One Golden Summer(35)

“Something wrong?”

I meet his gaze then. “I’m not sure it’ll suit you.”

Flecks of gilt in pools of green shimmer back at me. “Everything suits me. Quit stalling, Alice.”

I tap my index finger in the gel and raise my hand to Charlie’s face, trying to figure out which part of it is safest to touch. It’s not the hard lines of his jaw or the laser focus of his stare that has me suddenly rattled; it’s the fact that he’s here, on my birthday, with a homemade cake and a gift that’s now an inside joke.

Charlie’s brows lift, and I realize I’ve been studying him for a preposterous length of time. I hear Nan shift and turn to see her reaching for her cane.

I immediately jump to my feet. “Do you need help?”

“I’m all right. Just need the ladies’ room.”

I face Charlie, alone. The quiet is too much.

“Music?”

I crouch beside John’s very out-of-date CD collection. Yikes. I go with The Definitive Rod Stewart, and “Maggie May” begins to play.

“Rod Stewart?” he asks.

“Yup. Huge fan.”

I sit beside Charlie again and hover a finger over his cheekbone.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

“I’m afraid of getting glitter on your jacket.”

Charlie laughs like he knows I’m full of crap and then shrugs off his jacket. He unbuttons his cuffs and rolls the sleeves of his shirt past his forearms.

“Better?” His gaze is a game of truth or dare.

“Uh-huh.”

I press my finger lightly to the upper edge of his right cheekbone and slide it up toward his temple. I feel his eyes on me, but I repeat the stripe on his left side without meeting them. If he sees my hand shaking, he doesn’t mention it.

“How do I look?”

I lean back to inspect my handiwork. Of course he can pull off glitter. “Pretty ridiculous.”

He smiles. “I doubt that.”

I leave Nan and Charlie to make the salad, and when I return to the living room, he’s sitting on a dining chair in front of her, painting her nails with the purple polish. He’s doing a terrible job, the tiny bottle cap ill fitted to his hands. I sneak past to get my camera. I take one shot of Charlie concentrating on Nan’s manicure, her fingers in his, and another when they both look up at me.

“Has Alice told you that this isn’t her first trip to the lake?” Nan asks when we’re all seated around the table with plates of lasagna. Charlie’s gaze shoots to me. “I brought her and her younger siblings for the entire summer when John and Joyce were traveling.”

“She didn’t mention that,” he replies, eyes on mine.

“When I was seventeen.” I give Nan a meaningful look. She hasn’t said anything, but she must have connected Charlie with the yellow boat in my photo.

“Really? I would have been nineteen. I was here that summer.”

“Then that makes three of us,” I say.

“Huh.” Charlie lifts his wine to his lips. He’s still on his first glass, whereas I’ve had…um? Several?

We’re almost done eating when I see that Charlie has painted a thumb purple. Something in my chest twinges.

“I thought I’d better stop there before I made a real mess of it,” Charlie says when he catches me staring at his hand.

I smile, but my heart is beating faster than usual. It’s probably the wine. It probably has nothing to do with the fact that despite our being an odd trio, the conversation hasn’t died all evening. Or that Charlie is unpredictable in the best way. Or that I haven’t laughed so hard in ages. Or how effusively Charlie praises my lasagna, calling it the most glorious combination of tomato sauce, noodles, and various cheeses. Or that he clears the table, three plates a time, then washes the dishes, refusing help.

He returns holding the cake, with a single candle in the center. I raise my camera, committing Charlie in a tiara and glitter, singing “Happy Birthday,” to film.

It’s a dark chocolate sour cream cake with chocolate buttercream, and sweet mother, it is good. I make an obscene sound when I take my first bite.

“You can bake,” I say with my mouth full.

Charlie grins. It’s a boyish smile, dimpled and delighted. It’s his real smile.

“You made this?” Nan asks.

“It was my mom’s recipe.”

“It’s incredible,” I go on. “It’s moist and rich, but not too rich. Or too sweet. It’s like really, really good.”

“Excellent,” Nan agrees. “I’d love the recipe.”

Charlie beams at my grandmother. “My mom would have been thrilled to hear that.”

The twinge in my chest returns, only stronger now.

“I think she would have been thrilled you made it,” Nan says.

I’m still gushing about the cake when a horn interrupts me.

Aaaah-whoooo-gaaaaah!

“Oh shit.” Charlie looks at me, wild-eyed. “They’re here.”





19




“Who’s here?” I ask. I rise from the table to look out the window.

The clouds have parted, leaving red streaks across a slate-blue sky. It’s starting to grow dark, but there are countless boats on the lake, all heading in the same direction. Charlie’s drifts just out from our dock, and there are two people inside. I glance at him over my shoulder.