Chapter 41
41
Friday, August 15
17 Days Left at the Lake
I’m fixing tea the day after the tree house sleepover while Nan is on the phone with John. They’ve been talking a few times a week since the night of the party.
“That would be lovely,” I hear her say. “But I don’t have a way to get there.”
“Get where?” I ask when she’s hung up.
“John’s invited me for lunch, invited us all for lunch, actually, but it’s too far.”
I search for directions to Ottawa on my phone. “It’s only two hours away.”
“What’s two hours away?” Charlie asks. He and Bennett have just come back from a Jet Ski ride.
“Ottawa,” Nan and I reply.
“What’s in Ottawa?” Bennett asks, walking into the cottage in flip-flops and a wet shirt.
“My friend John,” Nan tells her.
“Let’s take a road trip,” Charlie suggests. “You’re closer here than you will be in Toronto, and I’ve been meaning to visit John all summer.”
“I want to come,” Bennett says, and we all glance at her. “I’ve never been to Ottawa.”
Charlie looks to me. “What do you say, Auntie Ali?”
I turn to Nan. “Let’s ask John if he’s free tomorrow.”
Charlie and I formulate a plan that night over text. We’ll take my car. I’ll drive there, and he’ll drive back.
Me: I think we should give Nan and John some time alone tomorrow.
Charlie: Sure. We can grab a bite downtown and take Bennett to Parliament Hill while they talk.
Me: Thanks for doing this with me.
Charlie: You don’t need to thank me, although there are other things I’d rather be doing.
Me: Care to enlighten me?
Charlie: Did I ever tell you that you’re trouble?
Me: If you’re not in the mood for trouble, I’ll just have to read page 179 again.
My phone rings seconds later. “Why don’t you read it to me?”
Nan barely speaks the entire drive to Ottawa. When we pull up to the modern cube of a home where John lives, she peers out the window.
“This isn’t where I pictured him ending up.”
The house is owned by John’s son, and it’s one of those multilevel flat-roofed concrete-and-glass structures.
“Are you all right, Nan?” Bennett asks. Charlie and I share a glance.
“Not really,” she says. “Let this be a lesson to you all: Don’t let wounds fester. It only gets harder to repair them.”
With that, she steps out of the car. Charlie offers her his arm, but she shoos him away. We hang back, giving her space.
Nan rings the bell, and the door swings open. I hear John say my grandmother’s name before she steps forward into a long embrace. When they part, Charlie shakes John’s hand, giving him a warm pat on the shoulder.
“My goodness, Alice,” John says when he sees me. “You’ve grown up.”
“You did, too,” I say, giving him a kiss on the cheek. John’s salt-and-pepper hair has gone white. He wears his trousers high on his waist in a way that I thought was funny when I was younger, and now looks rather stylish. His eyes still twinkle behind his wire-rimmed glasses, the way my grandfather’s did. John is a couple of inches shorter than Nan. So was Grandpa. They were best friends, two scrappy short dudes with a passion for fishing and pranks and poker.
“John, this is my great-granddaughter, Bennett,” Nan says.
John studies Bennett, who’s doing her best to maintain eye contact. He extends his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you.
“Would you like tea? Coffee?” John asks, leading us through the white space. It reminds me more of a gallery than a home. I like how clean it feels, how free of baggage, though it strikes me that John looks out of place. It’s very different from the Tudor he and Joyce lived in, with its dark wood, brocade, and knickknacks.
“Thanks for the offer,” I say. “But we’re going to take Bennett downtown while you two catch up.” Nan has agreed to this plan, but now she looks at me, wild-eyed.
“We’ve got tickets for a tour of the East Block,” Charlie says. “Bennett wants to see the historic rooms. We’ll be back around three, if that works.”
John glances at Nan and then straightens his shoulders. “We’ll see you this afternoon. Have fun, kids.”
We eat on the patio of a pub in the ByWard Market before heading to the imposing Gothic castle–like fortress that is the East Block of the Parliament Buildings. Charlie is hooked on the tour guide’s every word, and at one point raises his hand to ask a question about its restoration.
I snap a photo and then whisper “Nerd” in his ear. He tucks me under his elbow and tousles my hair before smacking a kiss on top of my head. Bennett stares at us, mouth agape, and we both freeze.
I smooth my palms over my shorts when Charlie releases me.
“We’re just kidding around,” I say to Bennett.
“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes. She’s never looked like such a teenager.
“Not whatever,” I say.
“Auntie Ali, please. I’m not stupid. You two are obviously doing it.”
My mouth: open. My face: scarlet. My ability to speak: zero.
My niece—whose diaper I changed not that long ago!—is talking about sex.
