One Golden Summer(53)

The lights are on inside, their warm glow beckoning me closer. Charlie passes by the living room window wearing his gray lounge pants and a T-shirt. I’m in shorts and a sweatshirt. I didn’t dress for seduction. I dressed to climb a tree.

With each step I take, my pulse becomes more urgent. I step onto the porch and put a hand over my chest to calm it down. I see Charlie again. He’s sitting in the dining room, his forearm resting on the table. There’s a cuff around his bicep attached to a small monitor. I take a step back, but not before Charlie lifts his head. I feel like I’m witnessing something he didn’t want me to. We stare at each other.

“I’m sorry,” I say, loud enough for him to hear me through the glass. “I’ll just…” I turn to leave. I’ve just stepped onto the gravel driveway when I hear the door open behind me.

“Alice. Stop.”

I turn around, wincing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Charlie walks across the porch, not stopping until he’s right in front of me. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s not a big deal. I’m supposed to monitor my blood pressure,” he says. “It’s been a little higher than it should be.” His tone is casual, but his expression is anything but.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

He stares down at me for an almost uncomfortable length of time, lips pressed together. “Why are you here?”

Without the buzz of wine or the toasty haze of an edible, it’s hard asking for what I want. But I’ve come this far. “I want to see your tree house.”

Charlie stares into the forest. When his eyes return to mine, conflict swirls in the shades of green and gilt. He’s going to turn me away. I lift my head, set my hands on my hips, and pull my shoulders back, bracing myself for rejection.

“You look like you’re about to fight me,” he says.

I narrow my eyes, and he lets out an exaggerated sigh and then tips his head toward the water. “Come on, Rocky.”

I follow Charlie down the hill to the edge of the bush, where we stand side by side, staring at the most stunning tree house I’ve ever seen. It’s built over two levels. The first ladder leads to a round platform around the trunk, and a second connects it to an upper deck and the tree house itself. It has a door and screened windows and a cedar-shingled roof. Charlie folds his arms over his chest, grinning at my slack-jawed expression.

“So,” he says, nudging me with his hip. “What do you think?”

I blink up at him. “Whoa.”

His smile lures his dimples. “I can’t take all the credit. Harrison helped me design it, and he’s done the trickier parts.” Charlie points to a little break in the bush at the base of the tree. “There’s a path that leads to the cottage next door, the one that used to be Percy’s. She and Sam would go back and forth between our house and her place all summer long. I love the idea that their kid will play here, in the spot where they became friends.”

I smile into the woods, but when I glance at Charlie, he looks melancholy.

“You’re a good brother.”

He shakes his head. “Not really.”

“And a romantic,” I add, ignoring his comment.

He raises two skeptical brows. “No one who knows me would ever say that.”

“Maybe they don’t really know you, then.”

“I’m not a very good person, Alice. I’ve made more mistakes than most.” He takes a deep breath, then says quietly, “Sometimes I wonder if I’ve ever done anything good in my entire life.”

“This is good,” I say. “The way you’ve helped Nan and me is good.” I want to tell him that he’s good, but I’m not sure words would be enough to make him believe. So I link my arm in his. “Come on, Sad Boy. Take me up to your tree house.”



* * *





“The view,” I say. “It’s spectacular. It’s almost like we’re on the water.”

There’s a slash of bright red running on a diagonal across the sky, disappearing behind the hill of the far shore, but otherwise the night is indigo and growing darker by the second.

“Almost as good as the view from your boathouse,” Charlie says behind me. He’s leaning against the door to the tree house. It’s a squat, round-topped entrance, like it leads to an enchanted hideaway.

Everything about this moment is spellbinding. The pine-kissed air. The distant call of a loon. Floating high in the trees with Charlie. I look back to the lake. There’s a bonfire on the beach near John’s cottage. Laughter rolls across the bay. A fish jumps closer to shore.

“No, this is better. It feels like we’re somewhere magical,” I say.

“It does.”

I turn at the tenderness in Charlie’s voice. I take a step closer, and every muscle in his body seems to tense. I find his hand clenched at his side and raise it between mine. He doesn’t breathe as I stare up at him and uncurl his fingers, lacing them with my own. When I bring his knuckles to my lips, a low hum vibrates in his chest. I desperately want to know all his sounds.

“Take me inside?”

His eyes sweep across my face. “Are you sure?”

“About seeing your tree house?”

“About this.” He steps into my body, and I’m forced to tip my head to look at him. His fingers skate down my arm, from shoulder to wrist, and goose bumps rise in their wake.