Page 73 of The Last Thing You Said

His eyes are gentle when he turns to look at me. “Oh, Luce. You must be exhausted. Do you think you can call Hannah to come get you? We’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

I nod and send a text. There’s a fire at the café. I’m in town. Come get me?

Even though it’s nearly three in the morning, she does. Before I go, my mom hugs me tight, kisses the top of my head.

“Come home in the morning, okay?” she says. “Everything will be all right, I promise. We’ll get through this.”

My heart stutters as I remember the last time she said words like these—the day Trixie died.

But it wasn’t. Everything was not all right.

I stand under the hot water of Hannah’s shower for a long time, but no matter how many times I scrub my hair with her rosemary mint shampoo, the smoke has burrowed into every cell, every pore. I cannot wash it away.

Trixie's Heart

Trixie grew up to become a lovely young lady. She had a beautiful heart, good and pure and generous. She cared and loved and hurt when others were in pain. She took in all that concern for others and stored it safely in her heart. Her heart got bigger and fuller, and the bigger it got, the more she loved.

One summer day, Trixie went to the lake with three of the people who she loved the most: her brother, Ben, her best friend, Lulu, and Lulu’s brother, Clay. It was a beautiful day with endless sunshine and a perfect blue sky. Bluebird skies, her brother would say. The four of them swam and laughed and relaxed in the sun.

Trixie looked at the three people who she loved so much lying in the sunshine and she made a wish. She wished that they would never know heartache. She wished that they would never know pain. She wished she could collect all their cares and worries and keep them close to her, in her own heart.

And so she did. She closed her eyes and willed all their sorrows and fears from their hearts to her own. Her heart was heavy and she staggered from the weight of it, but she was filled with happiness that she could do something so wonderful for the people she loved.

Then she had another idea. She would swim to the little island offshore, empty her heart of all the sadness and worry, and return lighthearted once more. She would be ready to collect the sorrows of everyone she knew, and they would know nothing but peace and joy.

She slipped into the lake and swam toward the island. As she glided through the cool water, she felt light and free, even though her heart strained against the weight of worry and sadness. Before she could reach the island, her beautiful, fragile heart could no longer bear the extra burden. Her heart split in two and then shattered, and from the wreckage, the sorrows and cares of her beloved friends returned to them twofold.

For not only were they now once again weighed down with the sadness of everyday life, they were doubly burdened by the loss of their dear Trixie.

Without her, the three people she loved the most—Ben, Lulu, and Clay—drifted away from one another, to carry alone their sorrows and the remaining shards of Trixie’s broken heart.

AUGUST

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.

—Lao Tzu

39 · Ben

The first week of August is a slow one at the resort. Every year the same family rents every cabin for a family reunion, three sisters in their sixties and their kids and grandkids. Nobody wants to fish, or if they do, they get a small container of night crawlers and cast off the dock. So I’ve got a couple of extra days off. Guthrie and I take the pontoon out and fish for walleye. It’s Monday, but we won’t be having the usual at the Full Loon tonight, not since the fire last week. When I ran into Daniel at the bait shop, he said it would be a couple more weeks before they open.

“So you know Hannah Mills?” Guthrie asks. He flips his shades onto the top of his head. “Lucy’s friend?”

Lucy’s friend. Of course I know Hannah Mills. Everyone knows Hannah Mills.

“Yeah. What about her?”

“I’m taking her out this week.”

“Taking her out? Like on a date?” I can’t remember the last time Guthrie asked a girl out on a date—tenth grade, maybe?

“Well, what else?”

“Hannah Mills?”

“Yes. Hannah Mills.”

“I don’t get it. Why would you go on a date with her?”