The Last Thing You Said

by Sara Biren

  My breath catches when I turn to the last of the filled-in pages.

  The handwriting matches my name on the brown paper bag.

  One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life: That word is love. —Sophocles

  And below it: Lulu, please forgive me. I love you. —Ben.

  I touch the inky words, my heart racing. Ben found the notebook, wrote his love in the pages, and brought it back to me. I’m filled with a rush of lightness. Forgiveness.

  I love him. No matter what.

  It’s time to let him back in.

  I need to break up with Simon tonight.

  I call Simon when I get home from the resort.

  “I’m sorry I was so out of it last night,” he says. “Can you do something tonight?”

  “Yes. Can you come over here?”

  “Let’s go out for pie,” he says. “I’m really going to miss that pie.”

  The Full Loon isn’t the ideal location for this conversation, but I can wait until the drive home.

  I meet him in the driveway and he hugs me. “I wish you could have been there with me,” he says.

  I step back out of his arms, thinking of the words Ben wrote in the Book of Quotes, and when we get in the car and Simon reaches for my hand, I pull away, pretending to look for something in my purse.

  On the way into town, he talks about his grandfather, the funeral, and how his dad asked him to come back to St. Paul early and fill in at the hardware store until they can hire a full-timer.

  “This is my last weekend here. I’m leaving Sunday night, and I won’t be back. Not for the rest of the summer, anyway.”

  I don’t say anything. I bite my lip. I’m relieved, but I won’t take the easy way out. I have to be honest with him.

  He must mistake my silence for sadness, because he says, “I know, babe, I’m going to miss you, too.”

  My mom is still at the restaurant. It’s busy, but there are two stools at the counter. Simon orders a slice of coconut cream, his favorite.

  “Nothing for you?” he asks.

  I shake my head, but Patty brings me a cup of coffee anyway.

  “Lucy, I wanted to talk to you about this fall. My dad’s asking how much I’ll be able to work at the store, and I told him that it would depend on you.”

  “On me?”

  He nudges me with his shoulder. “Yes, you. You know, if I’ll be driving up here on the weekends or if you’ll be coming down.”

  My mouth goes dry. “Coming down?” I somehow say.

  “Yeah, to St. Paul? To see me?”

  “Oh.” It comes out like a sigh. “I, uh. I don’t have my license, you know. Or a car.”

  Mom stops as she walks toward the kitchen, her hands filled with dishes she’s just cleared from a table. “Luce, I’m glad you’re here. We’ve got a tour bus coming through in about fifteen minutes—any chance you could help out?”

  I’m relieved, so relieved.

  “Sure,” I say. “I can stay as late as you need.”

  She smiles. “That would be great. Thanks.” She disappears into the kitchen.

  But Simon is frowning. “You’re going to work?”

  “It won’t take long, I promise.”

  “Lucy, I’m leaving Sunday night. For good.”

  “I know.”

  “I want to spend as much time with you as possible before then.”

  “Simon—” I start, but I can’t do it here. Not at the Full Loon in front of all these people. I’ve got to stick with my plan. “Just wait for me, okay? I’ll throw on an apron when the bus gets here, and I’ll be done in half an hour.”

  He shakes his head and pushes his plate away. “I can’t believe this,” he says. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

  “My mom needs me.”

  “I need you, too. What’s more important, me or the restaurant?”

  In that instant, I change my mind.

  Now is the time.

  “Simon, I know that you’re really hurting right now, but there’s something I need to tell you.” I’m going to do this, right here at the counter at the Full Loon where Ben and Guthrie sat Monday night. “I shouldn’t have let you believe that there could ever be anything between us. And I’m sorry for that.”

  “What do you mean, you let me believe there could be something between us? Isn’t there something between us, Lucy? I love you.”

  How many times have I let him say I love you?

  “I don’t love you,” I tell him. “And I know that’s not fair to you. And—I’m sorry, Simon.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  I shake my head.

