I stare into his eyes and somehow know he means it.
“Whenever you’re ready, let me know. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
“Good,” I say, heart pounding. “Let’s do it now.”
I peer over the edge. “It’s higher than it looks.”
Charlie steps beside me. “All you have to do is jump. I’ll go first. I’ll be down there if anything happens.”
My head snaps in his direction. “I thought you said this was safe.”
“Itissafe. But I’ll still be there.”
Staring back at the water, I take a deep breath, in and out.“I’m turning thirty-three tomorrow. You’d think I’d be a little braver.”
“I think the older we get, the scarier shit becomes.”
It’s kind of profound. I narrow my eyes. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-five.” Charlie’s voice is so grim I laugh, but it dies in my throat at his expression.
“Is it really so bad?”
“Nah.” He sounds light, but there’s a trace of something like sorrow in his eyes. “Every year we get is precious.”
There’s more to the story—I feel it in my gut.
I don’t know Charlie well enough to pry, but every bone in my body softens with the need to place a grin back upon his lips. I take a few large steps back from the edge.
“What are you doing?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Charlie’s mouth opens, but he doesn’t try to stop me. I stare down the granite ledge, fill my lungs, and then I run, launching myself off the cliff with as much force as I can. I hurtle through the air, arms circling.
It’s over quickly. My smile breaks through the surface, and I plunge into the cool depths of the lake. When the downward pull eases, I flutter my legs, returning to daylight and oxygen. I spin in the water just in time to see Charlie jump. I’m laughing, pushing my hair out of my eyes, when he bobs up beside me. His grin shines like morning sun over the bay. The dimples. The creases hugging the corners of his eyes. The water running down his nose.
Click.
Charlie sends a gentle flick of water into my face. “So much for being afraid.”
I splash back, exhilarated. “Race you to shore.”
We jump twice more, the last time in tandem. Then we climb on the Jet Ski, and as my hair whips behind me, I try not to examine why I feel looser than I have in months, or the reason my cheeks hurt from smiling, or why my skin heats whenever my knee bumps Charlie’s thigh.
When we get to the big end of Kamaniskeg, Charlie points out where, on still days, you can see the wreckage of theMayflower, a paddle steamer that sank in a winter storm more than a century ago. He tells me how three passengers survived by hanging on to a casket.
“When it’s windy, the whitecaps in this part of the lake can be dangerous,” he says. Even now, when there’s not much more than a breeze, waves disrupt the surface. Charlie turns to make sure I’m listening.
“Got it.”
“It could be unsafe in John’s little boat.” He stares at me, unblinking.
“Okay.”
He nods, satisfied, and then we’re bombing across miles and miles of open blue. It’s rough here, and Charlie goes fast. Once we make it to the mouth of a river, he drops the speed, and I breathe a bit easier.
“Sorry about that. But you would have felt the waves even more if I went slow.”
