ripples settled, he heard Sam’s voice on the bank: “One minute and twenty-two seconds! Charlie St. Cloud shatters the Waterside record!” His brother was sitting shirtless on a log with Oscar, who was busy scratching himself. There were fleas in the afterlife too.
It was just past sundown in the Forest of Shadows, and soft streams of violet light filtered through the trees. Charlie climbed out of the pond and wrapped a towel around his shoulders. His dripping cutoffs were loose on his narrow waist and hung low on his hips. The shorts touched his knees, where scars from the accident crisscrossed in fading stripes. He swept his hands over his chest and stomach, skimming off extra water, and shook out his hair, spraying Oscar.
“You see Tiny Tim down there?” Sam asked.
“Nope,” Charlie said. “No sign of him.” Tiny Tim was the turtle who lived in the pond. Thirteen years ago, the boys had plucked him from the little tank near the cash register at Animal Krackers in Gloucester. When Charlie had moved to Waterside, Tiny had come along too. With plenty of food and his own pond, he had grown into a giant.
Sam scratched his head. “You think he met a hot reptile babe and took off?”
“Doubt it.”
“Wouldn’t blame him, would you?” Sam said. “Pretty small pond for a guy his size.”
Charlie glanced at his watch. Tess would arrive at the great iron gates in sixty minutes. He knew he had to get back to the cottage, hide all the piles of newspapers, throw the dishes in the washer, and get the coals fired up.
“Time for one more dive,” Charlie said. “Go for it, little man.”
With a gangly arm, Sam reached for the rope. He wore jean cutoffs, too, just like his older brother, and was so skinny he seemed to be all knobs and joints—elbows, knees, shoulders, ankles. “Give me a push.”
Charlie obliged, and Sam swung low across the water, then arced upward. At the perfect moment, he let go. Like a leaf on the wind, he soared up and up, defying gravity. Then he tucked into a front somersault with a 540-degree spin, an extreme maneuver he had seen on ESPN’s Summer X Games.
Sploosh.
He disappeared underwater for the longest time, and when he finally surfaced, he had a big smile. “Tiny says ‘hi!’ He’s cool. He’s not going anywhere.” Sam climbed out of the pond and grabbed his towel. “You want to try a misty flip?” he asked.
“No way. Too hard.”
“Chicken.”
“Chicken? You’ve got a few advantages in the flying department.”
“Don’t be a wimp,” Sam said. “It’s easy. I’ll show you how. It won’t kill you.”
“Nah,” Charlie said. “I’m done.” He pulled a Salem State Vikings sweatshirt over his head.
“What’s up with you tonight?” Sam said. “We barely even threw the ball around, and now you’re splitting?”
“Nothing’s up.”
“Yeah, right. You’re acting all freaky.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Are too.”
“Enough, Sam.”
Charlie slipped on a running shoe and tied the laces. He hated being impatient with his brother, but he was tired of the same old routine.
Sam’s eyes widened. “Wait a minute! It’s a girl, right? You met someone. You’ve got a date tonight!”
“What are you talking about?”
“Liar!” Sam said. His brown eyes were full of glee. “Tell the truth. Resistance is futile. What’s her name?!”
Charlie pulled on the other shoe and tried an evasive tactic. “I’ve got a new nomination for the all-time greatest Red Sox team,” he began. “Luis Tiant belongs on our list with Boggs, Yastrzemski, Garciaparra, Young . . .”
“Nice try,” Sam interrupted. “You think I’m falling for that?” He grinned triumphantly. “Spill already! What’s her name?!”
“Give me a break,” Charlie said.
But like any twelve-year-old who could be a brat if he chose to, Sam would not stop. “You must really like her if you’re trying to hide her,” he said.
In that moment, Charlie made a quick calculation. He knew how these conversations had always gone. Above all, he figured he would get home faster if he just surrendered to the cross-examination.
“Her name is Tess,” he said finally.
“Tess who?”
“Tess Carroll.”
“What else?”
“She’s a sail-maker. Her dad died a couple of years ago from a heart attack.”
Sam was sitting right beside him on the log. He stared at his brother, and asked, “Does she like the Sox?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“So what’s the matter? What are you so afraid of?”
“Not afraid of anything.” Another lie. Of course, he was petrified.
Sam smiled and put on his T-shirt. “I can do recon, if you want. See if she has a boyfriend.”
“Margie Cartwright says she’s single.”
“So how