Page 74 of The Last Thing You Said

“Why are you dating Dana?”

“This isn’t about me, and it sure as hell isn’t about Dana. When did you decide you like Hannah Mills? And isn’t she going out with that stupid cowboy?”

“They broke up right after the rodeo.”

I grit my teeth. I don’t like to think about the rodeo. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“I ran into Hannah at Sweet Pea’s last week.”

Sweet Pea’s. I think about the fudge that Lucy gave to Emily, the same kind she used to bring to me.

“Why were you at the candy store?” There’s a tug on my line but it goes slack again.

“I wasn’t. I was at the Broken Spine and I saw Hannah at Sweet Pea’s. So I went in to say hi.”

“And?”

“I like Hannah. She smiles a lot. She’s funny. And she’s hot. The best part, though? She lets me talk.”

“So was Lucy with her?” I ask.

Guthrie sighs. “Lucy’s grounded. You know that.”

“Never mind. That’s great about you and Hannah. I hope it works out for you.”

Guthrie shakes his head but doesn’t say anything else.

He doesn’t have to.

There’s another tug on my line, and this time, it holds. I lift the tip of my rod and gently reel him in, a crappie. He goes into the net without a fight. I take the hook out and drop the fish into the live well.

Guthrie laughs. “You keeping that?”

“Yeah.” I dig into the container of leeches. “You catch any sunnies or crappies, throw them in here, okay? I’ll take them home for Mum.”

It’s been a long time since we had a fish fry. I can almost taste the sweet, batter-fried fillets.

“I’m officially inviting myself over for dinner.” Guthrie pulls up a good-size bluegill. “Well, what do we have here? Looks like this is our lucky day.”

We fill the live well with sunfish and crappies and a couple of walleye and head back to Guthrie’s to clean them. I’m not a fan of this part, but Guthrie is quick and skilled with the fillet knife. I clean up the mess while he packs the fillets in ice, and then we head over to my house.

The house is empty and dark, the blinds closed up tight. There’s a note from Mum on the counter: Upstairs with a migraine. There’s leftover roast in the refrigerator. Love you.

I hand the note to Guthrie. “Looks like our fish fry will have to wait.”

He looks at the paper for a moment. “They’ll keep.”

“Yeah, let’s get them in the freezer.” I pull open a drawer for the roll of aluminum foil.

“You okay?”

I look up, surprised. “What?”

“Are you okay?”

I shrug. “Yeah. It’s just fish, you know?”

He takes the box of aluminum foil, tears off a sheet, and begins wrapping packets of fillets. “Yeah, they’ll keep,” he says again, quietly, almost to himself.