“Oh, this is nothing,” I say. “I once walked around a gallery with my dress tucked into the back of my underwear. I couldn’t figure out why everyone was looking at me until an elderly woman pulled the skirt out of my butt.”
He smiles. “Lucky woman.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m pleased. I like making him smile. I want his dimples firmly in place.
Charlie pats the bed, so I sit beside him with my legs folded.
“I think you’re too hard on yourself,” I say.
His gaze travels around my face, and for a heartbeat I think he’s going to argue with me, but he takes a deep breath and pulls me into him, wrapping his arms around me. I circle my arms around his waist and lean my head against his chest. He smells like sweat and sunscreen and whatever fancy soap he uses.
“What was your mom’s name?”
“Sue,” Charlie says, his voice hoarse. “Her name was Sue.”
I hold him tighter. “I’m sorry you lost her. I’m sorry she’s not here to give you a hug.”
“Thanks,” he whispers after a moment.
I pull my head back enough to gaze up at him. “For what?”
“For listening to me. For being my friend.”
“You’re welcome.” I squeeze him back.
Then I climb off the mattress, holding out my hand.
“Come on. Let’s go for a swim. You smell terrible.”
He lets out a deep laugh and puts his palm in mine.
“You know,” I say as we walk to the water, “you’re a lot more high-maintenance than I would have guessed.”
26
Saturday, July 19
44 Days Left at the Lake
A week passes. Mid-July threatens to turn into late July. Charlie and Nan go to euchre night together and return with stories about how they trampled their competition. I throw myself into my editing backlog and preparing for Bennett’s visit. In three days, Heather will drop her off for the week. I have big plans to make it a summer vacation she won’t forget. Arts and crafts. Dinner at the Tavern. Cozy evenings watching movies with Nan. Boat rides.
Charlie wants to take us all out on the water. He said if Nan isn’t ready to walk down to the lake, he’ll carry her himself. What he doesn’t know is that Nan has been practicing. She’s made it all the way down and back up more than once, though the effort leaves her winded.
“Not everyone has a chance to spend time with their great-granddaughter at the lake,” Charlie tells her over afternoon tea. Percy and Sam have returned to the city, but he’s still here every day.
“All right, Charlie,” Nan tells him. “If you must carry me, then you must.” She winks at me when he’s not looking.
He stays for the whole evening. The weather is wet and cool, so Charlie lights a fire while I put a chicken in the oven for dinner. We eat it with a warm bread and tomato salad, and after Charlie and I wash the dishes, we drink scotch by the fireplace with Rod Stewart on the CD player.
I photograph everything.
It’s not the summer I envisioned when we arrived in June—it’s so much better. I feel as though I’ve been wearing a heavy coat and am now finally able to take it off. I feellighter.
I can’t deny that Charlie is a big part of the reason. I like who I am with him. I laugh until tears stain my cheeks. I say what I think, and when he senses I’m holding something in, he tells me to spit it out. I don’t have to be a perfectly edited version of myself—it’s okay to have a few bumps. And I don’t have totry. I’ve never felt this comfortable with a man. I’m not sure I’ve felt this kind of ease with anyone.
I also can’t deny the way my stomach swoops when our legs slide against each other while we’re swimming, or when I catch Charlie looking at me in a way that has me picturing how he lifted me off the floor the night we almost kissed. Butjust friendsworks. Just friendsis all either of us is prepared to give.
Tonight he’s wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. His feet are bare, and so are mine. But I’ve already changed into pajamas, a pretty striped nightshirt that hits me above the knee. When Nan has a piece of her chocolate and excuses herself for bed, Charlie grabs the bar and sits down on the couch beside me.