  “Oh my God,” he says. “This is about Ben, isn’t it?”

  When I don’t say anything, when I don’t deny it, he runs his hands through his hair. “I’ve been so stupid. It was right in front of me the whole time. You’re in love with him.”

  “Yes,” I say. “I love Ben. I’ve loved him for a long time.”

  “I have to go,” he says.

  “I’ll walk you to your car,” I say, and my voice breaks.

  He pushes away his plate, the pie untouched, and stands up. He doesn’t say a word when I stand up to follow him.

  When I turn, my heart leaps into my throat.

  Ben and Guthrie are standing in front of me.

  Guthrie looks amused, the corners of his mouth twisted up in a smirk. Ben isn’t smiling, but his eyes—his eyes are filled with a light I haven’t seen in a long time.

  And it fills me.

  Simon doesn’t say anything as we walk out the door, into the parking lot. When we reach his car, I take his hand. He flinches but doesn’t let go. It makes no sense to wonder if things could have been different between us. I know the answer. I’ve hurt us both.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again in a whisper.

  He drops my hand without a word, gets in the Volvo, and drives away.

  Good-bye, Simon the Renter.

  I need to catch my breath before I go back inside and face Ben, but a tour bus pulls into the lot, and Ben will have to wait.

  55 · Ben

  Lucy told Simon that she loves me.

  Still, after I’ve treated her like shit for a year, she loves me.

  “Well,” Guthrie says, “are you going to just stand there or are you going to go after her?”

  I’ve been such an asshole. I lost Trixie but I can’t lose Lucy anymore. I love her, I’ve always loved her, since that first day Trixie brought her home to play. I loved her even then.

  I wonder if she saw what I wrote in her notebook. She must have. But I need to tell her in person.

  I take a deep breath. It’s time to tell her what I was going to say that day on the swim raft at Sullivan Street Park.

  It’s time to tell her I’m sorry for what I said to her after Trixie’s funeral. All the shitty things I’ve said to her since.

  I need to know if she’ll forgive me.

  But then I see her, coming back in through the kitchen, an apron tied around her waist, an order pad in her hand. She looks at me and shrugs. The front door opens and people stream in—a tour bus. She’ll be here all night.

  “Damn it,” I say.

  Guthrie slides onto the stool where Simon had been, unwraps the silverware from the napkin, and starts to eat the untouched pie. “Well, that’s done,” he says with his mouth full.

  Lucy’s a blur, moving from table to kitchen and back again. She catches my eye once, then looks away again quickly.

  Eventually Guthrie puts money down and says, “We should go. We’re taking up valuable real estate here.”

  I know he’s right, but I don’t say anything.

  “Ben, you heard what she said. That’s not going to change before tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow, the anniversary. Tomorrow I’ll find Lucy and ask her to forgive me.

  The next morning, I’m up early.

  I drive out to Sullivan Street Park. Today I’m going to build a memorial for Trixie, an
inuksuk. I’ve been planning it for weeks, looking for giant rocks around the resort and out at Guthrie’s place, keeping them in my trunk. I’ve got six now and that should be enough—a big one for the base, three medium-size, two smaller ones for the top. They’re all of similar shape with flat bottoms. They should stack pretty easily. I’ve stacked hundreds of rocks since that night at Guthrie’s, but nothing like this.

  It’s pouring rain but it doesn’t matter. It should be raining on a day like today. The parking lot at Sullivan Street is empty; technically the park hasn’t opened for the day yet. I scoped out the spot for the inuksuk last week—where the grassy part of the park slopes down toward the lake and the woods, at the rocky part of the beach.

  I back the Firebird down the grassy hill and stop before the grass ends. One by one I take the rocks from the trunk. The big one must weigh twenty or twenty-five pounds. I nestle it into the rocky sand between the two trees. The next rock, not quite as heavy, sits easily on the flat surface of the bottom one, and in a half hour and without much trouble, all six are balanced and stacked and shine with the rain.

