The Last Thing You Said

by Sara Biren

  Trixie's Heart

  Trixie grew up to become a lovely young lady. She had a beautiful heart, good and pure and generous. She cared and loved and hurt when others were in pain. She took in all that concern for others and stored it safely in her heart. Her heart got bigger and fuller, and the bigger it got, the more she loved.

  One summer day, Trixie went to the lake with three of the people who she loved the most: her brother, Ben, her best friend, Lulu, and Lulu’s brother, Clay. It was a beautiful day with endless sunshine and a perfect blue sky. Bluebird skies, her brother would say. The four of them swam and laughed and relaxed in the sun.

  Trixie looked at the three people who she loved so much lying in the sunshine and she made a wish. She wished that they would never know heartache. She wished that they would never know pain. She wished she could collect all their cares and worries and keep them close to her, in her own heart.

  And so she did. She closed her eyes and willed all their sorrows and fears from their hearts to her own. Her heart was heavy and she staggered from the weight of it, but she was filled with happiness that she could do something so wonderful for the people she loved.

  Then she had another idea. She would swim to the little island offshore, empty her heart of all the sadness and worry, and return lighthearted once more. She would be ready to collect the sorrows of everyone she knew, and they would know nothing but peace and joy.

  She slipped into the lake and swam toward the island. As she glided through the cool water, she felt light and free, even though her heart strained against the weight of worry and sadness. Before she could reach the island, her beautiful, fragile heart could no longer bear the extra burden. Her heart split in two and then shattered, and from the wreckage, the sorrows and cares of her beloved friends returned to them twofold.

  For not only were they now once again weighed down with the sadness of everyday life, they were doubly burdened by the loss of their dear Trixie.

  Without her, the three people she loved the most—Ben, Lulu, and Clay—drifted away from one another, to carry alone their sorrows and the remaining shards of Trixie’s broken heart.

  AUGUST

  Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.

  —Lao Tzu

  39 · Ben

  The first week of August is a slow one at the resort. Every year the same family rents every cabin for a family reunion, three sisters in their sixties and their kids and grandkids. Nobody wants to fish, or if they do, they get a small container of night crawlers and cast off the dock. So I’ve got a couple of extra days off. Guthrie and I take the pontoon out and fish for walleye. It’s Monday, but we won’t be having the usual at the Full Loon tonight, not since the fire last week. When I ran into Daniel at the bait shop, he said it would be a couple more weeks before they open.

  “So you know Hannah Mills?” Guthrie asks. He flips his shades onto the top of his head. “Lucy’s friend?”

  Lucy’s friend. Of course I know Hannah Mills. Everyone knows Hannah Mills.

  “Yeah. What about her?”

  “I’m taking her out this week.”

  “Taking her out? Like on a date?” I can’t remember the last time Guthrie asked a girl out on a date—tenth grade, maybe?

  “Well, what else?”

  “Hannah Mills?”

  “Yes. Hannah Mills.”

  “I don’t get it. Why would you go on a date with her?”

  “Why are you dating Dana?”

  “This isn’t about me, and it sure as hell isn’t about Dana. When did you decide you like Hannah Mills? And isn’t she going out with that stupid cowboy?”

  “They broke up right after the rodeo.”

  I grit my teeth. I don’t like to think about the rodeo. “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “I ran into Hannah at Sweet Pea’s last week.”

  Sweet Pea’s. I think about the fudge that Lucy gave to Emily, the same kind she used to bring to me.

  “Why were you at the candy store?” There’s a tug on my line but it goes slack again.

  “I wasn’t. I was at the Broken Spine and I saw Hannah at Sweet Pea’s. So I went in to say hi.”

  “And?”

  “I like Hannah. She smiles a lot. She’s funny. And she’s hot. The best part, though? She lets me talk.”

  “So was Lucy with her?” I ask.

  Guthrie sighs. “Lucy’s grounded. You know that.”

  “Never mind. That’s great about you and Hannah. I hope it works out for you.”

  Guthrie shakes his head but doesn’t say anything else.

