Chapter 27
27
Sunday, July 20
43 Days Left at the Lake
When I park beside a black Porsche at the grocery store later that morning, what happens in my body is more than nerves and headier than excitement. I’m full of volatile energy. I’ve been operating on autopilot for months, and now I’ve been switched on. It’s pure anticipation. Something I haven’t felt in years.
And while I’m prepared to run into a preposterously handsome marble statue of a man, I don’t expect to find him staring at the baskets of pickling cucumbers again.
“What is with you and this vegetable?”
“Technically, cucumbers are a fruit.” Charlie looks down at me, his gaze fond. His hair is mussed, standing on end at the front. I almost reach out to smooth the spikes down. He hasn’t shaved in a couple of days, his eyes have dark shadows beneath them, and I’m pretty sure he was wearing the same T-shirt yesterday. He’s the hottest of trash.
“You look awful.”
“I didn’t sleep.” He gives me a meaningful look that I feel low in my belly.
“Really? I had the best sleep I’ve had in ages. Nan found me passed out on the couch this morning.”
The corner of his mouth lifts.
“So,” I say, inspecting the produce. A bucket of lacy dill stalks sits on the floor with a handwritten Local sign stuck in their midst. “Are you going to give any of these cucumbers a good home or what?”
“I haven’t decided.” He rubs the back of his neck. “My mom made the best dill pickles. I’ve been thinking about giving them a try, but I haven’t pickled anything in my life.”
He’s been dipping into Sue’s recipe box. After the chocolate cake, he brought Nan and me her morning glory muffins and then cabbage rolls. Both were excellent.
Charlie has his arms crossed over his chest, and he’s staring down the cucumbers like he’s facing an opponent in a Roman amphitheater.
I pick up two baskets and put them in my cart. “How many do we need?”
Charlie’s eyebrows creep up his forehead. “Really?”
“Yeah. How hard can it be?” I choose a stalk of dill. “I’m sure Nan would like to help. She’s good at this stuff.” I pause at the mystified expression on Charlie’s face. “Unless you want to do it alone?” Maybe the cooking thing is between him and his mom.
“No,” he says, voice rusty. “I’d love the help.”
When Nan and I arrive at Charlie’s house in the afternoon, he’s much brighter. He’s taken a nap, showered, and shaved. He’s even had his hair buzzed short. He helps Nan up the porch stairs, and the sight burrows into my heart so deeply that I avert my gaze.
“Would you like a cup of tea first?” Charlie asks Nan. The kitchen is covered in canning gear.
“After,” Nan says, rolling up her sleeves. “Let’s get these jars sterilized.”
I slice the cucumbers and peel the garlic, but otherwise Nan instructs, and Charlie follows her orders. I’ve brought my Pentax, and I shoot a roll of black and white.
I don’t realize how broadly I’m smiling until Charlie looks at me.
Click .
“Having fun?” he asks.
I am. Shooting has given me control and a sense of mastery, but it’s been a long time since it’s been fun.
There’s one picture, when Nan is watching Charlie fill Mason jars with brine and Charlie glances at her for approval, that breaks my heart as soon as I take it, because it’s late July, and summer is fleeting. I want to press pause on today, on this month, on these two people. Capture it not just on film.
Charlie puts the kettle on once they’ve finished, and we drink our tea on the deck overlooking the lake. The kids from the cottage next door swim over to dive off Charlie’s floating raft. They have an open invitation to use it.
“What a lovely place to grow up,” Nan says.
Charlie looks out at the water. “It really was.”
“Though I imagine the house and the property were a lot for your mother when she was on her own,” she says, and Charlie nods. “She must have been a tremendously hard worker.”
“She was.” He stares at the view for another moment. “I always knew that from the restaurant. But I didn’t fully appreciate all the things she did for us until I moved away for university. Cooking was a big part of that. Big breakfasts. Birthday cakes. Holiday feasts. She loved to feed people.”
