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 shouldtotallybe 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’mnot 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 aboutyou.”
“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.
“I gotta go,” I tell Heather. “Please don’t tell Mom and Dad. I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She sighs. “I love you, Turtle.”
“I love you, too.”
A nurse slides past Charlie, telling him to take a seat.
I avoid looking at him as she asks me a series of questions.
