Chapter 37
37
Tuesday, August 5
27 Days Left at the Lake
By the time the first week of August comes, we’ve fallen into a rhythm. Nan and I get our town gossip on Mondays at the hair salon. She’s driving short distances now, so on Tuesdays she takes herself to physio, and I delight in someone else having to listen to her gripe about the exercises. We go for walks through the bush and turn the cottage into a flowering garden with our sewing machine. During her naps, Charlie and I swim or take a ride in the yellow boat, but since the night of the party, we haven’t so much as kissed. It feels like something has shifted between us, but I’m afraid to ask.
He insists on bringing Nan to choir practice, and when I ask him why, he gives a vague answer about enjoying the music. But all is revealed when the Stationkeeper Singers perform at the Barry’s Bay Railway Station over the long weekend. I almost fall out of my chair when Charlie joins Nan at the front of the room. He has more enthusiasm than talent, and I bite my cheek to keep from laughing.
Charlie’s here for afternoon tea and often stays for dinner. One night, he takes us to the Tavern for pierogi, sausages, and braised red cabbage. After we eat, he darts back into the kitchen to help clean and returns with Julien. We stay late into the night, long after the restaurant closes, listening to the chef’s stories about Charlie, Sam, and their parents. Julien teases Charlie relentlessly, but it’s clear there’s love between them, that they’re family.
We hear about Charlie’s first shift working the deep fryer and the time Julien caught him making out with a server in the walk-in refrigerator. When Julien turns serious and tells Nan and me about how proud Sue was of her sons, I reach under the table and squeeze his thigh.
I’m here for you , I’m saying.
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 in Swish over 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 miss this .
“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.
“No such thing,” I tell him, biting his bottom lip. “Although I hope you didn’t leave my grandmother on the side of the road,” I say. “I’m somewhat attached to her.”
“She’s playing cards. I’ll pick her up in a few hours.”
“And do you have any ideas for how we should spend that time?”
“I just wanted to hang out with you,” he says. “Before I go.”
Putting on a movie and making out like teenagers on the couch would be fun enough, but tonight I want to behave like the thirty-three-year-old woman I am. I unwind myself from Charlie, thrill bubbling beneath my skin. “I have a better idea,” I tell him, taking his hand.
I’m going to see if I can find the limits of Charlie’s self-control.
I pull my shirt over my head as I walk down the stairs to the lake. The water is quiet. The sun has dropped beneath the hill. There’s no one around to see what I’m about to do, but my heart is hammering in my chest.
I reach around my back to unhook my bra.
“What are you doing?” Charlie says from behind me.
I look over my shoulder instead of responding and drop it on the dock.
“Number ten?” he asks, his voice thick.
“Number ten,” I say, turning back to the water. “And twelve.” If this isn’t reckless, I don’t know what is. I slide my sweatpants down my legs. I hear Charlie suck in a breath. We haven’t seen each other undressed.
I walk to the end of the dock, slip off my underwear, and stand, naked, at the edge. Somewhere behind me, Charlie swears.
I take a moment to look back at him. His chest rises and falls as his gaze journeys from my shoulders, down past the flare of my hips, lower, lapping up every inch.
“Eyes up,” I tell him.
“You’re playing dirty.” He looks to the sky and whispers a few words I cannot hear.
I turn back to the water and breathe in the crisp evening air, letting it caress my skin, and then I dive in. I’ve never gone skinny-dipping before, and I can’t believe how good it feels. I swim beneath the surface as far as I can before coming up for air, and then turn to find Charlie on the dock, staring at me in wonder.
“Are you coming?” I ask.
I see the flash of hesitation.
“I thought you were supposed to be shy,” he says.
“I thought you were supposed to be bad,” I fire back.
He closes his eyes, tilts his head to the heavens, and laughs.
Click.
“You’re even more trouble than I thought,” he says, and then, looking me square in the eyes, he pulls off his shirt and unbuttons his jeans.
From here to the end of time, the image of Charlie Florek standing naked in midsummer twilight will be one of my most prized possessions.
I paddle a little closer, drinking him in. He watches me watch him, smug as a person who looks as good naked as he does ought to look.
“Are you coming in, or are you just going to stand there showing off?”
“I’m just trying to remember the moment,” he says.
“What moment is that, exactly?”
Charlie dives in, and I watch him glide underwater until he reaches me.
“You,” he says, standing in front of me. His head is above the surface, while I have to tread water. “And me.” He looks around him. “This.”
I’ve never been so aware of my skin—the water touching every inch, the clean air against my face, the tight pinch of my nipples. I eye the beads of water that slide down Charlie’s chest. My leg brushes against his hip, and his gaze returns to me.
“Let’s swim,” he says.
So we do, in a slow crawl deeper into the lake. I try to memorize the sensations—the sounds of our bodies swishing through the water, the slippery feel of our legs sliding against each other, the smile Charlie gives me when I turn onto my back, arms splayed. The happiness that spreads through me when he does the same and our fingers find each other. I’m not sure how long we float before we swim back to the dock. I pounce on Charlie as soon as the water is shallow enough that he can stand, wrapping my arms around his neck and legs around his middle.
I kiss him with a hunger that grows every second. I wanted to make Charlie fall apart, but I didn’t anticipate how good this would feel—our slick skin and the cool water. Charlie meets every searching stroke of my tongue, but I can feel the tension in his body. He holds me tight so that I’m clamped against his waist.
