by Sara Biren
For the first time ever, I don’t want to be in this car.
I drive over to Dana’s, but I don’t have the energy to break up with her. Not tonight.
19 · Lucy
Hannah’s back from the book tour, so we spend Thursday night at her house, watching movies and catching up.
“I was hoping for a lot of hot cowboy action in Texas,” she says, “but I was sadly disappointed. It was just one bookstore and hotel after another. My first and last book tour, promise. Let’s watch Young Guns. I mean, those guys are hot, right?”
I shrug. I don’t really care what movie we watch. I’m just happy she’s back.
Trixie may have been a splendid torch, but Hannah’s a wildfire.
“So, what’s up with you and your mom? She was really giving you the cold shoulder,” Hannah says. We’d stopped by the Full Loon to pick up the butterscotch pie she’d been craving since Texas. Mom didn’t say one word to me; she hasn’t spoken to me much since our conversation in the car.
I fill Hannah in.
“So she’s pissed at you because you won’t pick up that shift?” she asks.
“Yeah. I looked at the schedule and tried to juggle things around. I thought I’d come up with a decent solution, but that just pissed her off more.”
“Has she always been like this?” Hannah asks. “At the restaurant 24/7?”
“No. She worked part time until my grandparents retired and she took over. Daniel was working at a brewpub in Minneapolis, and she convinced him to move back and help her. But then Clayton left for school, and then there were tuition bills to pay. She let her assistant manager go and basically lives there.”
“So are you going to take that Monday night shift?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Standing my ground on this one, even if Mom doesn’t talk to me for the rest of the summer.”
“Good for you.”
“Or maybe I’ll quit.”
Hannah laughs. “You won’t quit, Lucille. You’re too loyal.”
Loyalty. My biggest flaw, apparently.
“You’ll get over it and so will she, whether you pick up Monday nights or not.”
It doesn’t feel like we’re getting over it.
“So . . . what else is new?” she says. “You see much of Simon the Renter?”
At this, my cheeks go warm, pink.
“Ha! I knew it! Spill.”
I tell her about our date to Cloud 9 and the night at the beach.
“You kissed him, didn’t you? I mean, how could you not? Cute boy, romantic night at the beach . . .”
I nod and am surprised to find that my lips turn up in a small smile. “Well, not really. He kissed my cheek.”
“Close enough! When are you going to see him again?”
“I’ve seen him. He’s right next door, remember?”
“No, I mean see him again. Like a date.”
I shrug.
“Lucille. What have you got to lose?”
When I don’t reply, she says in a soft, gentle voice, “You can’t lose what you don’t have, Lucy.”
She’s right. I know she’s right.
I would write that one in the Book of Quotes if I still had it.
Hannah claps her hands together once. “Oh! I just remembered! There’s a party at Guthrie’s tomorrow night and you’re going! And you should invite Simon the Renter!”
“Um, okay.” I don’t know enough about Simon to know if he’s the party type, especially with a bunch of people he doesn’t know. “I’ll ask him tomorrow.”
“No, Lucille. I mean right now! Text him right now!”
I do: Party tmrw nite. Wanna go?
I’m almost nervous for his reply, but I only have to wait a few seconds: Hell yes.
Hannah snatches the phone from me. “What did I tell you? You got this, Lucille.”
There’s a piece of me that feels brave and proud. Simon said yes.
20 · Ben
Friday night a bunch of us head out to Guthrie’s. His brother Eddie’s having a party. Dana brings her friends Gretchen and Kiersten along. I soon realize this is a huge mistake, because all that Dana’s friends are capable of doing is ripping on every single person at the party. And the more they drink, the cattier they get.
The more I drink, the more I want to get the hell away from them.
“Oh my God,” Gretchen says. “What are they doing here?”
I look over to see four people moving toward us, and one of them is Lucy.
“I can’t believe she has the nerve to show her face.” Kiersten’s words are sharp. “After that whole boat ride incident?”
