She shakes her head, her eyes not leaving the photo she’s studying. “I’ll stay here for a while longer.”
“I’ll help you with your exercises when I’m done, and then we can start the curtains?”
“No rush. I’m not going anywhere.”
I watch her for a moment. I hate seeing her so down.
“I love you, Nan.”
She glances up at me, blinking. “I love you, too.”
Nan is buried in another album when I finish eating, so I wander down to the lake with my half-finished coffee.
Sunlight dances on the surface of the water like sequins winking on a liquid gown. The unicorn pool floatie I bought in town yesterday is bobbing happily beside the dock. It’s enormous, with a rainbow mane and tail, and a golden horn and wings. I also bought a moose and a loon—I have visions of Luca, Lavinia, and me lounging on the lake with piña coladas.
The hammering continues as I sip my coffee. I picture Charlie working on his tree house. I try to put him out of my mind, but eachthwackhas me imagining his smirk and shirtless chest. And then the drill starts. I retreat to the cottage and find my phone.
Me:Is that you making such a remarkable racket?
“Have you done your exercises yet?” I ask Nan when Charlie doesn’t respond.
“I was hoping you’d forget.”
But she folds up her crossword and gets started, complaining the entire time about how boring it is lying on her back and squeezing her butt. But I can tell Nan’s already stronger than she was a week ago. After she’s done, we begin our first sewing project.
Rod-pocket curtains are simple in theory. There’s a lot of folding and ironing. I’m uncoordinated with the machine at first, but Nan helps me keep the fabric straight and gives quiet instructions.
A little heavier on the pedal. Now the backstitch. Good, Alice!
We’re both grinning when I get one finished. Stiff, I move my neck from side to side.
“Why don’t you go for a swim,” Nan says, taking her crossword to the dining table. “You’ve barely been in the water.”
I still haven’t given the unicorn a ride.
When I’m changing into my bathing suit, I glance at my phone and find an unread text.
Charlie:Did I interrupt your morning, princess?
I feel myself smiling, imagine the wordprincessrasping out of Charlie’s mouth, then throw my phone onto the bed.
I bring John’s binoculars down to the lake and stand at the end of the dock, scanning the shoreline. Birches sloped over the water. Towels drying on deck railings. Flags flapping in the breeze. I pass over the A-frame and then Charlie’s boat, and almost drop the binoculars as he appears in my view. He’s on the deck. No shirt. Bathing suit bottoms. I shouldn’t creep on him like this, but…
Whoa.
He walks down the hill to the water. I see when he sees me: A brilliant smile lights his face. I curse, quickly set the binoculars down, and dive into the lake.
I stay submerged as long as I can, eyes closed, letting the water fill my ears. And then I swim, from the dock and out, back and forth, back and forth. Legs fluttering. Arms arching. I don’t stop until I’m short of breath.
Without a fraction of a glance toward Charlie’s place, I dry off and attempt to board the unicorn. The thing is so massive and awkward, I can’t get my weight centered. I fall off twice to the sound of Nan laughing from the deck before I manage tospread myself between its golden wings. It’s shockingly comfortable. I close my eyes and cover my face with my arms. Seconds later, I hear the obnoxious roar of a Jet Ski whipping around the bay.
I hear it pass me once, twice, a third time, closer and closer. It slows somewhere nearby, and the engine stops.
“Lucky Pegasus.”
15
Iturn toward the voice and am unsurprised to find Charlie astride a yellow Jet Ski.
