The Last Thing You Said

by Sara Biren

  She shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Lucy and I aren’t friends anymore,” I say, and it feels strange, wrong. Like putting it in a simple sentence takes the truth out of it.

  “So I hear.”

  “Have you seen her?”

  She shakes her head again. “Still grounded.”

  “Have you talked to her?” Why am I doing this? Why am I putting myself through this?

  “Yeah. I miss her.”

  I take a swig of beer. Me, too, I think, and then I think I might have said it out loud. The words echo, bounce around in my head.

  “You want to know what I think, Ben?” Hannah finally says, frowning. “I haven’t even known Lucy for a year, but she’s the most loyal person I’ve ever met and she loves like crazy. She’d do anything for someone she loves.”

  I’m with her so far.

  “Even if it’s someone who’s a complete asshole to her and says awful things. You’ve gotta stop hurting her.” The air leaves my lungs, deflates me. “Just stop.”

  She knows. Hannah knows.

  Guthrie comes back downstairs with a pizza. He offers me a slice, but I wave him away.

  I have no appetite. I sit here and drink beer and when I close my eyes, I see Lucy, loyal and loving like crazy. I see her, us, like we’re in a movie, sitting in my Firebird and it’s raining and I lean over and turn her face toward me and I kiss her. I kiss her like I mean it.

  That kiss, it meant something.

  Hannah’s right. I’ve been a complete asshole. I said awful things.

  But how could she still love me, be loyal to me, after how I’ve treated her?

  How will she ever forgive me?

  42 · Lucy

  Daniel helped me get to Hannah’s party, and now I wish I’d stayed home.

  Story Lake Road is narrow and twisty, about fifteen miles west of town off County Road 27. The road hugs the edge of Story Lake on one side and Papyrus Lake on the other. The Guthries live out at the end at the channel, where the lakes meet, in a gorgeous Victorian-style home that looks like something out of a film. The huge backyard slopes down to a rocky beach that’s packed with people from school.

  Simon is clingy. He reaches for my hand, puts an arm around my waist.

  This is the first time we’ve seen each other in days.

  Hannah thinks I should break up with him tonight. “It ain’t a party till something gets broke,” she said.

  “I’ve missed you.” Simon kisses my forehead. “What do you want to drink?”

  Before I can answer, Hannah calls out, “Lucille, do one more shot with me. Please? Pretty please? For my birthday?”

  I shrug at Simon and follow Hannah to the kitchen. The amber liquor bites and cuts, like swallowing hot glass. I gasp and she hands me another glass, something purple and sweet that cools the fire. She squeezes my hand. She’s grinning and off-kilter.

  “Darlin’,” she says, her twang intensified by the booze, “I love you so much. So much. You are the world’s greatest friend, Lucy Lucille, and don’t you ever forget it. You are special. And don’t let anyone—not a single one of these assholes here—tell you any different.”

  She hugs me and then squeals when Guthrie walks into the kitchen. “Isn’t he the cutest?” she whispers. She grabs his hand, winks at me, and leads him out to the deck.

  I find an empty corner in the living room and curl up on a wide armchair with thick, soft cushions. I close my eyes and try to block out the noise of the karaoke from downstairs. I imagine that I’m somewhere else, the sunroom at Trixie’s house or down by the lake, on the beach. In my mind, in the best stretches of my imagination, this summer has not happened. There was no South Dakota. No Simon.

  But I know that you can’t wish an entire summer away. I’ve tried.

  My mind in its haze shifts. Last August. Hot and humid. I’d stayed at Trixie’s house the night before. When I woke up, Jane was in the kitchen with fresh scones and English breakfast tea. She and I ate in the sunroom and waited for Trixie and Ben to wake up. When Trixie joined us she was dressed in her swimsuit, a pair of Halcyon Lake track shorts, and flip-flops. Her hair sat in a high bun on the top of her head. Ben, though, came down in his pajamas—an old camo Cabela’s T-shirt with a frayed hem and plaid sleep pants. His curly hair stood out in every direction and he smiled when he saw me. A beautiful, content smile that hinted at something else. Something more.

