Page 66 of The Last Thing You Said

Which pisses me off even more—at myself.

I watch as Lucy scoops goose poop off the beach and lawn. She fills bird feeders and puts fresh water in the birdbaths, cleans the fish house, even chops firewood.

I’ve been helping out around Apple Tree Lane for years, tagging along beside my dad and uncle, fishing, raking the beach. It’s never felt like work. There’s something about the hum of a boat motor, the shimmer of the midafternoon sun on the surface of the water, the cool breeze off the lake on a hot day.

Whoever named this lake couldn’t have chosen better. Halcyon Lake. Idyllic. Untroubled. Peaceful.

Until your sister dies swimming to the island.

But the landscape doesn’t care that my world changed that day. The lake and the jack pines and the breeze carry on like nothing’s different. Somehow we’re all supposed to carry on, too—my parents and me and Lucy and everyone who loved Trixie.

At three o’clock, Lucy starts the garbage run, driving the UTV around to pick up the bags of trash guests leave outside their cabins. From the dock, where I’m getting the boat ready for my next fishing trip at four, I hear a sputter and a high-pitched whine, then the engine dies.

I wait for a minute to see if John will come out of the lodge to help. He doesn’t. Lucy turns the key and hits the start button, tries to get it going again, but the engine doesn’t turn over. Then she gets out of the driver’s seat and kicks one of the tires.

Shit.

I walk up to where she’s stalled, in front of Loon. She’s red-faced and sweaty. She looks down, scratches a line in the gravel with the toe of her tennis shoe.

“I don’t need your help,” she snaps.

She used to let me help her. The time she and Trixie took the rowboat and lost the oar. The time Trixie dared Lu to climb the tallest tree at Sullivan Street Park and she couldn’t get down. I climbed up, too, and talked her the whole way down, one shaky step at a time.

She used to trust me.

I didn’t used to be such a dick.

“Let me take a look,” I say.

She takes a step back, then another, giving me plenty of room to move around the utility vehicle.

I slide into the driver’s seat, turn the key, flip the kill switch, and press the start button. Nothing. I glance at her, but she’s got her back to me, facing the lake.

I push down the brake, try it again, and there’s a sputter. I adjust the choke and the thing fires. She looks at me then, and I wonder if she’s about to smile, but she does the opposite. Her brows furrow together.

“Um, thanks,” she says, “but what if—”

“You want me to finish the run?” I ask. Slow, tentative, not sure how she’ll react. I want to do something nice for her, even if it’s just picking up garbage.

She looks at me for a long time, like she’s trying to figure out if she should let me help her, or if she’s going to be stubborn and tell me to shove off. She should tell me to shove off. I deserve it. Seconds tick by, and I’m worried that if she doesn’t make a decision soon, I’ll be late for my fishing trip.

“You drive,” she says. “I’ll ride along and pick up the garbage.”

I take a chance and smile at her. She doesn’t smile back.

She gets in, and I drive her to the next cabin and the next. She doesn’t say a word. I take her up to the Dumpsters behind the lodge and get out to help her toss in the bags. Still she doesn’t say anything, and I don’t, either.

What should I say? That I’m sorry?

There’s too much to be sorry for.

It’s not until after I’ve driven the UTV back down to the utility shed and she’s climbed out that she says, “Thanks for your help, Ben.”

It’s nothing, it’s so stupid, but my heart fills up when I hear her say my name.

36 · Lucy

The terms of my prison sentence allow me to go to Apple Tree Lane and the Full Loon. Nowhere else. For four weeks, until school starts. I’m okay with it, except that I don’t get to see Hannah. Simon sends texts and leaves voicemail messages while I’m at work: Can’t wait till u can kick my ass at mini golf again. Miss u. Any chance u can bring me a slice of 5 layer chocolate?