  He doesn’t have to.

  There’s another tug on my line, and this time, it holds. I lift the tip of my rod and gently reel him in, a crappie. He goes into the net without a fight. I take the hook out and drop the fish into the live well.

  Guthrie laughs. “You keeping that?”

  “Yeah.” I dig into the container of leeches. “You catch any sunnies or crappies, throw them in here, okay? I’ll take them home for Mum.”

  It’s been a long time since we had a fish fry. I can almost taste the sweet, batter-fried fillets.

  “I’m officially inviting myself over for dinner.” Guthrie pulls up a good-size bluegill. “Well, what do we have here? Looks like this is our lucky day.”

  We fill the live well with sunfish and crappies and a couple of walleye and head back to Guthrie’s to clean them. I’m not a fan of this part, but Guthrie is quick and skilled with the fillet knife. I clean up the mess while he packs the fillets in ice, and then we head over to my house.

  The house is empty and dark, the blinds closed up tight. There’s a note from Mum on the counter: Upstairs with a migraine. There’s leftover roast in the refrigerator. Love you.

  I hand the note to Guthrie. “Looks like our fish fry will have to wait.”

  He looks at the paper for a moment. “They’ll keep.”

  “Yeah, let’s get them in the freezer.” I pull open a drawer for the roll of aluminum foil.

  “You okay?”

  I look up, surprised. “What?”

  “Are you okay?”

  I shrug. “Yeah. It’s just fish, you know?”

  He takes the box of aluminum foil, tears off a sheet, and begins wrapping packets of fillets. “Yeah, they’ll keep,” he says again, quietly, almost to himself.

  40 · Lucy

  Summer unravels.

  August has arrived, and with it the fact that soon it will be one year.

  I am moving forward. Trixie is not.

  Trixie is now memories and stories and photographs in frames and albums and scrapbooks. The Trixies I tell to a little girl who misses a cousin she barely knew.

  I’m still grounded. The fire at the restaurant caused a lot of damage to the kitchen and part of the back dining room. They say it was the lightning that night after all. The timing couldn’t have been worse, in the middle of the summer tourist season, but they’re hoping to reopen in a couple of weeks.

  At least Mom is talking to me again since the fire. I guess she must have decided that, in the grand scheme of things, my refusal to work that Monday night shift isn’t such a big deal.

  Simon has come over twice. I’m worried, though, that someone will come home and find him here, and I can’t do that to my parents. Not now, after South Dakota and the fire.

  So I tell him he needs to go; he kisses me. He sends me text messages; he misses me.

  Today, he and Shay are taking a day trip up to Lake Itasca, the headwaters of the Mississippi River, an hour and a half away. I watch them drive off from the kitchen window.

  It strikes me that I won’t miss him when he’s gone—not today, not after he goes back to St. Paul.

  I run upstairs to my room for my phone and call Hannah, who picks up right away.

  “I should miss him, right?” My breathing is heavy.

  “Lucille? Miss who? Is everything okay?”

  “Simon. I
should miss him, right, when he’s not around? Isn’t that how love works? You want to be with a person all the time, and when you can’t, it’s like a piece of you is missing?”

  She doesn’t answer right away.

  “Hannah?”

  “You miss Ben.”

  I don’t need to say anything. I’ve never stopped missing Ben.

  “I think you know what you need to do. I really had high hopes for Simon, though.” She sighs. “I wish I could come over.”

  “Me, too. I miss you.”

  Hannah laughs. “That’s how you know it’s love. I love you, too, Lucille.”

  I end the call and lean my head against the wall. The next time Simon sneaks over, I’ll tell him that it’s not working, that we should break up.

  I take a deep breath. I don’t want to think about this anymore. I grab a book and walk down to the patio to take advantage of the fact that Shay’s not using it today.

  But the words are a jumble on the page. My mind wanders.

  It’s too quiet.

  I’m too alone.

  I find my iPod and slip my earbuds in and walk into town, cutting through Sullivan Street Park.

