Chapter 14
14
Monday, June 30
63 Days Left at the Lake
Iwake to the sound of hammering across the bay and sunlight flooding my small bedroom. From my pillow, I have a clear view of the lake, Charlie’s yellow boat included. I catch myself staring at it and throw back the sheet.
“I’m sorry I overslept again,” I say to Nan as I pad out to the living room. She’s in her armchair, turning through the pages of a photo album. “Can I make you breakfast?”
“No, dear. I fixed myself toast hours ago.”
“What are you looking at?”
“Summers gone by.” She smiles to herself. “This is from one of John and Joyce’s first few years at the lake. Before children.”
I stand over her shoulder. The picture is of my grandparents and Joyce sitting on the front steps of the cottage—John must have taken it. The three of them are so young.
“This would have been the late sixties,” Nan says. “They hadn’t built the deck yet. Or the steps to the lake. There was a little path through the bush to the water. There was no washing machine, so we cleaned everything in the sink. For years, John and Joyce spent almost all their time up here working. Your grandfather and I helped when we could.”
“Charlie said something yesterday about you not having spoken to John in a long time.”
Nan turns the page. “It’s been a while.”
“How long?”
She turns another page but doesn’t answer for several seconds. History clings to the corners of the room like cobwebs. “It’s been years.”
“Why? You were all so close.”
Nan and David. John and Joyce. They’d known each other since childhood. They all grew up in Leaside, the same area where they would one day raise their families. My grandmother and grandfather started dating first, but only by a few weeks. Each couple had one boy, born within months of each other. Joyce and Nan were homemakers. John and my grandfather commuted downtown together; my grandfather worked in insurance, John in the head office of a department store chain. They were a unit. A four-sided structure. Until my grandfather died.
“Things can change when you lose people,” Nan says. “But let’s leave the past in the past, Alice.”
I take the hint and go fix myself breakfast.
“I think I’ll eat outside,” I tell Nan. “Do you want to join me?”
She shakes her head, her eyes not leaving the photo she’s studying. “I’ll stay here for a while longer.”
“I’ll help you with your exercises when I’m done, and then we can start the curtains?”
“No rush. I’m not going anywhere.”
I watch her for a moment. I hate seeing her so down.
“I love you, Nan.”
She glances up at me, blinking. “I love you, too.”
Nan is buried in another album when I finish eating, so I wander down to the lake with my half-finished coffee.
Sunlight dances on the surface of the water like sequins winking on a liquid gown. The unicorn pool floatie I bought in town yesterday is bobbing happily beside the dock. It’s enormous, with a rainbow mane and tail, and a golden horn and wings. I also bought a moose and a loon—I have visions of Luca, Lavinia, and me lounging on the lake with pina coladas.
The hammering continues as I sip my coffee. I picture Charlie working on his tree house. I try to put him out of my mind, but each thwack has me imagining his smirk and shirtless chest. And then the drill starts. I retreat to the cottage and find my phone.
Me: Is that you making such a remarkable racket?
“Have you done your exercises yet?” I ask Nan when Charlie doesn’t respond.
“I was hoping you’d forget.”
But she folds up her crossword and gets started, complaining the entire time about how boring it is lying on her back and squeezing her butt. But I can tell Nan’s already stronger than she was a week ago. After she’s done, we begin our first sewing project.
Rod-pocket curtains are simple in theory. There’s a lot of folding and ironing. I’m uncoordinated with the machine at first, but Nan helps me keep the fabric straight and gives quiet instructions.
A little heavier on the pedal. Now the backstitch. Good, Alice!
We’re both grinning when I get one finished. Stiff, I move my neck from side to side.
“Why don’t you go for a swim,” Nan says, taking her crossword to the dining table. “You’ve barely been in the water.”
I still haven’t given the unicorn a ride.
When I’m changing into my bathing suit, I glance at my phone and find an unread text.
Charlie: Did I interrupt your morning, princess?
I feel myself smiling, imagine the word princess rasping out of Charlie’s mouth, then throw my phone onto the bed.
I bring John’s binoculars down to the lake and stand at the end of the dock, scanning the shoreline. Birches sloped over the water. Towels drying on deck railings. Flags flapping in the breeze. I pass over the A-frame and then Charlie’s boat, and almost drop the binoculars as he appears in my view. He’s on the deck. No shirt. Bathing suit bottoms. I shouldn’t creep on him like this, but…
Whoa.
He walks down the hill to the water. I see when he sees me: A brilliant smile lights his face. I curse, quickly set the binoculars down, and dive into the lake.
I stay submerged as long as I can, eyes closed, letting the water fill my ears. And then I swim, from the dock and out, back and forth, back and forth. Legs fluttering. Arms arching. I don’t stop until I’m short of breath.
Without a fraction of a glance toward Charlie’s place, I dry off and attempt to board the unicorn. The thing is so massive and awkward, I can’t get my weight centered. I fall off twice to the sound of Nan laughing from the deck before I manage to spread myself between its golden wings. It’s shockingly comfortable. I close my eyes and cover my face with my arms. Seconds later, I hear the obnoxious roar of a Jet Ski whipping around the bay.
I hear it pass me once, twice, a third time, closer and closer. It slows somewhere nearby, and the engine stops.
“Lucky Pegasus.”