  “You going to the beach today?” he asked Trixie. He sat down next to her and reached over her plate for a scone.

  She nodded. “Sullivan Street. Gonna go early and snag the swim raft.”

  “Maybe I’ll text Clayton and we’ll come, too.”

  “Whatever,” Trixie said, and poured a cup of tea.

  Jane patted Trixie’s hand. And I’ll never forget what she said.

  “I’m the luckiest mum on the planet, you know, that the two of you get along so well.”

  “Eh,” Ben said, his mouth full.

  “Whatever,” Trixie said again.

  Ben swallowed. “Mum, she’s barely tolerable and you know it.” He grinned. I could see a tiny blueberry lodged in one of his top teeth.

  I smiled at Ben, and when I glanced at Trixie, she winked at me.

  At that moment, I could never have imagined this—my life now. In Guthrie’s living room, avoiding the crowd in the basement, where Hannah is belting out a lopsided version of “Stand by Your Man.” Ben and his girlfriend are here somewhere. Ben, who kissed me, once. And Simon, how could I possibly forget about Simon, my boyfriend? Where is Simon? I need to tell him that I’m actually in love with Ben.

  No, no. I can’t do that. I am getting over him. I am getting over Ben. Right? But I still miss him.

  Fuzzy. The world is fuzzy. I stand up, sway, put my palm on the wall to steady myself. I will find Hannah and tell her we need to go. Or I need to. She should stay—it’s her birthday, after all. I shake my head. Neither one of us can drive.

  I’m stuck.

  I’ve been stuck all summer.

  I make my way down the stairs to the basement, gripping the handrail along the stairs so tightly my knuckles turn white.

  The basement is dark. A spinning disco ball flashes purple-and-silver light onto the walls, the carpet, the couches. Guthrie stands at the front of the room destroying a Garth Brooks song. Dana untangles herself from Ben’s arms and walks past me with a pitying look. I don’t want her pity. I close my eyes so I don’t have to see her. If I can’t see her, she can’t see me. If I can’t see Ben, Ben can’t see me.

  “Where’s your boyfriend?” A low growl from the couch.

  Ben can see me. I have been able to avoid him since we got here, but I cannot avoid the truth of us. Of me, loving him. My stomach flips, and I teeter a little as I step over his legs, which are stretched out in front of him.

  I want him to reach out, pull me onto his lap, kiss me like he did in the Firebird, until I forget who I am, forget everything.

  “Lucille!” Hannah cries. “It’s about damn time! Where have you been?”

  I take another step but Ben sticks his leg out in front of me and I stumble. Once I right myself, I turn to glare at him.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I hiss.

  “I asked you a question,” Ben says. His eyes are glassy but he sounds normal, calm. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

  “Mind your own business, Ben,” Hannah says, and pulls me closer. “Now’s not the time for this.”

  “It is my business,” Ben says.

  “Since when?” I ask, my voice trembling. Why is he talking to me?

  “Since always,” Ben says.

  Oh.

  “Ben,” Hannah says, and makes a deliberate, overstated move to face him, “where has Dana gone?”

  “Yeah.” I stick out my chin. “You might not get laid tonight if she sees you talking to me.”

  “Be careful, Lucy,” Ben says.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?”
I say, but then I furrow my brow. I’m not sure that the words have come out right.

  I look at him, at his lips, at his eyes, dark with anger and a need that reflects my own. I need Ben. I do.

  “Ignore him,” Hannah says, and she pulls me down on the couch next to her in time to hear Guthrie’s big finish. Hannah claps and whistles.

  “Your turn,” Guthrie says to Hannah, and when she stands, he pulls her close and kisses her.

  “Come on, hon,” she says to me, and even in my hazy state I know that there is no way I can get out of this. “I know what you like.”

  And then, before I really know what’s happening, I hear Blondie’s “The Tide Is High” coming from the small, tinny speakers.

  We sing and dance, and for a minute or two I forget that Ben is there. Then Dana comes back down the stairs and hands Ben a beer. When I look up again, Simon is standing next to the karaoke machine, scrolling through the display. Hannah and I bow to Guthrie’s weak applause. She bounds over to the couch, scoots onto Guthrie’s lap, and kisses him. I have to look away.