Gretchen snorts. “Like she actually believed she could steal Ben away from you, Dana.”
Christ, I wish the two of them would shut up.
“I’m standing right here,” I say.
“Really, guys.” Dana’s had a couple of drinks, too, but isn’t acting like a complete bitch. “That was all a huge misunderstanding, wasn’t it, Ben?”
I squint to get a better look. Even in the darkness of dusk, there’s no mistaking Hannah Mills, long legs up to there, cowboy boots, skimpy top. Her blond hair is big, like Texas big, and loose. She’s got her hick boyfriend on her arm, Dustin something. And right behind her is Lucy with the guy who was holding her hand at the Full Loon. The guy who took her to Cloud 9.
“Who does she think she is, anyway?” Kiersten slurs. “Nobody invited her. She’s not even friends with anyone here.”
“She’s friends with Guthrie,” I say. “And the last time I checked, nobody needs an invitation. Nobody invited you.”
“Excuse me,” Gretchen says. “Why are you defending her?”
“I’m not,” I say.
“Seriously, Gretch, don’t believe everything you hear.” Dana leans over and kisses my cheek. “Right, Ben?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Lucy and her friends are closer now. As they pass by, the dickhead reaches for Lucy’s hand and she takes it.
Later, after almost everyone has left, including Dana and her sloppy-drunk friends, I walk down toward the woods to take a piss, and Lucy’s sitting alone on the beach, slapping at mosquitos, a beer balanced on the arm of the camp chair someone’s dragged down there.
I didn’t know Lucy and her friends were still here.
I’m going to talk to her.
I’ll just walk up to her and tell her that I’m sorry. Easy. And she’ll forgive me and we can be friends again.
I’m drunk enough, I can pull this off.
But then Hannah comes out of nowhere, grabs Lucy and drags her up, spins her around in the sand, and shouts, “Lucille! Let’s go for a swim!”
Hannah’s already stripping off her tank top, a bikini underneath it.
No, I want to say, Lucy doesn’t like to swim. She doesn’t like the weeds.
Lucy shakes her head.
And then Guthrie is there—Guthrie?—and Hannah grabs his hand and they’re splashing into the lake, and Lucy’s alone again.
I take a step toward her but my path is blocked.
By that guy.
I don’t remember his name.
“Hey,” he says. “You’re Ben, right?”
“Do I know you?” I’m not in the mood to be polite.
“We haven’t met, not officially, but I know who you are.”
“What do you want?”
“So, um, I think it would be good if you stayed away from Luce, okay?” His voice shakes like he’s nervous.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, she’s got enough going on in her life without having to, um, be confused about you, too.”
He thinks he can just waltz into town and talk to me like this? He doesn’t know Lucy, not like I do.
Like I used to.
“Who do you think you are?” I spit.
“Lucy’s boyfriend,” he says, his voice quivering.
He’s been here, what? Two weeks? And he’s her boyfriend?
> He turns away and walks down to the beach to where she stands, arms crossed, watching her friends splash in the lake. He puts his hands on her shoulders, turns her to face him, and leans in to kiss her.
Lucy’s boyfriend.
Is not me.
21 · Lucy
Friday night, Simon is our designated driver, but I don’t drink, either. I need to keep an eye on Hannah, a firefly in the darkening night, flitting from one group to another.
She’s having such a good time. I wish I could let go like she does, let myself be so carefree and loose. She and Guthrie stand in the lake and splash water at each other. Guthrie seems lighter, happier, too, with Hannah around.
“Hey.”
It’s Simon, his brow furrowed. He puts his hands on my shoulders, turns me into him.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer, but bends toward me without hesitation and kisses me.
It’s sweet and smoky and sends a shiver down my spine. I reach my arms up around his neck and then he’s closer, warm, soft. Sweet.
He pulls away after a moment. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s perfect.”
I bury my face in his chest, close my eyes, and let myself believe it.
