“I can’t, Heather. I think what Charlie and I have might be rare. I don’t want to ruin it. Relationships are too risky. Look at Mom and Dad. They wasted all those years on each other, and then Mom fled to the other side of the country.” I avoid bringing up my sister’s gut-wrenching divorce.
“Mom did notflee,” Heather says. “She’s always wanted to live in British Columbia, and now she’s making it happen. She’s happy.”
“I know.” I picture Mom on the first day I visited, rosy cheeked and sipping on a cup of rooibos tea. We’d gone to a hot yoga class and then her favorite café. She looked blissed out in a way that I’d never seen. Even her movements were less frantic. I thought itwas the yoga, but she was like that the entire time I was there. At peace.
“I think relationships can change,” Heather says now. “And they’re not always easy. After everything, I still believe in love. I just don’t have the time or energy to offer another person right now.” She stares out at the lights of the far shore for a moment. “I don’t think Mom and Dad consider the years they were together a waste, either. Nothing lasts forever, Ali.”
“Right,” I say. Case closed.
“Right,” she repeats. “That’s why you should grab onto whatever makes you happy now and hold on for as long as you can. Life’s short.”
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 water-ski. 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 whetherThe Blair Witch Projectis 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 asleepon 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.
