by Sara Biren
“Does it help?” he asks.
No, it doesn’t help. Not really.
When I don’t answer, he says, “I’ll give you a lift when you’re ready.”
• • •
On the way to town, Dad doesn’t let up. “I wish you’d get some new friends, Lucy.”
“I have friends, Dad. Hannah is my friend.”
“She’s too loud.”
I roll my eyes and change the subject. “So why did you tell Shay Stanford she could work down at our patio?”
Dad shrugs. “I worked out a deal with Ron and Betty. Fifty bucks a week. We could use the extra cash.”
My stomach flips—I hate talking about money. I look at my dad. He needs a shave, his cheeks are hollow and there are dark circles under his eyes. He works at a plant that manufactures aluminum docks and boat lifts, but our lift sits empty. He sold the boat months ago, even though he’s been working double shifts and overtime. My uncle Daniel says we can borrow his boat anytime, but I can’t remember the last time Dad got out on the lake. Clayton’s tuition is expensive; costs of restaurant supplies have shot up. I know money’s tight.
When I don’t say anything, he continues. “You’ll be so busy this summer, you probably won’t even notice.”
Dad drops me off at the church. As he drives away my cell phone rings—the James Bond theme song. Clay.
“Hey,” he says.
“How’s the studying going?” I ask.
“Studying. Right. Good.” He sounds ragged and rough, like he’s got ashes in his mouth.
“Are you hungover? It’s two in the afternoon!”
He laughs. “Maybe a little bit.”
“I thought you were coming home for Mother’s Day. Guess you had a change of plans?”
“Yeah. I have a final Monday morning, so, you know, I’ve got to study.”
“Doesn’t sound like you were studying last night.”
Clayton laughs. “Oh, I was studying. Studying the Bud Light and the bootay.”
Seriously?
“Hey, did you know that Ron and Betty rented out their house this summer—”
Clayton interrupts. “Yeah, yeah, Dad told me. Listen, you gotta do me a favor. You gotta tell Mom and Dad that I’m not coming home this summer.”
“What?”
“Yeah, me and a couple of buddies are subleasing this guy’s house. Total party house. Just for the summer.”
“Since when?”
“Since a few days ago.”
“I’m pretty sure Mom’s counting on you to help out at the restaurant.”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. Besides, I sort of have to do some makeup work for this class I screwed up in, so I figured I would get caught up and party, too. Best of both worlds.”
“Best of both worlds for you, maybe.”
“What’s the big deal? Why do you care if I come home or not?”
“I don’t. It’s just—” But I do care. Everything’s different. Trixie’s gone, Ben’s gone, my first summer without them. No Betty and Ron, no pans of brownies and plates of peanut butter cookies. I can’t be without Clay, too. I can’t have any more different. I take a deep breath.
“You’ll be fine, Lucy. You’ll tell them for me, right?”
“Why should I?”
“Come on, help me out. I want to have fun this summer. I don’t want to work at the restaurant.”
“Oh, it’s fine for me but not for you?”
“That’s right. Looking out for number one.”
“As usual,” I spit. “Tell them yourself.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and hit end as I walk across the cemetery.
Trixie’s grave is on the side farthest from the church, close to a small cluster of silver maple trees. Her headstone is red granite, small and simple. Her name, the dates, Beloved Daughter and Sister.
Trixie’s mother, Jane, has planted flowers, the earth damp where it’s recently been watered. She’s been here today. This is her first Mother’s Day without Trixie.
At the foot of Trixie’s grave is a small stone bench with cherubs carved into the legs. I sit and face the headstone.
“Hey, Trix.” That’s how I always begin.
And then I talk.
I talk about Emily and how excited I am to be her nanny this summer, even though I’m not all that excited about cleaning the cabins and hauling trash around. I tell her about my phone call with Clay, about Hannah and Dustin and the movie last night and how it still feels weird to go to the movies without her.
