One Golden Summer(47)

“Somehow I doubt that.”

He shrugs. “Beside the point.”

Charlie’s gaze drifts to my table full of sketch pads and paint palettes, pastels, and brush sets.

“I’m just playing around,” I tell him when he picks up the drawing I’ve been working on. “It’s not supposed to be good.”

“Looks pretty damn good to me.” His gaze returns to mine. “Can we talk?”

“There’s really no need to.” I don’t want to explain myself or listen to Charlie’s reasons for wanting to stay friends. “Seriously. Don’t worry about it for a second. We can move on. Pretend it never happened.”

His eyes narrow, but he says, “Sure.” A beat passes. “But there was something else I wanted to talk to you about. Can we sit?”

“All right,” I say, nervous once more.

We take our places on opposing beds, facing each other. I bend my knees and hug them to me, while Charlie spreads his wide, hands clasped between them, leaning forward. We’re so diametric, we’re almost negative images. The light streams in from the windows, putting us in a moody silhouette. I’d capture it in a photo if I could.

Click.

“My mom was sick for two years before she died,” Charlie says.

I blink. It’s the exact last thing I was expecting.

“Her treatment was harsh, and even after all that chemo, it just…well, it wasn’t enough.” The thick swallow in his throat is the only trace of how much those words hurt. “In the end, she just wanted to be comfortable. I bought her a few gummies to try, and it eased some of her discomfort.

“I wasn’t around as much as I should have been. Sam moved back home, but I was caught up in work. She died three years ago, and I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself for not being here more.” He scrapes a hand over his face, then looks at me. “When your grandmother asked me to get her something, I just wanted to help.”

Before I can respond, Charlie drops his head into his palms. I stare, stunned for a moment, not sure what to do. But the sight of him crying is too much for me. I get off the bed, crouching between his knees.

“Hey.” I try to pull his hands away from his face, but he shakes his head, so I trail my fingers up and down his calves, trying to soothe him.

Charlie lets himself grieve for only a few seconds before wiping his cheek with the heel of his hand. “I’m sorry. This is really fucking embarrassing.”

“Oh, this is nothing,” I say. “I once walked around a gallery with my dress tucked into the back of my underwear. I couldn’t figure out why everyone was looking at me until an elderly woman pulled the skirt out of my butt.”

He smiles. “Lucky woman.”

I roll my eyes, but I’m pleased. I like making him smile. I want his dimples firmly in place.

Charlie pats the bed, so I sit beside him with my legs folded.

“I think you’re too hard on yourself,” I say.

His gaze travels around my face, and for a heartbeat I think he’s going to argue with me, but he takes a deep breath and pulls me into him, wrapping his arms around me. I circle my arms around his waist and lean my head against his chest. He smells like sweat and sunscreen and whatever fancy soap he uses.

“What was your mom’s name?”

“Sue,” Charlie says, his voice hoarse. “Her name was Sue.”

I hold him tighter. “I’m sorry you lost her. I’m sorry she’s not here to give you a hug.”

“Thanks,” he whispers after a moment.

I pull my head back enough to gaze up at him. “For what?”

“For listening to me. For being my friend.”

“You’re welcome.” I squeeze him back.

Then I climb off the mattress, holding out my hand.

“Come on. Let’s go for a swim. You smell terrible.”

He lets out a deep laugh and puts his palm in mine.

“You know,” I say as we walk to the water, “you’re a lot more high-maintenance than I would have guessed.”





26


Saturday, July 19

44 Days Left at the Lake

A week passes. Mid-July threatens to turn into late July. Charlie and Nan go to euchre night together and return with stories about how they trampled their competition. I throw myself into my editing backlog and preparing for Bennett’s visit. In three days, Heather will drop her off for the week. I have big plans to make it a summer vacation she won’t forget. Arts and crafts. Dinner at the Tavern. Cozy evenings watching movies with Nan. Boat rides.

Charlie wants to take us all out on the water. He said if Nan isn’t ready to walk down to the lake, he’ll carry her himself. What he doesn’t know is that Nan has been practicing. She’s made it all the way down and back up more than once, though the effort leaves her winded.

“Not everyone has a chance to spend time with their great-granddaughter at the lake,” Charlie tells her over afternoon tea. Percy and Sam have returned to the city, but he’s still here every day.

“All right, Charlie,” Nan tells him. “If you must carry me, then you must.” She winks at me when he’s not looking.

He stays for the whole evening. The weather is wet and cool, so Charlie lights a fire while I put a chicken in the oven for dinner. We eat it with a warm bread and tomato salad, and after Charlie and I wash the dishes, we drink scotch by the fireplace with Rod Stewart on the CD player.