One Golden Summer(83)

I’m angry with me, I think.

“That’s not it. You just said it yourself: It was an accident.”

“But you’re angry. I can tell.”

“I’m tired,” I tell him. “I need some quiet.”

He studies me, frowning. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Just leave me to myself for a bit.”

I turn my back as Charlie gets dressed.

Then I watch him leave.



* * *





Heather arrives that morning in a cloud of perfume and dust from her speeding car.

She squeezes her daughter so hard that Bennett tells her she’s hurting her. I get a similar rib-crushing hug, followed by an interrogation about how I’m feeling. Physically, I’m fine. The stitches are barely noticeable. My headache is much better. Otherwise, I’m garbage.

“How’s Charlie?” Heather asks when we’re alone. “He sounded like he was in shock when I spoke to him yesterday.”

“I think it scared him more than it did the rest of us.”

“Because he’s in love with you.”

“He’s really not,” I say.

“Oh please. He looks at you like you’re a scoop of ice cream on the hottest day of summer.”

“Just drop it, Heather. I don’t want to talk about Charlie.”

For once, Heather drops it.

She and Bennett leave after lunch. On a different day, I’d wish my sister could stay another night, but I’m grateful for the peace.

“Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?” Nan says as we watch Heather’s car pull away.

I shake my head, and Nan puts her arm around me.

“When you’re ready, then.”

“I think I might go back to bed.” I want a break from my mind.

Nan looks at the dark clouds that lurk in the distance. “Good day for a nap,” she says. “I might do the same.”

It’s suppertime when I wake. I have three missed texts.

    Charlie: Can I cook dinner for you and Nan tonight?

Charlie: I’m making my mom’s pierogi.

Charlie: Don’t make me eat all of them on my own. I have to maintain my figure.



As much as I want to spend the night with him, Nan, and a giant plate of dumplings, I need space more.

    Me: Just woke up from a long nap, and I’m still zonked. Rain check?

Charlie: Are you okay? How’s your head?

Me: I’m fine. I promise. I just need to chill tonight.

Charlie: Do you want company? I’m very chill.

Me: I think I need a night off.



Over the next minute, several three-dot text bubbles appear and disappear, until finally: I’m sorry, Alice.

I put my phone away and leave my room to find Nan. She’s in the kitchen, heating up a can of Heinz tomato soup and making grilled cheese. It’s what she used to make when I was sick. I put my arms around her waist and kiss her cheek. It’s exactly what I need.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She tilts her head to the ceiling. “Do I know our girl, or do I know our girl?”

I’m not sure if she’s talking to Grandpa or Joyce, but I guess it doesn’t matter.

Nan tells me about her afternoon with John over dinner. She apologized to him for being absent. He apologized for kissing her all those years ago. They both agreed it meant little more than friends trying to cope with grief. I can see that she’s shed an incredible weight. She’s moving better. Smiling more. Telling jokes at John’s expense.

“You seem more like yourself,” I say, sopping a crust in the last of the soup. It tastes like I’m seven years old. What I wouldn’t give for a glass of apple juice right now.

“I feel more like myself.” Nan sets down her spoon. “I know I’ve been short with you at times, and I’m sorry. Usually, I still feel like I’m forty, at least in my mind. But the hip replacement threw me for a loop—I really felt my age. I love this cottage, but it’s also been a reminder of how much past is behind me, and how little future is left.”

My throat tightens. I can’t imagine a world without Nan. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I hope it wasn’t a mistake to come here.”

“Not at all! I’m grateful to you, Alice. Reminiscing with John put things into perspective. I’m lucky to have so much past, so many memories. It’s a gift to age.” She looks at me over her glasses. “Even though sometimes it really sucks.”

I laugh.

“It’s also been a treat having so much time with you,” Nan says. “You’ve flourished this summer.”

My eyebrows rise. “I’ve done nothing all summer.”

Nan gives her head a sharp shake. “You’ve been tremendously happy.”

I blink, but tears spring to my eyes as though they’ve been waiting there all along.

“And now you’re not,” Nan says.

I stare at my empty bowl. “I don’t know what I am.”

I hear Nan’s chair move, and then feel her hand on my shoulder. “Let’s have a talk.”

Let’s have a talk.

I’ve heard Nan say those words dozens of times. When I learned Mom was pregnant with the twins. When my friend told the boy I liked that I had carrot-colored pubes. When I stopped talking to Oz. When my parents announced they were splitting up. When Trevor dumped me.