One Golden Summer(77)

I shut my eyes for a moment. It sounds like something Charlie might say.





40


Monday, August 11

21 Days Left at the Lake

It’s the longest, fastest week of summer. Each day begins with Charlie teaching Bennett and me how to waterski. She gets up on day two while I continue to face-plant. When I finally manage it, I shout with joy, then go skidding across the water like a skipped stone. Charlie takes us on boat rides in the afternoon, and sometimes Nan joins. When Bennett complains about the cottage’s DVD selection (heavy on Bond films), Charlie brings over a box of old horror movies from his basement. I question whether The Blair Witch Project is appropriate for a thirteen-year-old but am met with three sets of rolling eyes. Sometimes Charlie joins us, and he and Bennett have fun trying to pry the pillow from my face during the scary parts.

The days pass without a moment for Charlie and me to be alone. The need to feel his lips on mine, to taste him, to press my nose into his neck and inhale is a specific brand of torture I’ve never experienced. Sometimes I catch Charlie looking at me, and I think he feels it, too. One night, when Bennett has fallen asleep on the couch, he and I creep out to the screened porch, and I twist myself around him like climbing ivy. But as soon as our lips meet, I hear Bennett shift inside, and we separate with comical speed. I cannot get busted by my niece.

“You sit over there,” Charlie says, pointing to one end of the sofa and then the other. “And I’ll sit here. I need a few feet of space between us. I don’t trust myself not to touch you.”

The way he’s staring, eyes glinting like emeralds, ignites warmth in my belly.

“Don’t be dramatic,” I tell him.

We nestle at opposing ends of the sofa, a blanket over our legs. I have the feeling that we go together, fit together, despite our differences. He makes me bolder, and I make him softer. He makes Bennett bolder, too.

Bit by bit, Charlie manages to coax her out of her cocoon, either by teasing me or making fun of himself. Each hour, she unfurls a little more. One day, when I’m bringing lunch down to the dock from the cottage, I hear her telling Charlie about a boy she thought liked her until she saw him at the movie theater with someone else. The kid ignored Bennett when she said hi. They don’t see me, so I stay very still as Charlie gives her a short speech about not putting up with crap from guys.

“My mom always said that trust and friendship come first,” Charlie tells her. “And it doesn’t sound like he’s been a good friend,” he adds.

Bennett sighs. “No, he’s been a bit of a jerk.”

“If he’s smart, he’ll come around. And if he doesn’t, he’s not smart enough for you.”

She nods, and I begin to make my way to them.

“One quick swim before lunch?” he asks her. “I bet I can make a bigger splash than you.”

She smiles up at him. “You’re on.”

They both charge to the end of the dock in their bathing suits and T-shirts, tucking their legs up as they cannonball into the water. They come up laughing. Charlie’s eyes meet mine, and I stumble.

“Get in here, Alice,” Charlie calls. “Biggest splash you can make.”

“I’m good. I don’t want to get my hair wet.”

The two of them give each other a look, and then Charlie swims to the ladder and pulls himself out. He stalks toward me. I set the tray of sandwiches and iced tea down.

“No,” I say, seeing the look on his face. “Don’t even think about it.”

With a grin, Charlie scoops me up. “Too late.”

“I hate you,” I say as he carries me to the edge of the dock, my arms around his neck.

He smiles at me, water running down his face in glistening rivulets. “Nah,” he says. “You love me.”

And then he drops me in the lake.



* * *





That evening, after we FaceTime my mom and Bennett gives her a detailed play-by-play of how she got up on waterskis, my niece and I arrive at Charlie’s house in our pajamas with bags of chips, candy, soda, our toothbrushes, and more books and magazines than we can possibly read in one night. Charlie has the tree house all set up for us, with two sleeping bags and pillows on an inflatable mattress pushed under the window so we can sleep under the stars (number seventeen).

Bennett marvels at the view, the twinkle lights, and the arched doorway, and Charlie looks like he might float away with pride. He leaves us to ourselves. Bennett and I eat and talk and read and then eat and read some more until she can’t keep her eyes open. I tuck the sleeping bag around her shoulders and quietly sneak out of the tree house with my toothbrush.

The house is in darkness, but Charlie has left the porch light on and the door unlocked. I sprained my right wrist in a waterskiing mishap this afternoon, so I’m brushing my teeth with my left hand. I hear the floor creak behind me. I meet Charlie’s eyes in the mirror. He leans on the frame. No shirt. Pajama bottoms.

“Did I wake you?” I whisper, even though there’s no one here but the two of us.

He shakes his head. “I was watching TV in the basement. I heard you come in. Where’s Bennett?”

“Sleeping.”

“Do you need help?” he asks, stepping inside the bathroom.

“With brushing my teeth?”