Page 7 of The Last Thing You Said

Guilt bubbles its way up my throat like acid.

“How’s Clayton doing at university, Ben?” Mum asks. Her words jar me from my memories.

“I don’t know,” I say and stand up. “How would I know? I have to go.”

“What do you mean, how would you know? You should know. Clayton is one of your best friends,” Mum says.

“Not anymore,” I mumble.

He started school a couple of weeks after Trixie died. He got out of town and doesn’t come back much. It’s easier this way, for him and for me.

“Well, what about Lucy? I wish you’d invite her over for dinner sometime. I’d love to see her.”

“Mum,” I say, the word heavy, like a stone. Like I’d ever invite Lucy over for dinner. God, what do I have to do to get her to stop already? “I really have to go.”

“Ben,” she says, “what about Lucy? Will you ask her to dinner?”

Fuck no, I won’t ask her to dinner.

Mum’s jaw drops and Dad stands up and I realize then that I said it out loud.

“Ben, apologize to your mother,” Dad says.

Now I’m pissed. I’m pissed at myself and at Mum for keeping at me, and I’m pissed at Dad, too, for bringing up Lucy in the first place.

“Fuck it.” I push back my chair and walk out.

“Ben,” Mum calls, and there’s pain in her voice.

“Come back here and—” Dad’s words are cut off by the slam of the door as I go out to the garage.

5 · Lucy

Hannah calls me as I walk onto Three Crows Lane from the main road, almost home.

“Hey, whatcha doing?” she asks. She moved here before school started this year from Mitchell, South Dakota, home of the World’s Only Corn Palace, and has a mellow SoDak twang.

The walk from town has been warm, the air thick with rain and humidity. I’m out of breath.

“Just getting home,” I say.

“Did you see Ben today?” She smacks her lips. “Mwah, mwah!”

We’ve become friends during the school year, and I’ve tried and tried to explain about Ben without explaining too much. But she won’t give up. I don’t answer.

“So that’s a yes, then. Was he wearing that gray ringer T-shirt? He looks so totally hot in that. Well, in anything, really, although I’d rather see him without a shirt.”

“God, Hannah,” I say. “Stop already.”

“Whatever. We both know you’re totally in love with him, Lucille. Give in to your feelings.”

If only it were that easy.

If only she would stop saying things like that.

“Whatever,” she says again. “You were supposed to call me when you were done babysitting. Remember? Movie night.”

“Oh. Sorry, long day. Too many distractions.”