Charlie St. Cloud Page 0,26

lake toward Tess. She was a minor celebrity in town, and truth be told, he had long admired her from afar. They had gone to high school around the same time but she was a couple of years younger. Tess had always been a standout, maybe even a little intimidating, winning races in sail week or campaigning against the local power company’s NOx and SOx emissions from its Salem smokestacks. Two years ago, Charlie had buried her father, and she had come just about every week since to pay her respects. She was always alone or with her golden retriever. She never wanted to be disturbed. Joe the Atheist had tried a few times but had gone down in flames, and Charlie knew to stay away.

But there she was now, quite stunning in jeans and a button-down, marching along the path, right toward him, her ponytail sashaying behind. He ran his hands through his hair, wiped his face to make sure there wasn’t any lunch still clinging to it, and slowed to a stop. He brushed some crumbs from his chest, tucked in his shirt, stepped out of the cart, and faced her. And as the first words formed on his lips, a pang of self-consciousness punched him deep inside. This uncomfortable, awkward sensation was no stranger: It visited whenever a young woman came to the cemetery, especially one so appealing.

Charlie didn’t even have a chance. Before he could say hello, Tess let loose. “God almighty!” she said. “Do you really need to make such a racket? A person comes here for some quiet and what does she get? The invasion of Normandy!”

“Actually, it’s our geese-management program,” Charlie said, but as the phrase left his lips it sounded funny.

“Geese-management program?” Tess barely contained a guffaw.

“Yes,” he said, reflexively, “the Canada geese population—” He stopped mid-sentence. She was staring at him with the most remarkable smile.

“No, go on,” she said. “I’m mesmerized. Tell me more about the Canada geese population.” She twiddled her ponytail with one hand and tilted her head. That feeling was rising in Charlie—the fizzy mixture of attraction and awkwardness.

“Let me start over. I’m sorry about the noise. We get a little carried away here sometimes.” He grinned. “I’m Charlie—”

“St. Cloud,” she said. “I remember. Not a Marblehead name, is it?”

“Nope,” he said, stunned that she knew him. “It’s from Minnesota. Long story.”

“Good, I like stories.”

“You’re Tess Carroll, the one going around the world,” he said, a smidge too enthusiastically. He had read about her just the other day in the Reporter. A front-page feature had described her solo race, and a color photo had shown her in the cockpit of an Aerodyne 38. “That’s some boat you’ve got,” he said. As soon as the phrase left his tongue, he whipped himself for not conjuring something more charming or witty.

“Thanks,” she said, pushing a wisp of hair from her eyes. Charlie saw that her thumbnail was black and blue, a hazard of her line of work.

“You sail?” she asked. “Don’t think I’ve seen you on the water.”

“Used to. You know, Optimists, 110s. Nothing fancy.” Charlie felt that nervous sensation. “Look, I’m sorry we disturbed you. Won’t happen again.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She scrunched her face. “I’m just being a pain in the ass today. I’ve got a killer headache.” She rubbed her forehead, and the sun glinted in her eyes.

Charlie lived in a verdant world surrounded by every imaginable shade of green, but for all the moss and bluegrass, he knew this: Her eyes were perfection. Light as lime on the outer edges, rich as emerald toward the center. Transfixed, he found himself saying the opposite of what he intended: “I better go now. Leave you be.”

“What’s the rush? Another attack on those poor geese?”

Charlie laughed. “Thought you wanted a little quiet, that’s all.”

“It’s better now.”

Charlie felt her eyes looking him up and down, and he was embarrassed about the mud on his boots and the stains on his pants.

“You know,” she said, “my dad’s buried here. Just on top of that hill.” She pointed. “The view’s pretty nice up there.”

Without another word, she took off, her ponytail bouncing behind her. Charlie wasn’t sure whether to follow. Was she inviting him for a look? Or was she finished with the conversation? Every instinct told him to go back to work. He had no business chasing after Tess Carroll. But then he found himself racing up the hill to catch her. When he reached the crest, she had already