  I walk the trail and sit at the edge of the lake, my toes in the sand. I close my eyes and count the days until summer ends.

  My phone buzzes with a text—a photo of Simon standing next to the tall marker at the headwaters, then another of him standing in shallow Lake Itasca. Missing u @ the Mississippi. Wish u were here.

  I don’t respond.

  I stand up, brush the sand off my shorts, and cut through the woods on the path that leads to the back parking lot of the Gas-n-Go. I’m inside the convenience store reaching for a bottle of water in the cooler when I hear my name. I turn to see Daniel.

  Of course.

  “Whatcha doing here, Lucy?” he asks me. “Aren’t you grounded?”

  I hold up the water. “It’s a long walk home. Would you rather I succumb to dehydration and heat exhaustion?”

  “Shouldn’t you already be at home?”

  “Daniel, come on. I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed fresh air. Exercise.”

  “I’ll give you a ride home. I’m on my way to Brainerd anyway.”

  He fills me in on the day’s progress at the Full Loon. “It’s going to be better than ever. We’re coming back strong, Luce.”

  When I don’t respond, he says, “I haven’t seen you much since you got back from South Dakota. Everything okay?”

  “Well, no. I got grounded, remember? For life?”

  “Never been grounded before, huh?”

  I shake my head. “No, and they threw the book at me, didn’t they?”

  Daniel laughs. “Everybody was pretty worried about you, Lucy. I can’t blame them for being so upset.”

  “The worst is that I can’t see Hannah. Guthrie is throwing her a birthday party, and Mom and Dad won’t let me go.”

  “Well, the way I see it, and shit if I’m not going to sound just like my dad, and probably yours, you have to accept the consequences of your actions. And if that means not seeing Hannah and missing her birthday, there it is.”

  I swipe at a tear in the corner of my eye. “It’s not fair. Clayton can get away with murder. I make one mistake—one—and I’m punished for weeks! I need to see Hannah.”

  Suddenly I get an idea. Daniel can help me get to that party.

  “Daniel,” I say, leaning toward him. “You’ve got to convince Mom to let me go to the party.”

  “Oh, no,” he says. “No way. I’m not getting in the middle of this.”

  “Please, I’m begging you. This summer has been awful. Please.”

  He’s quiet for a long time. Then: “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do what I can. Don’t fuck this up, okay?”

  “Okay, yes, thank you.” The words rush out of me.

  “Seriously, don’t mess this up.”

  As if this summer could get any more messed up.

  By the time Mom gets home, I’ve showered again and made tacos for dinner. She comes out to the deck, where I’m sitting with my laptop, pinning quotes to my online bulletin board.

  I don’t regret the things I’ve done. I only regret the things I didn’t do when I had the chance.

  I can picture that quote in our notebook, one of Trixie’s favorites, written in dark teal cursive.

  Don’t count the laps—make the laps count. Trixie’s favorite swim team quote.

  I would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light. One of the many Helen Keller quotes I wrote in the book.

  I close the laptop when I hear the sliding door open.

  “Hey, Luce.” Mom flops down into the chair next to me. “What an exhausting day. But the new roof is on, so that’s a relief, at least. And the painters come tomorrow.”

  “Mm-hmm,” I say. Daniel already told me. “That’s great.”

  “Dinner smells fantastic.”

  “Dad’s not home yet. I figured tacos would be easy enough to reheat.”

  “Good thinking. I’m exhausted,” she says again. “So what have you been up to today?”

  “Oh, you know,” I say, “the usual. A load of laundry, a little reading.”

  “What were you doing just now?”

  “Do you remember that notebook Trixie and I used to keep? Quotes and song lyrics and stuff like that?”

  She smiles. “The Book of Quotes?”

  I nod. “Well, I started a new online board with some of the quotes. The ones I can remember, anyway.”

  “Don’t you have the notebook?”

  I shake my head. “No. It’s at Trixie’s.”

  She frowns. “You haven’t asked for it?”

  “No.”

  “Honey, it’s important to you. I’m sure Jane and Tom would understand if you—”

  I cut her off. “No, it’s okay. Plus, I don’t really see them, you know?”