  I stand back to look at Trixie’s inuksuk. It’s nearly as tall as me and stands guard over the lake where Trixie died. Exactly what I wanted. I take another step back. Perfect. It’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever made. It’s balanced, controlled, substantial.

  “I’m sorry, Trix,” I murmur.

  I’m jittery from the coffee I downed and building the inuksuk and wondering about Lucy. It’s impossible for me to not think about what she told Simon at the Full Loon last night.

  After everything I’ve done, she loves me.

  I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find her name: Lulu.

  My hands shake as I type: Can we talk? I’m at the park.

  When she doesn’t respond after a few minutes, I send another text.

  I’ll wait.

  56 · Lucy

  I sleep late the next morning, the anniversary of the day Trixie died. My feet hurt from a long night at work. I’m tired, but I remember the words Ben wrote. I remember the light in his eyes when he heard me say I loved him.

  The hard part is over, isn’t it?

  Still, I’m nervous, not ready to see him yet.

  I make a cup of coffee and take it out to the porch. It’s humid and the sky to the west is a murky gray. It will be raining before too long.

  My phone buzzes and my heart leaps a little, thinking it might be Ben. It’s not. It’s Clayton.

  Thinking about you & Trix. Sorry I’ve been such an asswipe lately.

  It’s the most un-asswipe thing he’s done in a long time.

  Hannah sends a text, too: Luv u lucy lucille. I know today is trixies day n want u to know im here if u need me.

  I’m so grateful for her.

  I finish my coffee and take a shower. I need to move. I need to move forward.

  I walk into town even though the rain has started. My clothes are damp by the time I reach the cemetery.

  “Hey, Trix,” I say as I sink down onto the bench at her grave.

  I fill her in on the rodeo, the grounding, the fire. How Hannah and Guthrie are dating now.

  “You should see how cute they are,” I tell her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Guthrie so happy. And I wish you’d gotten a chance to know Hannah.”

  I tell her about Simon and what happened in South Dakota. I tell her what Ben wrote in the Book of Quotes and what he heard me say at the Full Loon.

  “I haven’t seen him, though. And I’m nervous.” I laugh. “Isn’t that crazy? Your brother told me he loved me, after all this time, and I’m scared to see him, like it’s some elaborate joke.”

  I stand and pull out the crinkly bag of candy I brought for her, translucent green, tied with a dark green ribbon, filled with all of her favorites.

  “I love you,” I say. “I miss you. Every day. You have no idea how much. You were always there for me, cheering me on. I saw the impossible in every situation, but you knew better. You knew what I had inside of me. I know it now, too.”

  I place the bag on top of the tombstone.

  “Bye, Trix. Sleep well.”

  The rain has stopped for now, but the humidity hangs heavy in the air. As I turn to leave the cemetery, my phone buzzes with another text.

  Can we talk? I’m at the park.

  It’s what I’ve been waiting for all morning. Ben. I hurry down the hill toward Sullivan Street Park. I’m still on Main Street when my phone buzzes again: I’ll wait.

  The park is open but nearly empty—a couple of kids on the playground equipment and their parents in the gazebo, and only a few people on the damp beach. Gray, threatening clouds fill the sky.

  I see Ben sitting on the sand, his arms around his knees. I stand at the top of the hill for a moment to catch my breath and look out over the lake. The float just outside the swimming area, where we sunned ourselves one year ago today, is empty.

  Ben and Clay didn’t find Trixie that day. The divers did, hours later.

  I’ve replayed every scenario in my head a million times—if she hadn’t raced Clayton, if Ben hadn’t stayed on the float with me, if we’d gone to play mini-golf instead, maybe she’d still be alive.

  I know this kind of thinking isn’t logical. I know that it’s not my fault, or Clayton’s, or Ben’s.

  Trixie would have died. If not that day, another. Her heart would have given up on her eventually, and no one knew it.

  I close my eyes and breathe in the pungent smell of algae and rain. I open them again and walk down the hill.

