Page 82 of The Last Thing You Said

Her accent is extra SoDak tonight. She’s laying it on thick.

“Dana, sweetie?” she says. “Why don’t you take Ben on out of here?”

I think I’m going to throw up. Too much booze, too much Simon, too much Ben. Not enough Ben. Never enough Ben.

I need air. My cheeks are damp. When did I start crying?

God, why can’t I stop crying?

I push past Simon and Hannah and Ben and Dana, up the stairs, out to the backyard where I kneel in the dirt in front of a honeysuckle bush and throw up. The dense scent of the blossoms mixes with the sickening sour-sweetness of too much booze coming back up. It settles into my nose and burns the back of my throat. I retch over and over until my stomach hurts and finally the tears stop.

I’m alone in Guthrie’s yard, I’ve puked my guts out, Trixie is dead, and no matter what I do, I’m still in love with Ben Porter.

I walk down to the beach. All along the edge of the woods, there are stacks of rocks, just like at Lake Superior, the ones that Ben called inuksuit.

He is everywhere I go.

I hear shouting, yelling, someone calling my name. I think it’s Simon, but there’s another voice, too, this one louder. I hear the crack, bone on bone, more shouting. I look up toward Guthrie’s house and there are two shapes near the patio, hitting each other. I should stop them. It might be Ben.

Instead, I lie down and reach out to touch the cool rocks.

43 · Ben

Simon follows me outside to the patio and he says this:

“Lucy doesn’t love you. She loves me. I can prove it. We—we slept together in South Dakota.”

He’s lying, I know it. I know Lucy. Or maybe I don’t. Either way, I beat the shit out of that useless douchebag, which is easy enough because he’s totally blotto. The crack of my fist against his face is satisfying, so much that I do it again and again, until Eddie pulls me off him.

Finally Simon staggers away from me, blood streaming from his nose.

I find Lucy down by the lake, lying in the sand. I go to her. I pick her up, and it’s like she weighs nothing—she is empty. She smells like rum and vomit, her hair is wild, her face streaked with tears and dirt. She is beautiful, my Lulu.

I carry her to the screen porch and sit down on an old sofa with her head in my lap. I close my eyes and stroke her hair and listen to her breathe.

That’s how Dana finds us.

“Ben?”

My eyes snap open. Dana stands in front of me, one hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide. Oh, shit.

“It’s all true, isn’t it?” she says.

I untangle my fingers from Lucy’s hair. “What’s true?”

“You—you and Lucy Meadows. Have you been cheating on me with Lucy Meadows?” Her voice cracks.

“No.” That’s it, one word.

“Then what is this?” Dana cries.

“This is me taking care of a friend.” I want it to be true.

“But—but you and Lucy are not friends!”

“We used to be friends,” I say. “She needs someone to take care of her, and I happened to be around.”

“Taking care of Lulu Meadows when she’s drunk is not your job, Ben.”