the other side of the world.
She lit the candles on the window ledge. Then she curled up on a banquette and pulled a blanket around her. She leaned her head against the cold glass and watched her breath on the pane. There was Waterside in the distance. For the first time, she noticed a little light in the black patch of woods. It was surely Charlie’s cottage. What a strange and magical place, surrounded by sad reminders of his loss, and yet so warm and safe with all those books, maps, music, and food.
She fought the feeling as long as she could, but then she pictured his hands on her waist, pulling her toward him, and the exhilaration of pushing up against his body. She wanted to kiss him again, and she was half tempted to go back downstairs, get on her bike, dash across town, ring that buzzer, and jump him right there at the gates. Then she had an even better idea and closed her eyes to imagine the possibilities. First light was just hours away, and she could hardly wait. Tomorrow would be an unforgettable day.
SEVENTEEN
CHARLIE SAT ON THE DOCK IN THE WATERSIDE COVE, leaned against one of the old wood posts, and sipped his morning coffee. He was still sleepy from staying up so late replaying every detail of the evening and hoping Tess was doing the same. Well past midnight, he had escorted her to the great iron gates and reluctantly let her go.
“You sure you don’t want me to walk you home,” he had said, hoping for another kiss or two.
“That’s okay,” she said.
“What about all the ghosts and goblins in the streets?”
“I’m a big girl, and no one’s dumb enough to mess with me.”
Then she had taken off into the night.
When he had gotten back to the cottage, his head was still spinning, his lips still tingling, so instead of cleaning up, he had kicked back with another beer and the blue-eyed soul of Dusty Springfield and surrendered to the incredible feeling inside, like frozen ground beginning to thaw. The surface looked the same, but everything underneath was changing.
Now, as wriggles of steam rose from his mug to vanish in the bluish gray of the morning, he listened to the boom of the cannons at the yacht clubs across the water signaling the official arrival of the sun. This was how most days began in Marblehead. Coffee on the dock. A few captains motoring by with the latest on where the water was sharky and where the stripers were hitting. A chat with a WWII old-timer about the achy, arthritic northeast wind.
Then work.
But Sundays were different. There was no official business in the cemetery, so Charlie could take his time. The gates opened to the community at 8:00 A.M., but there were no burials. Joe would come by soon in the Horny Toad, and they would shoot across the harbor to the Driftwood for breakfast. Then they would hang out with the wharf rats who were burning off the hours till the NFL began.
“Heads up!” a voice cried out. Charlie turned just in time to see a tennis ball fly by his head with Oscar chasing at full speed.
“Morning, big bro,” Sam said, stepping from the mist onto the dock. He was wearing a gray sweatshirt with its hood pulled up over his head. Messy curls drooped over his eyes. Even though playing catch at sunset was the key to renewing their promise, sometimes Sam dropped by at daybreak before taking off on his adventures.
“Morning,” Charlie said.
“Soooooo?” Sam said, plopping down beside his brother.
“So what?”
“Don’t play dumb! How was the action last night?” Oscar had captured the ball and was back, wagging his tail, ready for more.
“None of your business,” Charlie said, hurling the ball onto the rocky shore. “If you weren’t dead, I’d beat your brains in for spying.”
“Gimme a break. I followed the rules. I kept my distance.”
“You were pushing it. You were right up against the line, and you know the code.” When folks had begun whispering that Charlie was losing his mind and talking to the ghost of his brother, Sam had agreed he wouldn’t interfere when others were around. Still there were times when he couldn’t resist making trouble.
“I like her,” Sam said. “She’s okay, even though she roots for the Pats.”
Charlie didn’t answer.
“Look at you, playing Mr. Cool. So what happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Why’d she take off so fast last night? You kissed her, then she split. Bite her tongue