Page 103 of The Last Thing You Said

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.