Charlie St. Cloud Page 0,31

for today?” he asked. “We’ve got good haddock for chowder and clams for steamers with drawn broth—”

“I’ll take two swordfish steaks, half a pound each.”

“You got it. Just off the boat from the Grand Banks.”

A young woman stepped out from one of the back rooms of the store. Margie Cartwright flipped her long blond hair to one side and flashed a red lipsticky smile. She went straight to the cash register, leaned over, and thrust her cheek toward him.

“Come on, Charlie. Give one up for your old gal.”

Way back before he ruined everything, Margie was his sweetheart. She was a year older. He was a sophomore, she was a junior, and they had met one freezing Thanksgiving at the big game against Swampscott. She was a cheerleader who insisted on wearing a little skirt and sweater whatever the weather. After all, she said, girls with pompoms had no business in parkas and long pants. Their romance was innocent enough, with nights spent immersed in conversation over chicken parm at the House of Pizza. Then came the accident, and Charlie retreated. All the cheerleading in the world would not lift his spirits. Margie tried her hardest to bring him back, but he pushed her away.

Charlie leaned forward and kissed her.

“Thatta boy,” she said, batting long eyelashes. Charlie smelled her Chloe perfume. In many ways, Margie hadn’t let go of her glory years. Her long blond hair was unchanged, and she wore a tight pink sweater, short black skirt, and high boots. Up and down the coast, the fishermen knew her name and outfits, her only form of protest against spending her life in the family’s fish shack.

“So? Whatcha cooking tonight?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing much.”

“Here ya go,” Bowdy said, handing Charlie a paper bag. “That’s two swordfish steaks, Margie. A little more than a pound.”

“Two steaks? Oh really!” Margie said, arching a well-plucked eyebrow. “Fish for two?”

“Nah . . .”

“C’mon, Charlie! Who is she? Maybe I can put in a good word for you.”

Charlie threw a $20 bill on the register. “Sorry, Margie. I gotta run. Ring me up, please.”

“You’re no fun anymore. What’s the big secret? You know I’m going to find out anyway! Might as well tell me.”

Charlie thought for a moment. She was right. Her far-flung network of spies would report back within days. What was the harm in telling? She knew the skinny on every person in town. In fact, maybe she could help.

He checked his watch—eleven minutes to go—and decided to skip Crosby’s for salad and dessert. If he improvised at home and whipped up something from scratch, he still had a few minutes to get some valuable intelligence. So he leaned forward conspiratorially, and said, “Swear you won’t tell?”

“Cross my Catholic heart.”

“All right,” he said, lowering his voice. “What do you know about Tess Carroll?”

TWELVE

“NANA, CAN YOU HEAR ME? NANA?”

Tess leaned forward and peered into her grandmother’s soft green eyes. The old woman was sitting in a brown recliner near a window in the Devereux House nursing home. Tess had walked over on her way home from the cemetery and had immediately noticed that the smell of medicine and disinfectant was stronger than ever in the long green hallway leading to Room 216.

“Nana, it’s me,” Tess said. “You won’t believe it. I think I just met a great guy!”

Her grandmother blinked and stared straight ahead at the TV. Walker, Texas Ranger was on, and she made a habit of watching every day. Her wrinkled hand fumbled for an orange-juice carton with a straw. She lifted it up, and took a sip without saying a word.

Tess was Theresa Francis Carroll’s namesake and she had always been able to count on her grandmother’s care and wisdom when she was bounced by some of life’s unavoidable speed bumps. In fact, she had come to Nana for consolation after Scotty McLaughlin had dumped her at the Corinthian Club on New Year’s Eve in 2000. A romantic at heart, Nana never had an easy life. At nineteen, she married a dashing lobsterman from the rival town of Nahant and was already pregnant when he vanished in a nor’easter. “No one could compare,” she told Tess and so despite a long line of suitors, she never remarried. Her life story, repeated dozens of times, always made Tess cry. “Wait for your true love,” Nana admonished. “Never settle.”

From her grandmother, Tess had learned what it meant to be a survivor. To support her infant son, Nana had gone to work in the shoe