Page 23 of The Last Thing You Said

“Six weeks?”

Clare doesn’t get a chance to respond because the red screen door opens and closes with a bang, and Ben Porter walks in.

Oh, God. It’s Monday night. Why did I ever agree to work on a Monday night? Ben and Guthrie have been coming here every Monday night since right after Trixie died.

I scurry behind the counter before he makes it to the hostess stand. From here, I’m blocked by a partition but can still hear every word.

“Hey, Ben,” Clare says. “I saved you a table.”

Please don’t let it be one of mine.

“Thanks,” he says, “but I’ll just eat at the counter. I’m on my own tonight.”

My first thought is one of relief since I don’t have the counter tonight, but then I realize that I’m standing behind it. I push my way through the swinging door into the kitchen but not before Ben slides onto the stool at the far end of the counter. I’m sure he saw me.

I press myself against the wall and take a few deep breaths.

“Whoa,” Daniel says. “You look like you’ve seen a zombie.”

“You might say that,” I say in a quiet voice, not that Ben would be able to hear me over the din of the café and the noise Daniel and Chris, another cook, are making back here.

“Ben’s here, huh? He’s early.”

Daniel’s a lanky guy with a mess of dark hair, a scruffy goatee, and a fondness for classic rock. Today he’s wearing a Blue Öyster Cult T-shirt. He’s only ten years older than me, more like another older brother than an uncle.

“Remind me never to work on a Monday again,” I tell him. I finally feel like I’m starting to catch my breath.

“Wanna take his burger out to him?”

“Very funny.”

“All right, if you won’t do that, the order for eleven is up.”

I load the plates on a tray and back out of the kitchen, pivoting so that I can’t see Ben at the end of the counter.

I make it through the next fifteen minutes, although there are times when I feel Ben’s eyes on me. I finish up my last table and pass the rest on to Rosemary. I’m untying my apron when Simon walks through the door.

Simon—I’d forgotten about Simon.

He’s asking for a table for two.

“There you are!” He pulls me into a hug. In front of everyone at the Full Loon Café. My mother, Clare, even Daniel, who is at the counter talking to Ben.

And Ben.

I pull away.

“You know Lucy?” Clare asks Simon.

“Of course I know Lucy,” he says much too loudly. “My family’s renting the Clarks’ house this summer.”

“Oh, sure, you’re one of the renters.” Clare sets menus down on the table.

I sit down and when I glance up again, I notice that we’re in Ben’s direct line of vision. I can see him and he can see me. Us.

“Why did you ask for a table, Simon?” I ask after Clare has gone back to the hostess stand.

“Mrs. Clark said the pie is really good here. What would you recommend?”