I look around for an escape route, but short of throwing myself off the boathouse deck into the water, I’m cornered.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he says. “And it’s too shallow to jump.”
I look down at myself—I’ve got my caftan on over a bathing suit. My standard-issue uniform this summer. I take a second to retie my hair into a neater pile on my head and cross the room. My heart is in my throat.
“Do you ever wear a shirt?” I say, holding the door open.
“I missed you, too.” Charlie leans against the frame, the picture of ease, but there’s a hesitance in his eyes that makes mewonder. His chest is slick with sweat, and he’s breathing heavily. He looks…ugh…too good. “Dock’s all done. Should dry quickly with this sun, but if you want to swim, you’ll have to walk in from the shore until it dries.”
“All right.” I feel like popcorn in a microwave, nerves exploding in my chest. I know he didn’t come here to tell me about the dock.
“I’ve never seen it in here.” Charlie looks over my shoulder at the space behind me. “May I?”
I step aside. Because of the angle of the ceiling, Charlie can only stand in the very center of the room without having to duck.
“It’s cozy,” he says, after giving it a short inspection.
“Uh-huh.”
“An ideal hideout,” he says, meeting my eyes. “Since you’re avoiding me.”
“I am not.”
His brows rise at the speed of my denial. “It’s one of the nicest days of the summer, and you’re hiding in here. Is this how you treat all your conquests? I feel a little used, Alice.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
He shrugs. “Beside the point.”
Charlie’s gaze drifts to my table full of sketch pads and paint palettes, pastels, and brush sets.
“I’m just playing around,” I tell him when he picks up the drawing I’ve been working on. “It’s not supposed to be good.”
“Looks pretty damn good to me.” His gaze returns to mine. “Can we talk?”
“There’s really no need to.” I don’t want to explain myself or listen to Charlie’s reasons for wanting tostay friends.“Seriously. Don’t worry about it for a second. We can move on. Pretend it never happened.”
His eyes narrow, but he says, “Sure.” A beat passes. “But there was something else I wanted to talk to you about. Can we sit?”
“All right,” I say, nervous once more.
We take our places on opposing beds, facing each other. I bend my knees and hug them to me, while Charlie spreads his wide, hands clasped between them, leaning forward. We’re so diametric, we’re almost negative images. The light streams in from the windows, putting us in a moody silhouette. I’d capture it in a photo if I could.
Click.
“My mom was sick for two years before she died,” Charlie says.
I blink. It’s the exact last thing I was expecting.
“Her treatment was harsh, and even after all that chemo, it just…well, it wasn’t enough.” The thick swallow in his throat is the only trace of how much those words hurt. “In the end, she just wanted to be comfortable. I bought her a few gummies to try, and it eased some of her discomfort.
“I wasn’t around as much as I should have been. Sam moved back home, but I was caught up in work. She died three years ago, and I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself for not being here more.” He scrapes a hand over his face, then looks at me. “When your grandmother asked me to get her something, I just wanted to help.”
Before I can respond, Charlie drops his head into his palms. I stare, stunned for a moment, not sure what to do. But the sight of him crying is too much for me. I get off the bed, crouching between his knees.
“Hey.” I try to pull his hands away from his face, but he shakes his head, so I trail my fingers up and down his calves, trying to soothe him.
Charlie lets himself grieve for only a few seconds before wiping his cheek with the heel of his hand. “I’m sorry. This is really fucking embarrassing.”
