Page 37 of The Last Thing You Said

“I can’t believe she has the nerve to show her face.” Kiersten’s words are sharp. “After that whole boat ride incident?”

Gretchen snorts. “Like she actually believed she could steal Ben away from you, Dana.”

Christ, I wish the two of them would shut up.

“I’m standing right here,” I say.

“Really, guys.” Dana’s had a couple of drinks, too, but isn’t acting like a complete bitch. “That was all a huge misunderstanding, wasn’t it, Ben?”

I squint to get a better look. Even in the darkness of dusk, there’s no mistaking Hannah Mills, long legs up to there, cowboy boots, skimpy top. Her blond hair is big, like Texas big, and loose. She’s got her hick boyfriend on her arm, Dustin something. And right behind her is Lucy with the guy who was holding her hand at the Full Loon. The guy who took her to Cloud 9.

“Who does she think she is, anyway?” Kiersten slurs. “Nobody invited her. She’s not even friends with anyone here.”

“She’s friends with Guthrie,” I say. “And the last time I checked, nobody needs an invitation. Nobody invited you.”

“Excuse me,” Gretchen says. “Why are you defending her?”

“I’m not,” I say.

“Seriously, Gretch, don’t believe everything you hear.” Dana leans over and kisses my cheek. “Right, Ben?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Lucy and her friends are closer now. As they pass by, the dickhead reaches for Lucy’s hand and she takes it.

Later, after almost everyone has left, including Dana and her sloppy-drunk friends, I walk down toward the woods to take a piss, and Lucy’s sitting alone on the beach, slapping at mosquitos, a beer balanced on the arm of the camp chair someone’s dragged down there.

I didn’t know Lucy and her friends were still here.

I’m going to talk to her.

I’ll just walk up to her and tell her that I’m sorry. Easy. And she’ll forgive me and we can be friends again.

I’m drunk enough, I can pull this off.

But then Hannah comes out of nowhere, grabs Lucy and drags her up, spins her around in the sand, and shouts, “Lucille! Let’s go for a swim!”

Hannah’s already stripping off her tank top, a bikini underneath it.

No, I want to say, Lucy doesn’t like to swim. She doesn’t like the weeds.

Lucy shakes her head.

And then Guthrie is there—Guthrie?—and Hannah grabs his hand and they’re splashing into the lake, and Lucy’s alone again.

I take a step toward her but my path is blocked.

By that guy.

I don’t remember his name.

“Hey,” he says. “You’re Ben, right?”

“Do I know you?” I’m not in the mood to be polite.

“We haven’t met, not officially, but I know who you are.”

“What do you want?”