One Golden Summer(80)

“Me three,” Bennett chirps from the back.

“Me four,” Nan says. “Thank you all for coming with me. It’s a day I won’t forget.”

“Did you tell John about our cottage makeover?” I ask.

“Oh lord, no. I want to see if he even notices.”

“Oh, he’ll notice,” Charlie says. “It’s impossible not to. So many flowers.”

“You don’t like them?” Bennett asks.

“I don’t like them,” he says, looking at her in the rearview mirror. “I love them.”

Just before we hit the highway, Charlie turns the music on. I start laughing as Rod Stewart’s voice rasps over the speakers. I crank the volume, and we sing our hearts out to “Forever Young.” Nan is the only one who can carry a tune, and Bennett only knows the chorus, but it’s the best rendition of the song I’ve ever heard.

We make our way through Rod’s hits as we drive. I can’t help but stare at Charlie. The late-afternoon sun brings out the flecks of gold in his eyes, making them appear even more feline. The light catches on his lashes and hair, creating a halo around him. He looks not of this earth.

We’re almost home, careening up and down over the giant hills in Wilno, Rod Stewart having been replaced with Shania Twain, who I’ve learned was one of Charlie’s mom’s favorites. We’re singing about men’s shirts and short skirts, even Bennett, who has the lyrics on her phone.

The sun has dropped into our eyes. Charlie lowers the shade visor, and I fish out his sunglasses from the center console. They’re aviators with silver frames, and there’s a subtle designer logo etched into the arm. I slide them onto his face, and he thanks me without taking his eyes off the road. He has one hand on the wheel, the other tapping on his thigh as he sings. And even though I love being here with Nan and Bennett, I’d like to drive somewhere in Charlie’s fast car with the windows down and the music up. Just him and me. I wonder if the Porsche is big enough inside to do bad things.

“What are you thinking?” Charlie says, glancing at me. An eyebrow tilts.

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. You’re blushing.”

He reaches over and ruffles my hair, and I swat his hand away. “I was thinking I want you to take me for a drive in your car.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Let’s add it to the list.”

“We finished the list,” he says.

“Maybe we should make a new one. One we can take to Toronto.”

“What are you talking about?” Bennett asks, leaning forward.

Charlie flicks his eyes up to hers in the rearview mirror. “Nothing.”

I watch my niece’s smile grow. “Oh my god,” she says. “You’re talking about being a couple, aren’t you?”

I’m about to remind her of our conversation earlier today when Charlie shakes his head. “No.”

“But you should totally be a couple, right, Nan?”

My grandmother stays quiet.

“We wouldn’t be good together, would we, Alice?” Charlie says, offering me his dimples.

I can feel everyone in the car looking at me, but I don’t reply. The longer it takes me to respond, the harder it gets to speak. I’m not good at lying. And the truth is glancing over at me, lowering his sunglasses. I swallow back the lump in my throat.

“Awkwaaard,” Bennett sings quietly, and Nan shushes her.

Charlie’s grin falls. “Alice?”

I shake my head, sinking down in my seat a few inches.

Charlie reaches for my hand, but I don’t want him to touch me. I pull away, feeling his gaze on me.

And then I see it on the road.

Everything happens so quickly.

I scream Charlie’s name.

A squeal of tires. The slam of brakes. And then I’m thrown against the side of the car.





42


Saturday, August 16

16 Days Left at the Lake

“Are you sure I shouldn’t come tonight?” Heather asks.

I’m in a bed in the Barry’s Bay hospital emergency room with a splitting headache and three fresh stitches above my right eyebrow.

“I don’t want you driving in the dark,” I tell her. “And Bennett and Nan are fine.” Shaken, but unharmed.

The fox is okay, too. Charlie swerved to miss it, then swerved again to move out of the way of an oncoming car. He slammed on the brakes just as we were about to hit the ditch. All in all, it was an impressive feat of emergency driving, but I bashed my head on the door frame in the process, blacked out briefly, and woke up to Charlie frantically calling my name and pressing his balled-up T-shirt to my brow.

“I know they’re all right,” Heather snaps. “Bennett called me right away. I’m worried about you.”

“They don’t think it’s a concussion,” I tell her. “The doctor and nurses have checked me out. You’ll be here tomorrow, anyway.”

I glance up and find Charlie lingering at the edge of the curtain around my bed. I insisted he take Nan and Bennett home to the cottage. I didn’t want them waiting around the hospital. Charlie stares at my stitches, deep grooves between his brows. He must have made a pit stop at his house—he’s wearing a T-shirt that’s not covered in my blood.