Page 92 of The Last Thing You Said

She’s never coming back.

She’s never coming back.

I didn’t get to her in time.

I sit at her desk, my head in my hands, and choke back a sob.

Life is short, so live it.

Ever since that day, I haven’t been living my life, not really. I’ve blamed myself and numbed the pain and wasted time.

I won’t do it anymore.

I can’t do it anymore.

I stand, push in the chair, walk to the door. But I stop, turn back, and grab the book.

It doesn’t belong here.

Lucy should have it, this artifact of her friendship with my sister.

A couple of hours later, I get a text from Guthrie to meet him at the carnival. I assume he’ll be there with Hannah, and I want to ask him if Lucy’s going to be there, but I don’t. What would I do anyway? Not go?

I’m going to go, whether she’s there or not. This is the Watermelon Days carnival. I’ve never missed one.

I’ve never missed one and neither had Trixie. Like the parade that we always watched from our front yard.

Another first. My first Watermelon Days carnival without my sister.

I see Guthrie and the girls at the mini-donut stand, lit up bright and cheerful against the dusky night sky. I stop, shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans, and take a deep breath.

How much does Lucy remember about last night? If she didn’t remember that I beat up her boyfriend, I’m sure she knows by now.

But Simon’s not here. I wouldn’t guess he’d show his face, for a couple of reasons.

There’s a twinge at the base of my stomach as she looks up from her bag of mini-donuts, one held between two fingers, catches my eye, and looks away quickly. Guthrie sees me, too, and lifts up his hand in a half wave. I move my feet again. Hannah smiles, first at Lucy and then at me.

“Hey,” Guthrie says. “You made it.”

I nod. Hannah loops one arm through mine and one through Guthrie’s. “Lucy has to be home by eleven, so let’s do this.”

Lucy doesn’t say a word, not to me, not to anyone.

I can’t believe it, but Hannah convinces her to go on a ride. Last year she could only handle the Ferris wheel—the worst if you’re afraid of heights, I think—and the rest of the night, I stayed behind with her while Guthrie and Trixie and Clayton and the others hit every one, some two or three times.

“Go on the rides, Ben,” she said while we waited in line for the ring toss. “You don’t have to stop having fun because of me.”

“I’m having fun,” I said. “Are you kidding me? What’s more fun than the ring toss?”

I smiled at her then, and she looked up at me and smiled, too, and it would have been so easy to lean down and kiss her and show her how I felt about her.

But I didn’t, and Clayton appeared out of nowhere then to tell us where everyone had ended up for the fireworks.

Now, after the first ride, she steps off the car and says, “I—I think I’m going to go home.”

Hannah frowns. “No, Lucille, not yet! It’s only 9:30! It’s not even dark yet, not really. Come on, stay.”

Lucy shakes her head. “Really, I can’t stay. This—this is the first carnival without Trixie, you know?” She says this in almost a whisper, but I hear it. She feels it, too.