Page 88 of The Last Thing You Said

“Sure.” I stand up. As we walk down the block, I see Jane and Tom in their yard, folding up lawn chairs.

I’m filled with a rush of emotions—sadness and regret and the bitter ache of missing them.

I don’t want to miss them anymore.

“Hannah,” I say, “how would you like to meet Trixie’s parents?”

She grins at me and pulls me into a tight hug. “Lucille, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do! Except maybe Guthrie.” She laughs and I roll my eyes.

We walk across the street and she squeezes my hand. “You can do this,” she whispers, and I’m so grateful for her my heart might split in two.

“Lucy,” Jane says as she stands, “it’s so wonderful to see you.”

And before I know what I’m doing, I’m in her arms, tears dampening the shoulder of her blouse. When I finally pull myself away, Tom is standing, too, and puts his hand on my arm.

“We’ve missed you, kiddo,” he says.

I remember that Hannah is here, too, and I step back to include her.

“Jane, Tom, this is my friend, Hannah Mills. Hannah, meet Trixie’s mum and dad.”

Hannah—awesome, fearless, incomparable Hannah—hugs them both. “I’ve been waiting a long time to meet y’all,” she says. “I’ve heard a lot about Trixie, and I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Jane nods like she might cry and reaches for my hand. “Thank you,” she says.

“I know Ben, too,” Hannah says. “I’m dating Scott Guthrie.”

Oh, I wish she hadn’t brought up Ben.

“Yes, Scott mentioned you,” Jane says. “Girls, why don’t you come inside where it’s cool and have some iced tea?”

“We’d love to,” Hannah says. She nods at me, as if she’s telling me I can do this. It’s going to be hard, but I can do this.

I help Tom carry the lawn chairs to the garage.

“Lucy, you have no idea how happy we are that you’re here,” Tom says as he holds the door for me and I step into the kitchen. I take a deep breath. I haven’t been here since Trixie died.

It feels likes home, like no time has passed at all.

As we’re walking back up the hill to Hannah’s car, I get a text from Mom. Still in town? Stop by for some pie.

I hold out the phone to Hannah. “Seems suspicious. Code for We’re up to our eyeballs, come help.”

“Oh, Lucille,” Hannah says, “don’t be so hard on her. Go on, see what she’s up to.”

“You don’t think I’m going to go in there alone, do you? Come with me.”

“No way. I haven’t seen Guthrie for days. I need me some sugar.”

“Days? It’s only been a few hours!”

She laughs. “It feels like days. Meet us at the carnival later? Text me when you’re done.”

She hugs me, and I turn to walk back down the hill to the restaurant. This is the second full day of their soft open—Mom wanted to be back in business by Watermelon Days but hasn’t had her big grand-reopening celebration yet. It’s not as busy as I expect. Most of the parade crowd must have worked its way back to the festival grounds or the lake.

I slide into the booth across from Mom. From here I can see Trixie’s quote in swirling script on the chalkboard wall by the door: Life is no “brief candle” for me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible.

Mom’s got a notebook in front of her, filled with lists and figures. She refills her coffee cup from the carafe on the table and offers me some. I shake my head.