“This is a sight for sore eyes.” I sit up, shielding my face. Charlie is standing on the hill. I can see his dimples from the water, and I can’t help but grin back. I wave. “You kids hungry?” he calls down. “I was thinking of turning on the barbecue.” I look at Sam, who’s now sitting up beside me.
“I don’t need to stay,” I offer. Sam scans my face briefly.
“Don’t be weird,” he says. “Food sounds great,” he yells back to Charlie. “We’ll be up in a sec.”
Charlie is on the front deck lighting the barbecue when we join him. I’m wearing a towel wrapped around my shoulders and Sam is rubbing his hair dry. I sneak a peek at the muscles that run up the side of his torso before Charlie turns to face us. When he does, his eyes light up like fireflies. His hair is cropped so close to his head it’s only a little longer than a buzz cut. His square jaw looks like it’s made from steel. It’s in direct contrast to the sweetness of his dimples and his pretty plush lips. He’s barefoot and wearing a pair of olive-colored shorts and a white linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up and the top three buttons undone. He’s not as tall as Sam, and he’s built like a firefighter, not a banker. He’s still movie-star good-looking.
Those Summer Boys did an exceptional job of growing up. Delilah Mason’s squeal rings in my ears, and her absence gnaws at my gut.
Charlie glances at Sam before embracing me tightly, apparently not worried about my wet bathing suit. “Persephone Fraser,” he says when he pulls away, shaking his head. “It’s about fucking time.”
Charlie makes sausages he grabbed from the Tavern with grilled peppers, sauerkraut, and mustard, and a Greek-style salad that looks like it could be photographed for a food magazine. There’s something different about Charlie. He’s paying closer attention to Sam than he ever did when we were kids. Every so often, he sneaks a long look at Sam as if he’s checking on him, and he’s been ping-ponging between us like we’re some kind of riddle he’s trying to unravel. His eyes still dance like spring leaves in the sunlight, and he wears his smile easily, but he’s lost the lightness he had when we were younger. He seems sad and maybe a bit on edge, which I guess makes sense given the circumstances.
“So, Charlie,” I say with a grin as we eat, “I’ve met Taylor already. Tell me about the woman you’re seeing this month.” It sounded funny enough in my head, but Charlie is giving Sam a tense glare. I see Sam shake his head ever so slightly, and Charlie’s jaw flexes.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Charlie mumbles.
They eye each other silently, then Charlie turns to me. “No girlfriend right now, Pers. You interested?” He winks, but his voice is flat. My face flushes hot.
“Sure. Just let me drink about fifty more of these,” I say, picking up my empty beer bottle. Charlie’s face splits into a smile, a real one.
“You haven’t changed a bit, you know that? It’s kind of freaking me out.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I hold up my beer. “Who wants another?”
“Sure,” Sam says, but he’s still shooting daggers at Charlie.
I gather up the dirty plates, rinse them off, and stack them in the washer. The house is pretty much the same as when I was a teenager—the walls have been painted and there are a few new pieces of furniture, but that’s about it. It still feels like Sue. It still smells like Sue. I grab three more beers, and just as I’m about to head back out, I hear Charlie’s raised voice.
“You never learn, Sam! It’s the same shit all over again.”
Sam murmurs something harshly, and when Charlie speaks again, he’s quieter. I can’t make out what he says, but he’s obviously upset. I leave the beers on the counter and slip away to the bathroom. Whatever’s going on, I know I’m not supposed to hear it. I splash water on my face, count to thirty, then head back to the kitchen. Charlie is grabbing his wallet off the top of the fridge.
“You’re leaving already?” I ask. “Did I say something wrong?” Charlie walks around the counter to me.
“No, you’re perfect, Pers.” His pale green eyes move across my face, and I feel a little light-headed. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I made plans to catch up with some old friends. I don’t get back here as much as I’d like.”
“Sam said you live in Toronto. You never looked me up.”
He shakes his head. “Didn’t think that would be a good idea.” He looks over his shoulder at the sliding door that leads to the deck. “I know he seems like he’s got it all together, but don’t let that big brain of his fool you—he’s a moron a lot of the time.”