Charlie St. Cloud Page 0,37

she said. “A Red Sox fan.”

“You?”

“Hate baseball. It’s so boring, I call it standball. You know, they just stand around for nine innings. Football is more my speed, and the Patriots are my guys.”

“Really?” he said, a bit incredulous. “I didn’t figure you going for guys with no necks.”

“Oh yeah, big time, and the hairier the better.”

With that, Tess suddenly felt relieved. The bubble had burst. They didn’t agree on everything, and that brought a curious comfort. He wasn’t perfect after all. Football vs. baseball. Sure, it was trivial, but that was beside the point. Then she realized she was actually keeping score. Normally she didn’t really notice what guys thought about things. But here she was regretting that she hadn’t followed the Sox box scores since Dad had died.

He handed her a piece of cake, and she took a bite. She closed her eyes and said nothing.

“It’s okay, right?” Charlie said. “I ran out of time and threw it together.”

“It’s edible,” she said, rolling the chocolate over her tongue. She was working it—and Charlie—which she enjoyed. Finally, she smiled. “Actually, it’s wonderful. Like everything tonight.” She stopped, studied her Sam Adams and realized it had to be the beer talking now.

“You like to cook?” Charlie asked.

“No, I like to eat,” she said, slowly savoring another bite. “I make a mean Jell-O and I’m huge with the mac and cheese, but other than that, I’m pretty useless.” A third bite. “The worst part of solo sailing is the food. Miserable freeze-dried rations.” A fourth bite.

“Slow down,” he said. “I only made one cake.”

She grinned. Why did dessert even taste different tonight? Maybe it was Charlie, a guy who even made food better.

“So where’d you learn to cook?” she said. “Your mom?” The question had a little edge: If he was a mama’s boy, it might take some more luster off him.

“Yup, my mom,” he said, without hesitation. “I called her in Oregon to get some ideas for tonight. Know what? She was appalled that I wasn’t taking you out to dinner on our first date. She warned me it was a big mistake and said I’d give you food poisoning.” He winked. “Thank God, I don’t always listen.”

“Not so fast. I think my stomach feels upset.”

“I hear booze kills the bugs. How about another beer?”

“You trying to get me drunk?”

“Definitely,” he said, disappearing again into the kitchen.

“Well, I can outdrink you and outeat you. Bring it on,” she said. He had passed yet another test. He wasn’t embarrassed to be close to his mother, but it also sounded like there was a healthy distance between them, and that must have been hard to figure out after the accident.

“So what’s your mom doing in Oregon?”

“She moved out there right after the accident,” Charlie called back. “She didn’t want any reminders. She’s got a new life now. She’s married with stepkids.”

“You mean she just left you here?”

“No, I refused to go. So I lived with the Ingalls family till I graduated. Since then, I’ve been on my own.”

Tess got up from the table, walked over to a darkened corner of the room with maps on the wall, and switched on a lamp. The charts were tacked up with pins, and they showed the roads and waters of the Eastern seaboard. Tess noticed strange concentric circles drawn neatly on each of them. The rings spread out from Marblehead and reached all the way to New York and Canada. Next to the maps, there were tables listing the exact times of the sunrise and sunset for every day of the month.

“What are these about?” she asked when Charlie returned. She put a finger on one of the loops. “I know it’s got something to do with distance, but I can’t figure it out.”

“It’s just a project of mine,” he said, delivering a beer and going to the other side of the room. “Now, tell me more about this trip of yours.”

“What about it?”

“For starters, your route?”

“Okay, I start in Boston Harbor on Friday, then head south to the Caribbean, and eventually go through the Panama Canal.”

“Show me.” He was standing in front of a big antique map that was framed behind glass. Tess walked toward him. She was feeling warm, so she pulled the button-down up over her head and threw it on the couch. She was wearing a white tank top underneath, and she could tell his eyes were following her hands as she fixed the bra strap that was poking out. Then