  “I’ll call Jane right now.” Mom stands up.

  I reach out and grab her arm to stop her. “No, please don’t. It’s not important, Mom. Don’t bother them.”

  She looks at me for a minute, then says softly, “Maybe you could ask Ben to find it for you, then.”

  I pinch my lips together and shake my head again.

  Mom smiles. “Hey, I just had a great idea. We’re painting some sections of the walls at the restaurant with blackboard paint. Why don’t you pick out a few of your favorite quotes, and you and Hannah can write them on the walls with chalk? It would be a nice way to honor Trixie’s memory.”

  I pick up my laptop and nod. Since the fire, Mom hasn’t been as angry with me, but I know that her disappointment is still there, simmering beneath the surface. I don’t want to disappoint her again. “Yeah, I can do that.”

  “Lucy? Think about asking Ben for the notebook, okay?”

  That I can’t do.

  41 · Ben

  I’ve been wasted since yesterday. I figure I don’t have to work for a couple of days, so why not? After Guthrie and I wrapped all that fish and packed it into the freezer, I found the key to the liquor cabinet on the counter next to an empty lowball glass. Like it was waiting for me. Convenient.

  Wasted is good, helps me forget.

  Wasted means I can’t hear Mum crying in Trixie’s room as we get closer to the anniversary.

  Dad isn’t drunk, but he’s drinking. He and Mum don’t notice that I’m drunk; they don’t notice me at all.

  I send a text to Guthrie: Dude, you gotta come get me. Can’t drive too wasted but I gotta get outta here.

  I’ve been able to keep that promise to Mum at least. I slam the front door shut behind me, but I don’t know that either of my parents will hear it or care. My phone sounds with the ringtone Dana picked out for herself. I ignore it. I don’t want to see her.

  God, I’m in a pissy mood.

  Guthrie pulls up in his shitty Impala. Hannah Mills is with him, his girlfriend. The new girl. Lucy’s new best friend. The girl who took Trixie
’s place. On the drive to Guthrie’s, I try to work it out in my head—how it’s possible that this cowgirl and my Lulu are friends.

  Slumped in the backseat, I laugh. I laugh and I can’t stop.

  She’s not my Lulu. Not Lulu. I’m so confused. She bought me fudge again. I know that fudge she gave Emily was really for me. I know it. But she didn’t give it to me. Why didn’t she give it to me? Because I’m an asshole, that’s why.

  Shit, I’m messed up.

  Hannah turns around and gives me this look, like she thinks I’ve lost it and maybe I have. But then she smiles at me—she understands, she gets it. I see it in her eyes and her smile. She’s a sweet girl. No wonder Guthrie likes her. No wonder she’s Lucy’s best friend. She reaches over and squeezes my hand and then turns back.

  It’s raining again. No fire tonight. We sit in Guthrie’s basement and watch The Outlaw Josey Wales. Or they do. Or maybe they don’t. They whisper to each other, laugh, sit close together on the couch. I drink another beer and wonder what it would be like to be with Lucy like that. We never got our chance.

  At some point the movie ends, and Guthrie peels himself away from Hannah and goes upstairs. She turns to me.

  “Ben,” she says, “you okay?”

  I nod.

  “You want to ask me anything?” she says.

  Shit. I mean, I know I’m fucked up, but what the fuck is this girl talking about?

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask.

  She laughs, her head thrown back. “Well, you sure got a brick in your hat tonight, don’t ya?”

  Guthrie finally found the perfect girl. They both talk shit.

  “A brick in my hat?”

  “Means drunk,” Guthrie says from upstairs.

  She leans toward me and says in a low voice, “You want to ask me about Lucy, don’t you? You want to know if she really likes Simon or if she’s still carrying a torch for you, right?” She smiles, big and toothy, and flips her hair over her shoulder.

  Ah, so that’s what this is all about. Lucy.

  “Carrying a torch for me? You’ve got to be kidding me. That torch went out a long time ago.”