Charlie’s hand finds mine.
I know.
We stay like that, fingers wrapped together, for the rest of the evening.
The next day, he and I return to the cottage after taking the Jet Ski to the jumping rock, and find Nan on the phone, speaking in hushed tones. She called John the night of the party. She’s said next to nothing about their conversation, only that she’s glad they connected. I’m certain that’s who she’s talking to now.
Charlie and I creep back outside and return to the shore, sitting on the sand in our bathing suits, our legs extended in the water. I have my big straw hat on, but Charlie puts extra sunscreen on my back and shoulders. I’m still as pale as a boiled pierogi, whereas his tan is deeper than when we met, his hair spun with blond.
I close my eyes and lean back on my elbows, a smile on my face. Today was a very good day. The bathing suit photos ran inSwishover the weekend, and this morning, Willa sent me an email saying the response has been overwhelmingly positive.
I hate admitting when I’m wrong, but here we are. I hope you’ll consider shooting for us in the future.
“Still gloating, I see,” Charlie says.
I laugh. “I’m not gloating. I’m basking.”
“As you should be.” He clears his throat. “Listen, I have to go to the city Thursday. But I’ll be back Saturday.”
That’s the day Heather’s finally bringing Bennett to the lake.
I crack open an eye. “What’s happening in the city?”
“I have an appointment.”
“How mysterious.”
Charlie taps his foot against mine, and I straighten, looking into his eyes. They’re like gemstones, sparkling in the bright afternoon sun.
“It’s a doctor’s appointment, and I’m going to have dinner with some people from work.”
I stare out at the lake, the sun glittering on its surface, the water-skier who’s zigging and zagging across the wake of a speedboat, the break in the bush around the bay, where the Florek house sits perched on top of a hill. I look at Charlie’s feet in the water next to mine.
There are only three weeks of August left—our time at the lake is running out. I’ll miss him. I’ll missthis.
“Give it to me,” Charlie says.
I squint at him. “What?”
“Whatever it is that’s on your mind.”
“I’m going to miss you when you’re gone. That’s all. I’m getting used to having you around.”
He gives me his sad-boy smile. “I’m going to miss you, too.”
Charlie shows up the next evening to take Nan to euchre. I watch them pull away in my car, a sinking feeling settling in my chest again. He’s leaving for Toronto tomorrow morning, and while he’ll only be gone two days, I’m dreading the time without him. I can feel summer slipping away, and there will never be one like it again. John has decided to put the cottage up for sale next spring.
Even if Charlie and I stay in touch in the city, it won’t be the same. It can’t be. Our relationship is defined by warmth and water. We’ll be busy with work, living in different neighborhoods. I’ve filled roll after roll of film, as if I can keep time from its forward march. But the days will soon grow short, and the snow will come.
I sit on the deck with my notebook. I’m not much of a writer, but I want to capture more than images this summer. I want to remember how it’s felt to be here with Nan and Charlie. I want to remember the raccoons in the outhouse, and Charlie’s letter, and the way he and Nan became fast friends. I want to remember what it feels like to let loose.
I’ve written a couple of paragraphs when I hear a car in the driveway. I rush around the cottage, worried that something has happened to Nan. But the passenger seat is empty.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as Charlie climbs out and strides toward me. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt and a look that robs me of breath. He wraps one hand around the back of my head and another around my waist and brings his lips to mine. The kiss is a demand, a claiming, a brand. His tongue is hot on mine, his grip firm on my middle, flattening me to him.
“I’m sorry,” he says against my mouth. “I wanted you too much.”
I don’t know if he lifts me off the ground or if I climb him like a tree.