I tell her about the Clarks and the renters and Simon and his Dr Pepper T-shirt. “And, um, he’s pretty cute,” I say. “What do you think? Should I go for it with Simon the Renter?”
I move from the bench to kneel close to the headstone. I stroke my fingers over the tops of the marigolds.
“I’ve been seeing Ben around a lot lately. I’m worried about him, Trix. He’s always so angry. He won’t talk to me. I mean . . . I know it’s hard for him without you. I get that. He misses you. But what I don’t understand is why he had to take it out on me. Why did he push me away? Why did he say those terrible things?”
Trixie doesn’t answer.
Only one person can answer those questions.
“I’m trying to be brave, Trixie,” I whisper. “It was a lot easier when you were around to remind me.”
I stand and brush grass from my knees. I reach into my pocket for a root beer barrel, twist the cellophane wrapper open, and place it on top of Trixie’s headstone. I leave her a piece of candy from Sweet Pea’s every time I visit, and every time I come back, it’s gone. Root beer barrels, cinnamon disks, butterscotches, jawbreakers. All her favorites. I like to think she’s enjoying the candy, even though it’s probably taken by a raccoon or squirrel.
“I’m going to ask him,” I say. “The next time I see him, I’m going to walk right up to him and ask him why he pushed me out of his life.” I bring two fingers to my lips and then touch them to the top of the gravestone. “Later, Trix. I miss you.”
I turn. My breath catches when I see Ben standing on the front steps of the church, leaning over the railing. He’s watching me and he looks so sad. I wonder how long he’s been there and if he could have possibly heard anything I said to Trixie.
I drop my eyes and walk down to the street. My brilliant plan to confront him, to get my answers, is crushed into the grass beneath every footfall.
10 · Ben
Lucy’s at the cemetery.
It’s Mother’s Day, Mum’s first without Trixie. I stopped going to church after Trixie died, and I never go to the cemetery, but this morning when Mum asked me to go, I didn’t have the heart to say no. And it was bad. Mum cried and Dad hugged her and I sort of hung back at the edge of the row of headstones and let them have their moment.
She’s not there. Trixie died, and what we put in the ground is a shell of what she was. I don’t go into her room, and I can’t bring myself to sit at her grave.
What good would it do? It wouldn’t make me feel better.
Mum’s been crying most of the day, so when Dad asked me to run back up here and bring her some lilacs from a bush at Trixie’s grave, I went.
But Lucy’s here.
I stand on the front steps of the church and I watch her. She’s talking, but she’s too far away for me to hear. She stands up and pulls something out of her pocket and places it on top of the gravestone. She kisses her fingers and presses them to the stone. I try to swallow the lump that’s suddenly in my throat. I shouldn’t be watching this.
Before I can move off the steps, though, Lucy turns and sees me.
Oh God, please don’t let her walk over here and talk to me now. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it together. She must feel the same way, because she puts her head down and scurries away, fast.
I hate this. I hate that I can’t figure out a way to make things better. I hate that I don’t deserve to be forgiven.
I walk over to Trixie’s gra
ve and pull Mum’s garden shears out of my back pocket. I’ve got to make this quick.
There’s a root beer barrel on the stone. Trix and Lucy loved going to Sweet Pea’s on Saturday mornings to spend their allowance money on candy. They’d come home and sit in the sunroom to divide up the bag—hard candy for Trixie, chocolate and fudge for Lulu.
Once, a few summers ago, I followed them to Sweet Pea’s, made it seem like I was running an errand for Dad to the hardware store.
“Why are you following us, Ben?” Trixie asked.
“I’m not,” I said, slowing my bike so that I didn’t run into them.
“You’re not supposed to ride your bike on the sidewalk,” she said.
“Who’s going to stop me?”
“Go home.”
“I’ve got to pick up some nails for Dad.”
“Nails?” Trixie cried. “What does he need nails for?”
“Dunno. He said for me to pick up some two-and-a-half-inch siding nails.” I thought that sounded believable enough. “So that’s what I’m doing. What are you doing?”