The next afternoon, Clayton is in the living room with Dad when I get home from the resort.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Nice to see you, too, sis.” He tips a bottle of beer to his lips and takes a long drink. “Tomorrow’s Father’s Day. I thought I’d go out fishing with the old man.”
Dad grins and they clink their bottles together.
“You’re letting him drink?” I say, my hands on my hips. Dad shrugs.
“It’s one beer, Lucy, lighten up.” Clayton scowls at me. He can get away with anything. “Do you have your period or something?”
So typical.
Dad shakes his head. “I sure haven’t missed all this bickering.”
“Grow up, Clayton,” I say.
Clay gives me the finger. “You’re not letting her come fishing with us tomorrow, are you, Dad?”
I stomp up the stairs to my room. Two more years. Two more years before I can run away like he did.
After dinner, I hear them arguing.
“I’m in a tight spot,” Clay says. “I could really use some help.”
I tiptoe to the top of the stairs to hear more clearly. I’m expecting Dad to shell out the cash, whatever Clayton needs.
“You’re in a tight spot?” Dad says. “You drove all this way to tell me you’re in a tight spot? You’ve got to be kidding me. Your mom and I are working around the clock, Clay, to pay for your education. And then I hear that you get an incomplete? Lucy’s right. It’s time for you to grow up.”
My jaw nearly hits the floor.
“C’mon, Dad, give me a break here.”
“No. There isn’t any money to give you, Clayton, although that’s beside the point. If you need money so badly, maybe it’s time for you to get a job.”
“Oh, terrific,” Clay says. “I come home for this? For nothing?”
I hear a door slam, and I go back to my room. I don’t get the door closed in time before Clayton walks by.
“Unbelievable,” he says.
I turn to face him. “No, you’re unbelievable. You came home to see Dad on Father’s Day, right? No? Nice, Clay. Real nice.”
“Shut it,” he growls at me. He goes into his room and is back seconds later, his backpack over his shoulder. “I’m outta here.”
I’m not surprised at how Clay acted, but Dad’s words stunned me. He’s always given in to Clay, always let things slide with him because he was older, he was the boy, his buddy. And I’ve felt like I needed to be extra good to make up for Clayton. It’s not fair, but that’s the way it is. I’m amazed that Dad finally stood up to him, told him no.
A few minutes later Dad comes up and knocks on my door.
“Hey,” he says. “So you heard all that, then, that business with your brother?”
I nod.
“He take off?”
I nod again.
“What do you say you and me go out and catch a few fish tomorrow? I’ve already got Daniel’s boat.”
I smile. “I’d like that.” I think about Simon, how he’s never been fishing, that his dad always promised to take him but was always too busy at the store. “Do you mind if Simon comes with? He’s never fished before. And his dad—well, his parents have been divorced for a while.”
Dad nods. “Sure, kiddo. That’ll be fun.”
When I pick up my phone to text Simon, there’s a message from him: Miss u.
I decide to ask him to go fishing with us in person. I find my flip-flops by the front door and cross the driveway to Simon’s house.
Sunday morning, Simon comes over after breakfast, bouncing on his heels in excitement. Dad hands him one of Clayton’s old rods, and we head down the hill to the dock and Daniel’s Alumacraft.
I flip up a seat cushion. “Here’s your PFD,” I tell him, handing him a camouflage vest.
“My what?”
“Personal flotation device.” I slip on Clare’s yellow one and demonstrate how to snap it shut and tighten the straps.
“Oh, a life jacket. It’s been a long time since I’ve been out on a boat. Years, actually.” He laughs, an uncomfortable, awkward sound. “I guess this isn’t my thing, really.”
He’s not kidding. After we drop anchor, he struggles with the tackle and the reel and panics every time he gets a bite. But my dad is patient with him, like he was when he taught us, and eventually Simon fumbles through the process himself.
“So how’s Halcyon Lake treating you and your mom, Simon?” Dad asks.
