I shake my head. “I’m better with them.”
“They look heavy. Don’t you get sore?”
“My neck and my shoulders do, but I’m used to it. Don’t worry about me.”
“Not worried. Just checking in. I want you to have fun.”
“I am having fun. This is a great party, Charlie.”
I take a moment to peek around the living room. It has a large stone hearth in the middle, grander than the one at our cottage. The mantel has a display of photos of Charlie and Sam aschildren. I’ve already inspected them all. There’s one of their parents on their wedding day. Sue reminds me so much of Charlie, sunny and dimpled. Sam looks more like his dad. There’s another in a pewter frame of Sam and Percy sitting on the end of the dock, wrapped in towels—they’re young, barely teenagers. And another of them on their wedding day. Percy’s gown is lacy and elegant. She looks at the camera while Sam stares at her, the way he does in my photo.
There’s a DJ in one corner of the room and a bartender in another. She’s wearing a bow tie and suit, and she’s making nonalcoholic Persephone Spritzes and whiskey Sam Sours. The music is a curious mix of old country songs, Motown, and pop, but somehow it works. The room is still bursting with people. It’s an attractive crowd. I wave to Harrison, who’s chatting with a gorgeous redhead and Percy’s best friend, Chantal, a stunning woman with waist-length box braids. Both are looking at Charlie with narrowed eyes.
“Exes of yours?” I ask. He lets out a snort.
Guess that’s a no.
“I met Chantal earlier, but who’s the other one?”
“Delilah.”
I glance at Delilah, and she catches me looking. She makes her way over.
She’s wearing a red dress that shows off her little waist and generous curves. Her hair is a deeper shade of auburn than mine, brighter, bolder. She’s like human fire, my opposite. I peer at Charlie.Theywould look good together.
“Charlie, hey,” she says.
“Good to see you, Delilah.”
She offers me her hand. “Delilah Mason.”
“Alice Everly,” I say. “How do you know Sam and Percy?”
“I’ve known Percy since elementary school, but I met theFlorek boys when I was fourteen or fifteen. I had a bit of a crush on this one,” she says, tilting her head at Charlie. His mouth is arranged in a wry grin.
“Don’t worry,” she tells me. “He never showed me a second of interest.”
“Why would that worry me?”
She looks between us. “Oh, I’m sorry. I assumed you were together. He’s been looking at you like you’re some kind of snack.”
Charlie lifts his brows at that, and I will my face not to heat. “We’re good friends,” I tell her.
“Okay.” Delilah laughs, and I think she may have had one too many Sam Sours. “I know what beingfriendswith Charlie entails.”
Charlie’s spine straightens just as Chantal comes to Delilah’s side. “Sorry about her,” she says to me. “She thinks she can hold her liquor.”
As Chantal yanks a giggling Delilah away, I turn to Charlie. “What was that about?”
He takes a swig of beer. “History.”
34
Saturday, July 26
37 Days Left at the Lake
Sam was right about Charlie being dramatic. The entire tree house is draped in an enormous cloth—I can’t imagine how he found it or got it up there. The sun has set, but Charlie has lanterns down here, too. About twenty of us have peeled away from the party for the big moment. Percy stands with her back resting on Sam’s chest, both their hands on her belly. Charlie’s shirtsleeves are rolled up—he looks like a cologne commercial. Harrison is a few feet away, holding a length of rope.
