Page 68 of The Last Thing You Said

“Whoa, this must be pretty good fudge. Who’s it for?”

“No one. My family.” My words are sharper than I intended, but he must not notice.

“Lucy, I’ve really missed you.”

I nod and reach for my books. “I’ve missed you, too. But I should get going. I need to get back home before anyone else sees me.”

Simon tucks the bag under his arm and reaches for my hand. “I’ll give you a ride, okay?”

No. No, it’s not okay. Not today, when I’ve just bought maple fudge for Ben.

“Oh, no,” I say, “it’s fine. You must have other things you’d rather do.”

“Nope. I want to, Lucy, really. I was headed home anyway.”

He’s so nice about it, so earnest.

“Well,” I say. “I guess.”

That’s when I see him—Ben, coming out of the drugstore, a plastic bag in each fist.

He pauses when he sees us, but only for a second. Without thinking, I drop Simon’s hand.

“Lucy, you okay?” Simon asks, and then, “Oh.”

Ben nods at us and walks around the side of the building to the parking lot.

That’s why I hadn’t noticed the Firebird.

Simon is talking to me, but I have no idea what he’s said. “What?”

“I asked if there’s a reason you don’t want Ben to see us holding hands?” His tone is crisp, but there’s hurt there, too.

I don’t have an answer. There are too many reasons.

But I don’t want to hurt him.

“Oh, shoot.” I reach up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “There’s someplace else I need to go. Don’t wait.”

“Where? Won’t you get in more trouble if you get caught?”

I ignore that question, too. “Mom brought home some caramel pecan rolls last night. I’ll try to sneak one over later, okay?”

I take the box of fudge from him and walk away before he can say anything else.

I cut through the woods behind Goldilocks to the trail that leads to Sullivan Street Park. It’s safer than walking through town and risking being seen by my mom or someone who’ll tell her they saw me. It’s cooler here under the shade of the trees, but it’s still humid and, with my quick pace, I’m sweating and breathing heavily in no time. I stop at a bench, sit down, and take a long drink from my water bottle with my eyes closed.

When I open them again, I see a stack of rocks on the shore at the base of a birch tree—the largest one at the bottom the size of a bowling ball. I think about how we tried to stack rocks at Lake Superior last year, how my towers and Trixie’s toppled and we laughed, but Ben—Ben was so careful and methodical about it, so intent on achieving balance where there should be none.

I could stay here at the park for the rest of the day, at home among the trees, a cool breeze coming off the lake. But I’ve wasted too much time here, and I’m worried that Dad will get home before I do. I pull my cap down lower on my forehead, cross the parking lot, and head for home.

37 · Ben

I’m raking the weeds off the swimming beach after lunch when Dad corners me.

“When you’re done there,” he says, “we’ve got to level off the dock down by Bear.”

“Sure,” I tell him. I don’t look up from the wet sand of the shoreline, but I’m glad for the distraction. I’ve been thinking about Lucy again. I’ve been thinking about her since I saw her and her boyfriend when I was at the drugstore the other day. I’ve been thinking about her all summer, to be honest.