Simon bites his lower lip as he hooks a night crawler and casts out. “So far, so good.”
I’m nervous for him—anxious that he won’t catch anything and be disappointed in himself, worried that he and my dad won’t have anything in common.
“You get to many Twins games?” It was only a matter of time before my dad brought up baseball.
“Never been. Not much of a sports fan, I guess.”
Dad clears his throat. “Huh.” There’s a tug on Dad’s line, though, so he turns his attention to the fish, which turns out to be a nice-size rock bass.
“Uh, are that thing’s eyes red?” Simon leans closer to the fish with muddled bronze scales. Its harsh red eye against the whitish mouth is like something out of a horror movie.
“Yep. Pretty little thing, isn’t it?”
I laugh at the look of disgust that crosses Simon’s face.
Dad leans over the side of the boat to drop the fish back into the lake.
“You’re not keeping it?”
“Nah, we’ll let someone else have a little fun with him.” Dad casts out again. “So, what do you do if you’re not into sports?”
“Painting. I used to take piano lessons.” His bobber sinks a little and he leans over, excited, but then, nothing. “Shoot. I watch a lot of movies. I’m kind of a James Bond aficionado.”
“You like double-oh-seven?” There’s excitement in Dad’s voice, and I know exactly what he’ll say next. “Who’s your favorite Bond?”
I hope that Simon gets this right.
“Well, I have to say that I’m really impressed with Daniel Craig, and you can’t go wrong with the classic Sean Connery, but honestly? My favorite has always been Roger Moore.”
Dad turns to Simon and grins. “That’s what I like to hear.”
There’s a tug on Simon’s line so hard, he’s pulled forward and nearly loses his balance. I set down my rod and move to help him.
“Easy.” I put my hand over his on the reel, and when we land a northern pike into the net, a smile spreads across his face so wide, I can’t help but match it.
22 · Ben
Father’s Day.
Another first without Trixie. Mother’s Day sucked, and I don’t expect today to be any better.
I wake up ear
ly. It’s my day off, and even though Mum narrowed her eyes and pinched her lips when I told her yesterday, Guthrie and I are planning on taking out the pontoon and hitting up Story Lake for walleye.
Dad’s downstairs, and, by the looks of it, he hasn’t slept. He sits on the couch, his hand tight around an empty lowball tumbler. I walk past him, not saying anything, hoping that he won’t notice.
But he does.
“Ben, son, c’mere.” He’s crying.
This is the worst I’ve seen him. He’s drunk and he’s crying and I can’t handle this. It’s fucking Father’s Day, and I want to get the hell out of here. I don’t want to see this; I don’t want to acknowledge him, acknowledge what’s happening to him.
I guess I’m not any better.
“What do you need, Dad?” My voice shakes. “You should get some sleep.”
“Nah,” he says, “I’m taking out that family today. The three generations?”
Uhhh. My stomach drops. He’s supposed to work today. He insisted on it, even though John told him it wasn’t necessary, even offered me up for the job instead. But no, Dad wanted to take out the three generations of fishermen. I overheard him tell John that it would be good for him, would help him take his mind off things.
Things.
Things like today is his first Father’s Day without his daughter.
Goddamn it.
“Dad, what time are you supposed to go out?”
He thinks for a long time, lifts his empty glass to his lips and then sets it down again, disappointed. “Nine o’clock.”
Less than an hour. Guess I’ll be working after all.
“Come on.” I help him up and walk him down the hall to the guest room. He’d never make it up the stairs, and I wouldn’t want to wake up Mum anyway. I don’t want to think about how she’s going to react when she finds him on the spare bed, and I sure as hell don’t want to be around for it.
“Thought Tom was taking us out,” an old guy says when I meet the fishermen down at the dock and introduce myself. He’s a grumpy old codger, his face reddened and weathered.
“That’s my dad, sir,” I tell him. “He’s not feeling well, so I’m filling in for him.”