  When I reach the sand, I notice a tall tower of large rocks behind Ben, as tall as me, one stone balanced on top of another. My chest tightens, and I know Ben made it, and that he made it for Trixie. I’m filled with a rush of emotions. Grief and sadness and relief and missing her so much. And more than anything, love for Ben, who misses her, too.

  57 · Ben

  The chance that she won’t come tears me up. I’m tired, and my muscles ache from lifting the heavy rocks. I sink down into the sand, damp from the rain, and wait.

  And then, after what seems like hours, she is there, standing on the beach behind me.

  But she’s looking past me, to the inuksuk for Trixie, and even from a distance, I can see tears in her eyes. She stands perfectly still on the beach, except even from here, I can see that she’s shivering.

  Finally, she looks at me. “I got your messages,” she says.

  I don’t think, I just move.

  In three strides, I’m where she is, and I take her in my arms.

  I hold her, I kiss the top of her head until the shivering stops. She lets me. She’s in my arms, and I can keep her warm, and this feels like it was always meant to be. I know, I’ve always known, that I should be with her, protect her, even though I don’t deserve her.

  God, I hope she can forgive me. For everything.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

  “I hurt you, too,” she murmurs into my shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

  “No,” I whisper. “Is it true, what you said to Simon? That you love me?”

  She nods. She looks up at me and she’s crying and I can’t handle that. I never want her to cry again.

  And then, finally, I lean down to kiss her and she doesn’t push me away. She lets me kiss her and hold her and I think, This is how it’s supposed to feel, and she’s really here, she’s right here, and she is everything.

  “Lu,” I say, and her name catches in my throat. “Lulu, you’re the only one. I never want us to be apart.”

  I stand back to look at her, to make sure that she’s really here, and her eyes are wide and expectant and scared and oh God, please, let there be forgiveness somewhere there, too.

  It’s too much. With the others, I felt nothing, going through the motions, all physical, no emotion, no connection. But every time I touch her, I feel something, something electric moving from Lucy’s skin to mine, from her blood to mine, fr
om her heart to mine.

  Being here with her, standing on this beach in the rain, she is filling me, she is filling some empty part of me.

  My breath catches. I fight against a sob.

  “Lulu, I have to know if there’s a chance for us. I’ve really screwed things up, and I need to know that you forgive me. Please tell me that you forgive me.”

  “Yes,” she whispers. “Yes. Will you forgive me?”

  I lean my forehead against hers, close my eyes, listen for her soft breaths. I am flooded with relief. “There’s nothing to forgive, Lulu. I love you.”

  “Ben,” she murmurs. She slips her arms around my waist and we stand like this, not moving, together, finally together, for a long moment.

  She pulls away and takes my hand, leading me to Trixie’s inuksuk.

  “You made this,” she says. It’s not a question.

  I nod against the lump in my throat. “Yeah, I miss her.”

  “It’s beautiful,” she says. “Perfect.”

  And then she smiles, and her smile is as bright as the sun that’s beginning to break through the clouds. I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her close. She leans her head against my chest.

  I never want to let this girl go.

  After a few minutes, she says, “What were you going to ask me, Ben? That day on the float?”

  I tell her the truth. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to go out on the boat, just you and me. And then, out in the middle of the lake, I was going to ask you to go for a drive. And then to the movies. And when we were at the movies, I was going to ask you if you’d be my girlfriend.”

  “Oh,” she breathes.

  “Lulu,” I whisper, “Lulu, will you?”

  She pulls away to reach into her pocket. She has the agates. Both of them.

  She lifts my hand, palm up, and places the stones there. “I love you, Ben. It’s always been you.”

  I link my fingers with hers, the agates between our palms.

  “Let’s go for a drive,” I say.

  “Okay,” she whispers. “Where should we go?”

  I lean in, our hands still clasped, and kiss her, sweetly, tenderly. “Anywhere. Everywhere. Wherever our path leads us.”