a thing about her. Are you sure you have the name right? Julia Roberts?”
I press my lips together and nod.
“I asked my church group, too,” Mrs. Bentley says. “No one has heard of a Julia Roberts.”
“That’s strange.” My voice comes out sounding a little strangled. “I know I had the address and name right.”
Mrs. Bentley waves her hand at me. “Don’t worry about it, dear. You can stay with us for as long as you need to. You’ve been such a help, volunteering with Mary and going to tea this morning at Elizabeth’s.”
I suppress a wave of guilt. I only did those things to get more information about Dean. “Thank you, I really appreciate it,” I answer quietly.
“You’re not getting sick, are you?” Mary looks concerned. “The dance is tomorrow. Can you imagine if you missed it?”
“Mary,” Dr. Bentley scolds, “there are more important things than dances.”
“Well, I know that! I was just saying.”
Lucas smiles, though he looks worried as he watches me. “Are you getting sick?” he asks quietly.
“I don’t know.” I’m not, but it’s a good excuse to leave the table before I have to sneak out into Lucas’s truck without them knowing. I lean forward and press my hand against my forehead. I can hear them all murmuring as I close my eyes.
“Maybe you should go lie down,” Dr. Bentley suggests.
“Yes, that would probably be a good idea.” I get up from the table slowly.
Lucas stands up from the table as I do. “Let me walk you upstairs.”
“Um …” My eyes dart from him to Mary.
“Let him,” Mrs. Bentley says. “You shouldn’t go up the stairs alone if you feel faint.”
“Okay.” I awkwardly wait as Lucas comes around the table. He grasps my arm gently and leads me out of the dining room.
The trip upstairs seems to take a thousand years. I’m pressed up tight against Lucas’s side and his arm is around my waist. Finally we get to Dean’s old room, where I’m currently sleeping. Lucas seems reluctant to let me go. I pull away and hold the door with one hand as I turn to look at him.
“Okay, well, thanks for walking me up.” I smile, hoping to dismiss him quickly.
He leans down, looking like he has every intention of sticking around. “Are you sure you’re okay, Lydia?”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep. Why don’t you go back downstairs?”
His eyes go soft. “I hate the thought of leaving you like this.”
“Lucas, I’m just feeling a little tired. I’m not dying.”
He smiles, then straightens a little. “Lydia, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Lucas!” Mary’s voice calls from the bottom of the stairs. “Ma cut you a piece of cake!”
He glances over his shoulder, then back at me. He hesitates.
“Lucas!” Mary yells again.
He shrugs. “Well, good night, Lydia.”
“Good night.” I watch Lucas walk down the stairs, a little confused by his attentiveness. Could he like me? The thought starts to twist and turn in my head again.
Lucas is cute and sweet, and I enjoy being around him. He’s also a soldier in World War II, and I’m pretty sure my great-great-aunt has a crush on him. Maybe if I met him in my own time, then things would be different. But they’re not.
I think of Wes and those flashes of vulnerability I keep seeing in him. He’s an even less realistic option than Lucas. So why can’t I stop thinking about how his hands felt on my bare arms? How black and impenetrable his eyes are when he looks at me?
I shake my head and step into Dean’s room, shutting the door firmly behind me. I don’t have time for boys; I need to prepare for tonight.
I rummage through Dean’s closet, looking for something to wear that won’t draw attention to myself. There are no army uniforms. I pull on a thick blue work shirt that’s so big I have to roll up the sleeves three times before I find my hands. There’s no way his pants will fit me, so I yank on my own jeans, washed and folded on a chair near the bed. I tuck in the shirt, then pull on the saddle shoes Mary loaned me—the only pair of shoes I have that fit. I twist my hair up into a high ponytail.
Then I sit and wait.
I cross my legs and jiggle my foot impatiently and think about my plan once I’m in Camp Hero. I have no idea where they might be keeping information about Dean, but if it’s there, I’ll find it. This is 1944, and there are no security cameras or thermal alarm systems yet, so I have some hope of being able to sneak inside the bunker. And I have Dean’s key. I try not to think about those endless white corridors, and the fear that a guard is hiding behind every corner. If I think too much about it then I won’t go. And I have to go if I’m going to solve this mystery.
Restless, I get up and wander around the room. I pick up a trophy and put it back down. I run my fingers along the belly of a model airplane. Then I notice Mary’s sketchbook is sitting on the bureau.