“Is that why you’ve been trying her recipes?” Nan asks.
“Maybe.” He smiles. “And I love to eat. I’ve missed those pickles.”
“Not my thing,” I say, flashing him an apologetic grin.
His eyes pop. “What?”
“I don’t like them.”
“Me neither,” Nan says. “I did all my pickling for Alice’s grandfather and the church bazaar.”
“We just made a dozen jars,” Charlie says, glancing between us, mouth hanging open.
“I know,” I say, laughing. “They’ll keep, don’t worry.”
“No, that’s not it. It’s just…” Charlie looks at Nan and then me. He holds my gaze in a way that tells me how much I matter. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I feel Nan watching us, and when I peek at her, she gives me a pointed I told you so look.
Nan and Charlie discuss the ins and outs of pickling and preserving various fruits and vegetables, teacups between them. It’s so outrageously wholesome that I’m laughing when my phone lights with a text.
A lump forms in my throat when I read it.
Heather: I’m so sorry, Ali. I can’t bring Bennett up north. An important case just landed…
“What’s wrong?” Charlie asks.
I give him a lackluster smile. “Heather and Bennett can’t come. My sister has to work.” I look to Nan. Her lips are pinched, the only sign of her disapproval. “She says she’ll find time next month.”
At that, Nan grumbles, “Always on her own schedule. What about yours?”
“It doesn’t matter to me,” I say, although it does. I’ve bought extra groceries. I’ve made a calendar of activities. The weather is supposed to be stunning. I was going to bring Bennett to the party Charlie is throwing for Sam and Percy.
“Well, this sucks,” Charlie says.
Nan and I look at him.
“I’ve finished the tree house,” he says. “I wanted Bennett to check it out before the big reveal on Saturday.”
I didn’t know Charlie was done, or that he was planning on showing my niece. I stare at him, an uncomfortable pressure building in my chest.
“Excuse me,” I say, rising.
I escape to the main-floor powder room and run cold water over my hands, then press my palms against my cheeks and forehead. I miss my family.
“You’re okay,” I tell my reflection. “You’re okay.”
Charlie’s waiting for me in the hallway when I finish.
“Are you okay?”
I do what I always do and pretend like I’m not hurt. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
He studies me for a moment, then wraps me in a hug. “You’re a shit liar.”
I press my cheek against his chest and breathe him in.
“What if I drive to Toronto to get Bennett?” he says, still holding me. “I can return her to the city at the end of the week.”
“You’d do that?” The back of my nose tingles. I’m not used to someone taking care of me. “It’s eight hours there and back.”
“Sure.” Charlie lets me go. His eyes move between mine. “I’m used to the drive—it’s nothing for me.”
“It’s not nothing.” His offer means the world to me. “But my sister won’t let Bennett in a car with someone she doesn’t know.”
“Fair enough. But if you can talk her into it, I’m game.”
“Thanks,” I say. But I know Heather—it’s not happening. I lean on the wall, studying him. “You finished the tree house?”
“I had to bring in a couple of ringers, but yeah. I was going to surprise you. I thought you and Bennett might want to camp out for a night. Sleep under the stars.” The seventeenth item on my list.
“That would have been nice,” I say, my voice unsteady. “I’ve never slept in a tree house.”
Charlie flashes me a mischievous green-eyed grin. “You’re welcome to sleep in mine anytime, Alice Everly.”
Alice Everly. Alice Everly. Alice Everly.
Flirting—it’s the distraction I need. “With or without your company?”
Charlie’s smile turns dangerous as he leans into me. I shiver at the feel of his lips grazing my ear. My heart beats harder, faster, louder. “I told you I sleep naked.”
I can tell from the wry arch of his brow and the way his eyes dance that it’s a dare.
“I’ll come by at dusk,” I say. “You can see what I sleep in.”
His gaze travels around my face. “I’m not sure if you’re joking.”
“I guess you’ll find out.”