One Golden Summer(41)

“You lost your father when you were fourteen. I can’t imagine how hard that was.”

Charlie pins me with the full force of his stare. “Don’t go soft on me now, Alice.”

So I stare back. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here. I’m an excellent listener and a vault when it comes to secrets.”

“I’m sure you are.” His chest rises and falls. I can tell he’s making a decision about me, weighing how much he can confide. I get the sense that he doesn’t confide in many people, that he doesn’t sit with his feelings very often as an adult, either.

“I had great parents,” he says slowly. “My dad was a steadfast, serious guy, but he was also kind and thoughtful. He had this dry sense of humor. Sam is a lot like him. My mom was full of energy, always laughing. Everyone loved her. You just felt good being with her, you know?”

“Yeah,” I say, looking at him. “I know.”

“From a young age, I could tell they were so in love. Being around them felt safe.” He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “They grew up together. They were friends first. And even though they worked their asses off at the restaurant, they made our time together count. My mom would cook these epic breakfasts…” His voice catches, and he clears his throat. “We were like one of those TV families. Almost perfect.” My heart squeezes even before he says the words: “And then my dad died.”

Charlie stares down at his hands. “I was fourteen, but Sam was only twelve. Our mom was a wreck. My grandfather gave me this talk about being the man of the house, and it scared the fuck out of me. I didn’t know what that meant or what I was supposed to do or how to fix things.”

“Of course not. You were a child.”

He makes a sound like he doesn’t quite agree. “I did everything I could think of. I helped at the restaurant and tried to make our mom smile and made sure I didn’t fall apart in front of Sam. If you were the turtle of your family, I was the joker. The guy who didn’t take anything too seriously, who didn’t let anything bother him. It felt like, if I was normal, then they would be normal, too.”

“And did that work?”

“Sort of. Sam curled up inside himself after Dad died, and Mom worried about him. I didn’t give her reason to worry about me.” His smile is so profoundly sad. “That’s not to say I didn’t piss her off.”

“What teenager didn’t piss off their parents?”

“I bet Alice Everly didn’t.”

“Busted. Heather was the rebel; I was the easy one. Although.” I lean closer and lower my voice to a whisper. “In second grade, I stole a library book.”

Charlie’s dimples appear, and I’m overwhelmed with the need to keep them there, adorning his cheeks, to be the person who makes the joker smile.

“It was a children’s encyclopedia of birds,” I say. Charlie chuckles, and I feel exhilarated, like I’m jumping from a cliff into the lake. “It had all these colorful toucans and lorikeets on the cover, and I wanted to keep it forever. I ripped out the library card envelope, thinking I was brilliant. When my mom found it in my room, she made me return it to the librarian, tell her exactly what I’d done, and apologize. It was so humiliating, I never wanted to get in trouble like that again.”

“And you didn’t, I’m guessing.”

“Nope. I was determined, even then.”

“My brother was like that. Very by the book. The year after Dad died, Percy’s parents bought the cottage next door to us. Sam and Percy became instant best friends. She talked nonstop and somehow pulled him out of his shell, helped him have fun again. They took care of each other.”

I study him. “Who took care of you?”

He looks at me from the corner of his eye. “Our mom did her best, which was pretty damn good. And the chef at the Tavern, Julien, was always keeping an eye out. But I still managed to do a bunch of boneheaded stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Partying.” He pauses, and then adds, “Girls.”

I think of what the women in the salon said last week. I think of what I heard Sam say, and what it implied.

You know how he is.

“I didn’t have my first kiss until I was nineteen,” I tell Charlie.

“I hope it was worth the wait.” The look on his face is hysterical.

I laugh. “It was kind of a letdown. It was just a random guy during frosh week. But to be fair, my expectations were extremely high at that point.”

His thigh bumps against mine. “I would have kissed you.”

It knocks the air out of me. “What?”

“Back then,” Charlie says, eyes glued to me. “When you were here that summer. I definitely would have kissed you.”

“And what makes you think I would have wanted to kiss you?” I press my thigh into his leg.

His smile is treacherous. “Everyone wanted to kiss me.”

I hit him on his concrete block of a shoulder, and he laughs. I love seeing him like this. Unburdened.

“We should do it together,” I find myself saying.

He looks taken aback. “Kiss?”

“The list.” I laugh. “You should have a seventeen-year-old summer with me.”

Charlie’s eyes brighten. “Yeah?”