  “Hey,” Simon says, “sing with me.” He pulls me close, his arms around my waist.

  “Where’ve you been?” I ask.

  He smiles. “Down by the lake. And the fire pit. This place is amazing.”

  “You’ve been here before,” I snap. “What’s so amazing about it this time?”

  He drops his arms away from me. “What’s the matter? Did I do something wrong?”

  Yes. He did something wrong. He’s been nice to me all summer; he’s tried to love me and that’s his big mistake.

  I shake my head.

  “Lucy, are you drunk?” He moves his hands back to my waist, pulls me close.

  I snort. “Well, yes, aren’t you?”

  He nuzzles my neck, and I can smell tequila on his breath. My stomach lurches. “Sing with me,” he murmurs.

  “I don’t sing karaoke.”

  “Really? What were you doing just now? Singing karaoke, right, with Hannah?”

  “Yes, but, um, my catalog is pretty limited.”

  He pulls back and looks at me, a half smile playing on his lips like he’s not sure if he should laugh or be angry. “Your catalog is limited,” he repeats.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “How limited? Or is it that you don’t want to sing with me?” He looks hurt.

  I’m tired and drunk and I don’t want to fight with Simon, because isn’t that where this is going? I don’t want to fight with Simon in front of Ben.

  Ben must want to fight with Simon though, because he stands up and steps in between us, his face close to Simon’s. How did he hear us?

  “She sings three songs, dickwad. Three.”

  My insides flip. Ben remembers.

  Simon gives Ben a small push, then steps back when Ben doesn’t move. “Oh, yeah?” Simon’s voice cracks a little. “What three?”

  Like it matters.

  “Blondie, ‘The Tide Is High.’ Prince, ‘I Would Die 4 U.’ Britney Spears, ‘. . . Baby One More Time.’” Ben ticks them off on his fingers.

  “Come on, Ben,” Dana says. When did Dana come back? She’s standing next to Ben, her hand on his arm.

  “How the hell would you know?” Simon says. He turns toward me. “Why do you keep letting this guy mess with you, Lucy? You deserve someone much better.”

  Now Ben pushes Simon, who staggers back toward the wall. “I suppose you think you’re that someone?”

  Hannah bounces up from the couch and laughs, puts herself right in between them. “Ben, that sounds like a line from a bad movie. Now why don’t you move along and leave this poor boy alone? Go on.”

  Her accent is extra SoDak tonight. She’s laying it on thick.

  “Dana, sweetie?” she says. “Why don’t you take Ben on out of here?”

  I think I’m going to throw up. Too much booze, too much Simon, too much Ben. Not enough Ben. Never enough Ben.

  I need air. My cheeks are damp. When did I start crying?

  God, why can’t I stop crying?

  I push past Simon and Hannah and Ben and Dana, up the stairs, out to the backyard where I kneel in the dirt in front of a honeysuckle bush and throw up. The dense scent of the blossoms mixes with the sickening sour-sweetness of too much booze coming back up. It settles into my nose and burns the back of my throat. I retch over and over until my stomach hurts and finally the tears stop.

  I’m alone in Guthrie’s yard, I’ve puked my guts out, Trixie is dead, and no matter what I do, I’m still in love with Ben Porter.

  I walk down to the beach. All along the edge of the woods, there are stacks of rocks, just like at Lake Superior, the ones that Ben called inuksuit.

  He is everywhere I go.

  I hear shouting, yelling, someone calling my name. I think it’s Simon, but there’s another voice, too, this one louder. I hear the crack, bone on bone, more shouting. I look up toward Guthrie’s house and there are two shapes near the patio, hitting each other. I should stop them. It might be Ben.

  Instead, I lie down and reach out to touch the cool rocks.

  43 · Ben

  Simon follows me outside to the patio and he says this:

  “Lucy doesn’t love you. She loves me. I can prove it. We—we slept together in South Dakota.”

  He’s lying, I know it. I know Lucy. Or maybe I don’t. Either way, I beat the shit out of that useless douchebag, which is easy enough because he’s totally blotto. The crack of my fist against his face is satisfying, so much that I do it again and again, until Eddie pulls me off him.