“You know what we’re doing,” Trixie said. “We’re going to Sweet Pea’s.” She stopped and turned around, her hands on her hips. Lucy stopped, too, her hands jammed in the pockets of her shorts. She stared at the ground, didn’t look up at me.
“Why don’t you ever buy me any fudge, Lulu?” I asked. Her head snapped up, and her eyes were wide with something—surprise, fear, I didn’t know. “Hey,” I said, “I’m only teasing.”
She blushed and turned away, started walking again.
“Leave us alone, Ben,” Trixie said. “Go buy your nails.”
Later, after Lucy had gone home, I found a piece of maple fudge, my favorite, wrapped in pea green tissue, on the desk in my bedroom next to my rock tumbler.
After that, every time the girls went to Sweet Pea’s, I found a piece of maple fudge on my desk later. For two years. Until Trixie died and there were no more trips to Sweet Pea’s, no more sounds of laughter from the sunroom.
I try not to cry as I cut a few blooms off the lilac bush, but I can’t help it. I brush the tears away with the back of my hand before I walk back down the hill.
I was right to avoid this place. I won’t come back here again.
The Tallest Tower in All the Land
Trixie and Lulu loved to explore their world. They hiked in the woods and swam in the lakes. They caught fish and threw them back for another day.
They climbed trees in the park, giant box elder and oak, even though Lulu’s heart raced with fear as she searched for footholds and held on with sweating palms. “Be brave,” Trixie reminded her, and Lulu was. When she could go no farther, she looked out over the beautiful, tranquil lake for which their town was named: Halcyon. She had never seen anything so stunning. From here, at the top of this box elder tree, the lake was theirs. It belonged to them.
And then one day, Trixie’s brother, Ben, told them he knew of a place with an even more spectacular view, the tallest tower in all the land. The entire countryside laid out before them—sky and cloud, lake and pine—for as far as the eye could see.
Lulu wondered if she would ever be able to climb such a tower, or if her fear would keep her away.
But one day, when Trixie was feeling particularly adventurous, the two best friends left behind their serene lake in search of the new and the unexplored, the promise of something they’d never before beheld.
If Lulu had been afraid of climbing the giant box elder tree in the park, she was paralyzed with fear when they finally reached their destination that perfectly cloudless summer afternoon. The blue sky stretched out above them, and when Lulu tipped her head up and saw the giant wooden structure before her, her knees began to shake.
“How tall is it?” Lulu asked.
Trixie did not know, exactly, but Ben had told her that there were one hundred and thirty winding steps to the top. “Lulu,” Trixie said, “I know that deep inside, you have the courage to climb to the top of that tower.”
So Lulu closed her eyes, and she reached down deep to the place inside her soul where she kept her most guarded reserve of courage, the one she relied on when she was most in need but kept protected because she did not want to use it all up at once. She began to climb.
And the climb terrified Lulu in ways she could not have imagined. She had felt dizziness before, but this sensation—the sky spun, the tower itself swayed—rocked her to the core. Many times, Lulu and Trixie paused so that Lulu could place both hands on the wooden railing, close her eyes, and wait for the world to come to a halt.
“We’re almost there,” Trixie said in a tender voice. “You’ll be glad for it.”
They climbed and rested and climbed again for what seemed like hours.
Finally, Trixie and Lulu reached the top of the tower. Lulu’s balance returned and her stomach stopped its relentless lurching.
And the view, as Ben had promised, was spectacular.
In every direction, their world had no end. They looked across the tops of pine and oak and maple, of birch and aspen and willow, to the myriad lake and river and pond, all glimmering in the summer sunlight. The sight took their breath away.
Lulu turned to her best friend. “This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” she said.
Then Lulu glanced to the floor of the platform, which was covered with fragrant creeping thyme. Before her very eyes, the purple flowers multiplied and swirled around her feet, the end of a trail that tumbled down the stairs, all the way to the ground.
