“I’m all right,” I tell him. And I am. If there’s one thing I’ve learned today, historic paddle steamer wreckages aside, it’s that Charlie knows what he’s doing on the water.
We travel down the river, past a rope swing, to a bridge where a string of kids wait to jump into the water below. On the other side is a restaurant. A row of Muskoka chairs is lined up along the beach, where children are playing, and behind them are patio tables with red umbrellas. A band is setting up outside.
“That looks like a fun spot.”
“It’s called the Bent Anchor,” Charlie says. He glances at me, and his eyes catch on my hair.
I reach up; the curls are a knotted nest. “How bad is it?”
He shifts to face me, and I ignore the brush of his leg against mine. “You look like you should be standing in an oversized shell.”
“You’re comparing me to Venus?”
“You have great hair.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t take compliments well.”
“Not really.”
“It looks like it can’t easily be controlled,” Charlie says. “It suits you.”
I pull a face. “I usually wear it straight and pulled back,” I say. “I prefer controlled.”
“Controlled isn’t you,” he says. “You’re unpredictable.”
“I’m very predictable.”
“I don’t think so,” Charlie says. “I think you’re a wild card.”
Just then, a strong breeze travels over the river, sending my hair across my face and into Charlie’s eyes. We both reach to hold it out of my face at the same time, his fingers settling on mine. For a moment that seems to stretch for hours, he looks at me in that disconcerting way, like he can see not only into my soul but to a deeper place. A corner that’s full of secrets I haven’t learned yet. It makes me feel stripped to my essential parts.
“Told you,” he says. “Wild card.”
“You don’t know me very well.”
“Not yet.” His eyes flicker down to my mouth, and then, catching himself, Charlie springs his gaze back to mine. He turns away, gesturing toward the restaurant, his voice a little ragged. “It’s good. I can tell Harry to take you.”
A second passes before I remember who he’s referring to. His friend. Harrison.
“Oh,” I say. “Sure.”
“Is it cool if I give him your number? He’s been asking for it.”
“Yeah.” I should sound enthusiastic. Harrison is cute. “So cool.”
Nan is waiting for us on the deck, where we left her. I hand Charlie the life jacket and thank him for the ride.
“I’ll see you tomorrow evening?” I ask.
“The big party.” He fixes a dazzling grin on his face. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
16
Within twenty minutes of stepping foot into the Cut Above salon, Nan and I are up-to-date on every fresh piece of gossip circulating around the town of Barry’s Bay. Who’s retiring, which businesses are up for sale, the health and marital status of various members of the community. One stylist sets Nan’s hair with rollers while the other mixes dye for a woman in a sundress and flip-flops. Nan’s in good spirits—she switched out her walker for a cane, and we took a short walk in town before her appointment.
A black Porsche cruises past the window, and all the heads in the salon turn.
