What am I supposed to do with that?
Mary pulls me over to the bed and squeezes my arm. “Tell me everything.”
I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. “Wes is … good looking.” Mary gives me a duh look. “He wants to protect me,” I say, relaxing slightly as I think about how he makes me feel when I’m with him. “He keeps showing up when I need him. I don’t know how he does it, it’s like he has this radar or something. And I feel like I can be myself around him. Even when that self isn’t very pretty. Does that make sense?”
She nods, a small smile tugging on the corners of her lips.
“There’s something dark and dangerous about him, but there are these moments where I see something deeper inside of him. He’s capable of so much more than he thinks he is. And sometimes I look at him and our eyes lock and it’s like I’m physically incapable of pulling away.”
“All that in just a few days?” Mary teases.
I smile. “It’s been a long week.”
“It’s like something out of a fairy tale.” She studies my face more closely. “But how did you get all hurt?” She straightens and her smile fades. “Did he do that?”
“No! No,” I protest. “I, uh, fell off the rose trellis. I climbed out your bedroom window but fell halfway down and hit my head. Wes was really sweet. He took care of me.” I feel the ghost of his fingers skimming across my cheek.
“You’re blushing!” Mary exclaims. “You must really like him.”
I stare down at my hands, remembering the way his skin felt under mine, and wondering when I’m going to see him again.
“So, Lydia.” Now Mary’s the one blushing. “Did you …”
“Did we what?”
“You know. Did you do anything with him?”
“Like, did we kiss?”
“Or other things.”
“Mary!”
She grips my hands excitedly. “There’s this girl Theresa from school who everyone knows is fast, and last year she had to be sent away for a little while. Suze told me she had a baby. Can you believe it? Suze knows all about it. She told me her and Mick have gotten really close to doing it.”
“We didn’t even kiss!”
Mary sighs, clearly disappointed.
“But I wanted to,” I say honestly.
Mary’s face lights right back up. She leans forward and her voice drops to a whisper. “Have you ever been kissed?”
“A few times. Have you?”
“Oh, lots of times. I had a beau a few years ago. Tommy Sullivan, I told you. And then there are all those soldiers, missing home. Someone has to provide a little comfort.” She winks, and I laugh.
“Anyway, those kisses didn’t mean much.” She looks up toward the ceiling. “It’s easy to get caught up in the excitement. I still write to some of them. But if I kissed someone like Lucas, I think it would be different. I think it would matter.”
I picture Lucas, his earnest face, those crooked bottom teeth. “You’re probably right.” I smile, and realize that any small feelings I may have had for Lucas are starting to dissolve completely. He and Mary are clearly meant to be together, and I can’t get Wes out of my head.
“I’m glad that you care about someone. Now you don’t have to get bored listening to me blather on about Lucas.” She stands, pulling her long nightgown down around her legs. “Anyway, you should get some rest. And put on a nightgown. Why are you wearing those factory clothes again? I can’t imagine what Wes thought of you.” She moves to the door. “Good night, Lydia.”
“’Night.”
As soon as she leaves, I unbutton my shirt, ready to pull on a nightgown. But my fingers brush against coarse paper instead of skin. I completely forgot about the file tucked into my shirt. I pull it out, sitting down on the bed as I place it in front of me. CONFIDENTIAL is stamped across the back in bold red ink. I open it and pull out the Project Hero mission statement again. I read the brief report:
Subject has volunteered for the highly selective mission … On the 5th of June, 1944, in a coordinated attack against Axis forces, Subject will travel in Tesla’s Machine to 1920. Subject will go to Germany to find and eradicate Adolf Hitler, then a rising public figure … Subject will use any means necessary to dispose of this threat to the United States of America.
Dean’s name is the only one on the paper. He must be the Subject.
I drop the paper. It floats onto the bed, resting gently against Dean’s old blue quilt. In two days, Dean is going to be sent to 1920 to carry out a mission that’s destined to fail. Even if by some miracle he makes it through the machine unscathed, there are no Tesla Machines in 1920. Dean will be trapped there forever, unable to return.
CHAPTER 15
Montauk Manor gleams in the bright sun. Red brick and brown woodwork accent white stone walls that rise into massive gables. The flagpole stands tall on the front lawn, an American flag twisting in the wind.
It looks like it does in my time. But instead of tourists in beach gear, uniformed soldiers roam the dirt paths surrounding the main road. Gray navy jeeps are parked near the entrance. Gear is thrown across the white porches, replacing beach chairs and outdoor dining tables.
“Lydia! Over here!” I turn to see Mary waving at me from the sloping lawn on the south side of the mansion. She sits with her parents on the edge of the hill, surrounded by children and soldiers and families spread out on blankets.
Montauk’s annual spring picnic is hosted by members of the neighboring towns in support of the navy and army bases stationed in Montauk. Tonight is the