“Trixie, look!” Lulu cried. “Where did it come from?”
Trixie smiled. “From you, from your footsteps.” She reached out and squeezed Lulu’s hand.
The friends gazed upon their world a bit longer until the sun dipped below the trees to the west. They began their climb down through the cover of thyme, but Lulu was not as terrified as she had been going up.
When they reached the safety of the firm, solid earth, Trixie looked at her best friend with a smile and said, “Always remember that the thrill of the view is worth the terror of the climb.”
Lulu would remember those words for the rest of her life.
JUNE
Silences make the real conversations between friends. Not the saying, but the never needing to say that counts.
—Margaret Lee Runbeck
11 · Lucy
It’s the first week of summer break.
Emily and I are playing on the resort’s small playset. From here, I have a clear view of Ben as he works. He helps guests with their luggage and fishing gear, gives tours of the resort. He stands with his hands in his pockets and scowls as he watches a guest back a giant SUV and pontoon down into the boat launch—badly.
“Do you want to go to the library?” I ask Emily, pushing her so high on the swing that she squeals. Ben looks over and I duck my head down.
“No,” she says. “You promised to teach me cartwheels.”
It’s such a beautiful early summer day that I don’t blame her for not wanting to be inside. We move to a grassy spot closer to the lake.
“Do one,” Emily says.
It’s been months since I’ve set foot in the gym, but I lift my hands in the air and go over easily. The ground here is uneven and I stumble a bit on my landing. When I look up, I see Ben watching me from across the beach. I quickly turn away.
“Here,” I say to Emily, my voice shaking, “you need to start small. Little jumps.” I show her where to place her hands on the ground and how to hop from side to side. It will be a while before she’ll be able to flip.
She flops down in the grass after a few hops. “Whew! That’s hard work.”
“Keep practicing and you’ll get it.” I do another cartwheel, then a roundoff. It feels familiar, freeing. I miss gymnastics. I miss movement. I feel like I’ve been standing still for months.
I sit down next to Emily. The grass is warm from the sun.
“Why don’t you like Ben?” she asks.
“You never talk to him. You don’t laugh with him or tell him stories like you tell my mom and me. Why can’t you be friends with him? You were friends with Trixie.”
I nod and blink back the tears that, like Emily’s question, have come out of nowhere. “Well, Ben and I used to be friends. We were all friends.”
“But Trixie’s in heaven now.”
I nod again. I’m not prepared for this conversation.
“You aren’t friends with Ben because Trixie’s not here anymore? I don’t get it.”
That about sums it up. I don’t get it, either.
“Well, Emily, it’s not that Ben and I aren’t friends, exactly.” A tight ball of pain in my chest moves its way up into my throat. “It’s—it’s complicated.”
“What’s complicated mean?”
I pause again and pull at a blade of grass. “Complicated is like a puzzle. All the pieces have to fit a certain way, and it’s tricky to figure out which pieces go where.”
“Oh,” she says, but I’m not sure that I’ve explained it well enough. “You know what I do when I’m working on a puzzle I can’t figure out?”
“What do you do?”
“I ask my mom for help.” Emily bounds up and runs back toward the swings.
That night, I don’t sleep much. I wish I had the Book of Quotes. I wonder if Jane has cleaned out Trixie’s room or if it’s how we left it the morning we hurried to the park with our beach towels and sunscreen. I wonder if the notebook is on Trixie’s desk where we’d set it the night before. She’d written a new quote from Audrey Hepburn: The best thing to hold onto in life is each other.
I open my laptop and create a new folder on my online bulletin board. I search for the quote and find a graphic of the words, handwritten in dark blue ink, swirling letters with doodles of hearts. It’s perfect.
I search for more images: growing up, best friends, memories. I pin a dozen more quotes, some familiar, some new, and then find this Dr. Seuss quote: Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment, until it becomes a memory. I think about the moment I told Trixie that I had a crush on her brother, a bitter cold winter afternoon. We were twelve.