Julien shakes his head. “Thanks, but you go ahead,” he says, adding in a gruff voice, “And get Percy to drive. You two jackasses are in no state.”
* * *
WE PICK UP a couple of Pizza Pizza pizzas on the way to the Floreks’ since none of us ate at the reception. I’m relieved Julien asked me to drive the boys home. I’m not ready to say goodbye.
I feel calmer after talking to Chantal. She didn’t offer any advice—just listened to me talk about the last few days, then told me not to feel so bad about what happened with Sam in the truck, that people cope with grief differently.
And maybe that’s all this morning was for Sam, comfort in his darkest hour. I could be okay with that, I tell myself, if that’s all it is, if that’s all he needs from me.
“This is weird,” says Charlie from the back seat of the car. “You two up front and me in the back. It used to be me driving you around.”
“It used to be you driving us nuts,” Sam replies, and our eyes meet. He’s smiling and now I’m smiling, and for a second it feels like there’s no one but us, and that it’s always just been us. And then I remember Charlie in the back seat and Taylor in wherever the heck she’s gone.
“So tell us about these panic attacks, Pers. You a head case or what?” Charlie asks.
“Charlie.” Sam’s voice is hard as concrete.
When I look in the rearview mirror and meet Charlie’s eyes, there are no sparkles of mischief, only soft concern.
“They let me out just for the funeral,” I tell him, and he laughs but the lines between his eyebrows have become canyons. “I have a bit of an anxiety thing,” I say, looking back out at the road. I wait for the pressure to build up in my lungs, but it doesn’t, so I keep going. “I can usually manage it. You know—therapist, breathing exercises, mantras—the basic self-care practices of a privileged white girl. But sometimes the anxious thoughts get a bit out of control.” I find Charlie in the mirror again and smile gently. “I’m okay, though.”
“That’s good, Percy,” Sam says, and I glance at him expecting pity but I don’t find it. I’m surprised how easy it is to tell them both.
Once we get to the house, they change out of their suits and we each grab a beer from the fridge, taking the pizza out to the deck and eating it straight from the box with squares of paper towel in lieu of plates. We scarf down the first slices without talking.
“I’m glad all that’s done with,” says Charlie when he comes up for air. “Just the ashes now.”
“I don’t think I’m ready for that,” Sam replies, taking a sip of his beer and gazing out over the shore, where a boy and girl are climbing onto the Floreks’ raft.
“Me neither,” Charlie replies. Squeals and splashes carry up from the lake.
“The kids from next door,” Sam says, noticing me looking at them. “At your cottage.” They’re both dark-haired, the boy a bit taller than the girl.
“Don’t you dare!” she shouts just before he pushes her off the raft. They break into a fit of giggles when she climbs back on.
“How much longer will you be here for, Charlie?” I ask.
“About a week,” he says. “We have a few loose ends to tie up.” I assume he’s referring to the house and the restaurant, but I don’t ask—the idea of them selling this place is almost as heartbreaking as losing the cottage, but it’s none of my business. “And what about you, Pers? When are you heading back?”
“Tomorrow morning,” I say, peeling the label off the beer bottle. Neither one of them replies, and the silence feels dense.
“Did Taylor go back to Kingston after the funeral?” I ask to change the subject, and because I can’t shake the feeling that she should be the one sitting here right now. Sam murmurs a yes, but Charlie’s frowning. “That’s too bad,” I say, reaching for another slice.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Sam?” Charlie growls, and I jerk my arm back, knocking a half-full beer onto my lap.
“Shit!”
“It’s none of your business, Charlie,” Sam snaps as I stand, trying to brush the liquid off my dress. But it’s as though they’ve forgotten I’m here.
“I can’t believe you!” Charlie bellows. “You’re doing the same thing all over again. You’re a goddamn coward.”
Sam’s nostrils flare with each deliberate breath before he speaks. “You have no idea what I’m doing,” he says quietly.