Page 77 of The Last Thing You Said

I close the laptop when I hear the sliding door open.

“Hey, Luce.” Mom flops down into the chair next to me. “What an exhausting day. But the new roof is on, so that’s a relief, at least. And the painters come tomorrow.”

“Mm-hmm,” I say. Daniel already told me. “That’s great.”

“Dinner smells fantastic.”

“Dad’s not home yet. I figured tacos would be easy enough to reheat.”

“Good thinking. I’m exhausted,” she says again. “So what have you been up to today?”

“Oh, you know,” I say, “the usual. A load of laundry, a little reading.”

“What were you doing just now?”

“Do you remember that notebook Trixie and I used to keep? Quotes and song lyrics and stuff like that?”

She smiles. “The Book of Quotes?”

I nod. “Well, I started a new online board with some of the quotes. The ones I can remember, anyway.”

“Don’t you have the notebook?”

I shake my head. “No. It’s at Trixie’s.”

She frowns. “You haven’t asked for it?”

“No.”

“Honey, it’s important to you. I’m sure Jane and Tom would understand if you—”

I cut her off. “No, it’s okay. Plus, I don’t really see them, you know?”

“I’ll call Jane right now.” Mom stands up.

I reach out and grab her arm to stop her. “No, please don’t. It’s not important, Mom. Don’t bother them.”

She looks at me for a minute, then says softly, “Maybe you could ask Ben to find it for you, then.”

I pinch my lips together and shake my head again.

Mom smiles. “Hey, I just had a great idea. We’re painting some sections of the walls at the restaurant with blackboard paint. Why don’t you pick out a few of your favorite quotes, and you and Hannah can write them on the walls with chalk? It would be a nice way to honor Trixie’s memory.”

I pick up my laptop and nod. Since the fire, Mom hasn’t been as angry with me, but I know that her disappointment is still there, simmering beneath the surface. I don’t want to disappoint her again. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Lucy? Think about asking Ben for the notebook, okay?”

That I can’t do.

41 · Ben

I’ve been wasted since yesterday. I figure I don’t have to work for a couple of days, so why not? After Guthrie and I wrapped all that fish and packed it into the freezer, I found the key to the liquor cabinet on the counter next to an empty lowball glass. Like it was waiting for me. Convenient.

Wasted is good, helps me forget.

Wasted means I can’t hear Mum crying in Trixie’s room as we get closer to the anniversary.

Dad isn’t drunk, but he’s drinking. He and Mum don’t notice that I’m drunk; they don’t notice me at all.