Charlie puts his hand on my shoulder, squeezes, and then lets go. “Bennett, your aunt and I are good friends. We’re not a couple. And apart from that, it’s none of anyone’s business.” He says it in that easy way of his, with no hint of reprimand, but there’s no mistaking that he’s telling her to back off.
I hold my breath, waiting for Bennett’s face to crumple, but she nods. “Okay.”
Later that afternoon, we return to John’s house tired from an afternoon of wandering in the city and sticky with sugar and cinnamon from the BeaverTails we ate in the car. No one answers when we ring the doorbell. The three of us stand on the step looking at each other, and then we hear my grandmother’s laugh. We follow the sound to the backyard, which is much the same as the front. Ornamental grasses in right-angled beds, a concrete block patio. Nan and John sit at a table across from each other, each with a cup of tea. They’re laughing. I raise my camera.
Click.
I don’t want to interrupt them, but Nan hears the shutter.
“Oh,” she says. “Is it three already?”
We stay for a round of iced tea, and when we say our goodbyes, John is unabashedly teary, pulling a hankie from his trouser pocket to blow his nose.
“We’ll keep in touch?” he asks as Nan climbs into the back seat.
She nods once. “Yes, we’ll do that.”
Charlie pulls away from John’s house, and Nan waves at him out the window. I have my grandmother and my niece in the back seat, and Charlie beside me. I sigh.
Charlie casts me a quick look. “What’s that sound?”
“Just happy.”
“Me too.”
“Me three,” Bennett chirps from the back.
“Me four,” Nan says. “Thank you all for coming with me. It’s a day I won’t forget.”
“Did you tell John about our cottage makeover?” I ask.
“Oh lord, no. I want to see if he even notices.”
“Oh, he’ll notice,” Charlie says. “It’s impossible not to. So many flowers.”
“You don’t like them?” Bennett asks.
“I don’t like them,” he says, looking at her in the rearview mirror. “I love them.”
Just before we hit the highway, Charlie turns the music on. I start laughing as Rod Stewart’s voice rasps over the speakers. I crank the volume, and we sing our hearts out to “Forever Young.” Nan is the only one who can carry a tune, and Bennett only knows the chorus, but it’s the best rendition of the song I’ve ever heard.
We make our way through Rod’s hits as we drive. I can’t help but stare at Charlie. The late-afternoon sun brings out the flecks of gold in his eyes, making them appear even more feline. The light catches on his lashes and hair, creating a halo around him. He looks not of this earth.
We’re almost home, careening up and down over the giant hills in Wilno, Rod Stewart having been replaced with Shania Twain, who I’ve learned was one of Charlie’s mom’s favorites. We’re singing about men’s shirts and short skirts, even Bennett, who has the lyrics on her phone.
The sun has dropped into our eyes. Charlie lowers the shade visor, and I fish out his sunglasses from the center console. They’re aviators with silver frames, and there’s a subtle designer logo etched into the arm. I slide them onto his face, and he thanks me without taking his eyes off the road. He has one hand on the wheel, the other tapping on his thigh as he sings. And even though I love being here with Nan and Bennett, I’d like to drive somewhere in Charlie’s fast car with the windows down and the music up. Just him and me. I wonder if the Porsche is big enough inside to do bad things.
“What are you thinking?” Charlie says, glancing at me. An eyebrow tilts.
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. You’re blushing.”
He reaches over and ruffles my hair, and I swat his hand away. “I was thinking I want you to take me for a drive in your car.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Let’s add it to the list.”
“We finished the list,” he says.
“Maybe we should make a new one. One we can take to Toronto.”
“What are you talking about?” Bennett asks, leaning forward.
Charlie flicks his eyes up to hers in the rearview mirror. “Nothing.”
I watch my niece’s smile grow. “Oh my god,” she says. “You’re talking about being a couple, aren’t you?”
I’m about to remind her of our conversation earlier today when Charlie shakes his head. “No.”
“But you should totally be a couple, right, Nan?”
My grandmother stays quiet.
“We wouldn’t be good together, would we, Alice?” Charlie says, offering me his dimples.
I can feel everyone in the car looking at me, but I don’t reply. The longer it takes me to respond, the harder it gets to speak. I’m not good at lying. And the truth is glancing over at me, lowering his sunglasses. I swallow back the lump in my throat.
“ Awkwaaard ,” Bennett sings quietly, and Nan shushes her.
Charlie’s grin falls. “Alice?”
I shake my head, sinking down in my seat a few inches.
Charlie reaches for my hand, but I don’t want him to touch me. I pull away, feeling his gaze on me.
And then I see it on the road.
Everything happens so quickly.
I scream Charlie’s name.
A squeal of tires. The slam of brakes. And then I’m thrown against the side of the car.