  Finally Simon staggers away from me, blood streaming from his nose.

  I find Lucy down by the lake, lying in the sand. I go to her. I pick her up, and it’s like she weighs nothing—she is empty. She smells like rum and vomit, her hair is wild, her face streaked with tears and dirt. She is beautiful, my Lulu.

  I carry her to the screen porch and sit down on an old sofa with her head in my lap. I close my eyes and stroke her hair and listen to her breathe.

  That’s how Dana finds us.

  “Ben?”

  My eyes snap open. Dana stands in front of me, one hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide. Oh, shit.

  “It’s all true, isn’t it?” she says.

  I untangle my fingers from Lucy’s hair. “What’s true?”

  “You—you and Lucy Meadows. Have you been cheating on me with Lucy Meadows?” Her voice cracks.

  “No.” That’s it, one word.

  “Then what is this?” Dana cries.

  “This is me taking care of a friend.” I want it to be true.

  “But—but you and Lucy are not friends!”

  “We used to be friends,” I say. “She needs someone to take care of her, and I happened to be around.”

  “Taking care of Lulu Meadows when she’s drunk is not your job, Ben.”

  I suck in a breath. Did she just call Lucy Lulu? She couldn’t have, she couldn’t have known that’s what we called her.

  “Where’s her boyfriend? Don’t you think he should be the one taking care of her?”

  I have never seen Dana so upset, and the fact that she’s upset because of me, because of something I’ve done, isn’t lost on me.

  “I don’t know where Simon is,” I tell her. “My guess is that he left after I beat the shit out of him.”

  She gasps. “You did that? You beat up Lucy’s boyfriend, and then I find you out here with her? Ben, what is going on with you?”

  What is going on with me is something that should have gone on a long time ago.

  “Dana, I think we should break up.”

  She lets out a long exhale.

  I’m expecting her to argue, but she doesn’t say a word. I can hardly stand to look at her as emotions cross her face—sadness, disappointment, and God, what is that? A tiny bit of relief? She takes a deep breath, but long moments pass before she finally speaks.

  “Be kind to her, Ben. Take care of her. She deserves that.” />
  God, she’s being so nice about this, but I’m not surprised. She’s always been the better person.

  She turns and walks away.

  “I’m sorry,” I call to her, because it seems like the right thing to say, but I’m not. I don’t feel sorry.

  What I feel is heavy. A boulder of regret in my chest where my heart should be.

  Lucy stirs on my lap, but she doesn’t wake. I slip my fingers into her soft hair, massage her temple.

  “Shh,” I whisper. “I’ll take care of you.”

  I’ve loved her all along.

  44 · Lucy

  The day after Guthrie’s party, I can’t move. My body has rejected the horrible things I put inside it, and I deserve every bit of the nausea and achiness and throbbing headache. I don’t remember how I got home, but it must have been Guthrie or Eddie—they were the only sober ones.

  I guess Daniel will be disappointed, because I really messed this up.

  “Was it worth it?” Dad asks as I walk past him. He’s sitting in the recliner watching the Twins game. “You smell awful. And you don’t look so good, either.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble.

  “I hope you’re getting this whole rebellious teenager thing out of your system.”

  I would roll my eyes if I thought I could do it without throwing up. I stretch out on the sofa, and when the spinning stops, say, “You were the one who wanted me to make new friends and do stuff.”

  “What stuff did you do? Shots of tequila?”

  That’s possible. I’m not even sure.

  He sighs. “So let me get this straight. You beg Daniel to talk us into letting you go to this party, which he does, and this is how you repay us? By getting wasted?”

  I cringe. “I wouldn’t say I begged, exactly.”

  “I don’t even think we need to punish you for this,” Dad says and waves his hand in my direction. “I’m pretty sure you’re feeling enough punishment right now.”

  He’s got that right.

  “I take it you’re not going to the parade, then?” he asks.

  Oh, the parade. Watermelon Days. I’ve never missed a Watermelon Days parade.

  The last thing I need today, though, is the too-bright sunshine, the loud marching bands.