I bring my mouth to his torso, collecting a droplet with my tongue and following its path up to his collarbone. He tilts his head back so I can taste the skin at the base of his neck, hissing when I pull his ear between my teeth. My nipples graze his chest, and I moan. His grip on me falters, and I slide down his hips. We both groan at the feeling of the hard, hot press of him between my legs. Charlie swears, then walks us to where it’s not as deep, so that my upper half is out of the water. His mouth drops to my breast, flicking his tongue over a tightened, aching peak, then the other, drawing it into his mouth.
“Is this what you want, Alice?” he asks, moving to the other nipple.
I shake my head, and his hand finds the swollen flesh between my thighs. We stare at each other as he strokes me slowly.
“This?”
I shake my head again, then gasp as his fingers plunge inside me. I hold on to his shoulders for balance.
“Better?”
“Much.”
But it’s not enough for Charlie. After I shudder around his hand, biting my lip to keep myself from calling out his name, he pulls me out of the water, and we dart into the boathouse. We’re kissing before we have the door open.
“There’s something I want before I go,” he says, sitting me at the end of one of the beds. He kneels at my feet, and with both hands on my legs, pushes them apart.
Charlie kisses the inside of one thigh, and then the other. He looks up at me from under his fair lashes, and his palms smooth over the backs of my calves. His pupils have almost swallowed up the green. I try to squeeze my thighs together, but they meet Charlie’s shoulders. His eyes flare.
“Impatient?”
“No,” I say, although impatient doesn’t begin to describe how badly I want Charlie’s mouth on me.
Charlie’s tongue travels up my inner thigh, and then moves to the other leg. I squirm, and he sits back on his heels, surveying me. He wraps a fist around himself. “This is what I do when I think about going down on you.”
“Charlie.” I’m seconds away from tackling him to the ground.
He hums, and then dips his head between my legs. With no searching, he brings his mouth exactly where I want it.
This time, I let myself scream his name.
We’re curled together on the sofa on the screened porch, my feet in Charlie’s lap, listening to loon calls. We have about thirty minutes before he needs to pick up Nan, and we’re mostly sitting in cozy silence. My hair is still wet, dripping onto my sweatshirt. His is dry. The way it’s buzzed so close to his head emphasizes his jaw, and if I didn’t know him better, I’d find him intimidating. But now I know there’s no reason to be intimidated. His tenderness coincides with all the hard lines and wisecracks.
Charlie’s looking at his phone, and I’m fiddling with my camera. He doesn’t even blink when I take his photo anymore. I’m not the only one who’s grown more comfortable this summer.
“What are you looking at?” I lean closer and find him slowly scrolling through my Instagram. I know he’s seen what I’ve posted from the lake, but watching him study my work so closely stirs up a specific concoction of nerves and squeamishness. I care about what he thinks. It’s an effort not to put a pillow over my head.
“Fuck, you’re good,” Charlie murmurs, and my cheeks go hot. “Look at this.”
He holds up a shot I took a few years ago of a florist in Leslieville. She’d asked me to take photos of her and the space for her website after she redecorated. This was my favorite. She’s arranging flowers at a large table, and the surface and floor are carpeted with petals and twigs and leaves. Her hair is braided in a crown around her head, and it’s a little mussed. Hazy light streams through the window, and there’s a timeless quality to both the subject and the shot that I love.
Charlie scrolls some more. He’s going deep.
“You have no photos of yourself,” he says after a little while.
“Why would I?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“It’s a professional account. I’m not going to post selfies.” Yuck. “And I hate having my photo taken.”
Charlie grins. “Isn’t that a cliché—the photographer who can’t stand being in front of the camera?”
“Shut up.” I poke his leg with a toe. “What’s on yours?”
He looks at me, eyebrows raised. “You’d know if you followed me.”
I can’t quite explain why I haven’t. Maybe I’m afraid to see Charlie’s life beyond the lake.
“Fine.” I send him a follow request, and he immediately accepts.
“See,” he says as I look through his photos. “It’s a bunch of random shit and selfies.”
Photos of the lake and the boat. Most are of him with friends. There’s one of Charlie with his arm around Sam on what is clearly his wedding day. Both are dressed in suits. Charlie points to himself. “Sexy as hell.”
“You know, I’ve met professional models who aren’t as confident about their looks as you are.”
“I could be a model.”
I laugh. “You’re too old.”
“Fuck off.”
I peer at the side of his head. “I think I see some silver in there.”
“You do not.”
I don’t.
“Yeah, right here.” I run a finger over his ear, and he turns his head quickly, capturing it between his teeth.
Somehow I find myself on my back with Charlie straddling me. He locks my wrists above my head with one hand, while he reaches for my camera.
“Put that down, Charlie Florek,” I say. “You don’t even know how to use it.”
“I’m getting better.” I’ve been showing him a few basics. “Come on. Just one. You’ve spent the whole summer getting shots of other people. Why not one of you, too?”
“I never let anyone take my photo.”
“Why?” Charlie shifts off me. I right myself, legs folded underneath me so I can face him.
“It makes me extremely uncomfortable.”
He sets the camera down and holds up his phone. “Would this be easier for you? I don’t have any of you, and you probably have thousands of me by now.”
“All right,” I huff.
I watch him focusing on whatever he’s doing with phone settings. He’s so handsome.
“Are you ready?”
“No.” But I smile my cheesiest, toothiest smile.
“Beautiful,” he says when he’s finished.
That night, after Charlie has brought Nan home and we wish him a safe trip to the city, I get a notification: charlesflorek has tagged me in a photo. My chest tightens as I study it. Charlie must have been shooting before he asked if I was ready. It’s me, staring at the camera, staring at him. There’s a gentle smile on my mouth, and my eyes are warm. I look happy—no, it’s stronger than happiness. I look like I’m at peace.
The caption is short. He’s only used one word.
Alice.