Cruel Summer | ✓

chapter five

My stomach is a balloon animal and my heartbeat is a drumroll. I have been so distracted all day thinking about tonight that I can barely remember how I spent the hours since this morning. Too much time on the beach, my skin now hot to the touch where I forgot to reapply sunscreen or couldn't reach — the backs of my arms; between my shoulder blades; my chest. Even my cheeks are red, despite the factor fifty I rubbed in at least three times. I hope it will fade into a tan but for now at least it hides the intensity with which I blush in the presence of a beautiful older woman.

I know I have mommy issues. That is not a secret.

When I get to Dive on the Lake at seven thirty-two — how am I late when this is all I've been waiting for? — Lou is already there. Her hat is gone, replaced by a claw clip holding her long hair off her face, and she has added a denim shirt tied at her waist, the cuffs rolled up to her elbows. She's reclining in a chair at the edge of the deck, her face tilted up to the sun, holding her glasses by the arm.

"Hi," I say when I reach her. She slowly opens her eyes, like a cat. A smile blossoms on her lips. She returns her glasses to her nose and stands, a fluid movement, opening her arms for a hug. I wasn't expecting that; my nerves tick into overdrive when she pulls me against her and I catch her scent and it turns my knees to jelly. She smells like a summer garden. It does something to my insides.

"Charlotte," she says. My full name has often been reserved for punishment but it sounds like a treat coming from her, the letters remolded by her tongue. I don't bother to tell her that I'm Charlie. It doesn't matter.

"This place is great." I survey the deck, which juts out over the water for an uninterrupted view of the lake and a great spot for watching the journey of the sun throughout the day. "Do I get a drink at the bar or is it table service?"

"You sit. I've started a tab and Mike will be over in a minute." She sits, her hand falling to the stem of her wine glass. "When Harry sold the cabin, I didn't think I'd see any of you again. It was a bit of a shock finding you in the garden this morning."

"Sorry. When I saw no-one was in, I couldn't resist. I spent a lot of time on that swing when I was a kid." I make myself comfortable and let my hair down from its ponytail to protect my neck from the sun at my back. It's been tied up too long though, and I have to run my hands through it several times to lessen the kink.

"I can imagine." With a slight smile, she says, "I only moved in ... almost eight years ago, now, so I missed all the wild years but I heard plenty of stories from the guy who owned my house before me."

I flush and have to look away. She has an intense gaze. "Oh yeah? Nothing too embarrassing I hope."

"Something about the place being taken over by a pack of feral children all summer long?"

A snort escapes me. "Yeah, that sounds about right." I hold up a hand like a confession and say, "Former feral child, at your service."

Mike comes over as promised and takes my order — I want to be sophisticated, to mirror Lou with a glass of wine, but it isn't for me so I ask for a vodka lime soda and Lou asks him for a bottle of whatever she just finished.

"Where were you before?" I ask. "Fisher's kind of a random place to move to."

"I've always been here," she says, dabbing at the lipstick print she has left on the rim of her glass. "Fisher, born and raised. We used to be in town but I wanted more privacy and more lake. The lake house came on the market at the right time."

"Oh, so you're a proper townie."

She bows her head and says, "I am indeed."

Mike returns with our drinks. As far as I can tell, we're the only people getting table service. Townie perks, I guess. "You must know everyone here. I've never been out of season but it must be pretty quiet."