Page 52 of The Last Thing You Said

He smiles. “How was the wedding?”

“Good, fine, okay.”

“Wow, that good?”

Of course I can’t tell him the truth. “Wonderful,” I lie. “I love Duluth so much. And the wedding was beautiful.”

“Want to come over to watch a movie tonight?”

“I’m really tired,” I tell him. “Tomorrow night?”

He smiles. “Promise?”

He’s satisfied with my nod and kisses me good-bye. “I’ll take you out for pie,” he says.

I carry my suitcase upstairs to my room and collapse onto my stomach on the bed, exhausted. The agate in my pocket digs into my thigh. I sit up and take it out. I place it in one palm and trace the L.

Oh, Ben.

I get up and walk over to my dresser. On the top is a small cedar treasure chest with an image of Split Rock Lighthouse on the lid, another souvenir from last year’s trip to the North Shore. It’s filled with small stones and agates that I collected on the beach. I set Ben’s agate there among the ordinary rocks, take a deep breath, and close the lid.

I’ve just gotten out of the shower and into my pajamas when Hannah calls.

I give her the two-minute version of my weekend, and she says, “I’ll be right over.”

I want to be alone after a weekend of not having one minute to myself, to fall into bed and sleep for days, but I need my Hannah, too. I wait for her in the living room.

She walks into the house without knocking, balancing two Dairy Queen Blizzards while she opens the door. She hands me one, then sits down in my dad’s recliner.

“Spill,” she says. “I want all the dirty details.”

I tell her everything, even the part about the agate. Nothing would make sense if I left out the agate. I never even told Trixie about it.

“Wait,” she says. “You’ve been carrying around an agate? A rock? Every day? For, like, a year?”

“Basically. Yes.”

“In your pocket.”

“Yes.”

“For a boy you’ve never even kissed?”

I feel the heat rushing up from my neck.

“Ohmygod Lucille, you kissed Ben and never told me?” she yells, so loud I’m sure Simon can hear across the yard. “When?”

“It was nothing,” I say.

“It was not nothing. Come on, tell me.”

I swallow against the hot, teary feeling in my throat. “After her funeral. He gave me a ride home and he—he kissed me.”

“Like, right after her funeral?”

“Yes.”

“And then?”