“It’s not an option,” Becca said, less gently this time. “Come here right now.”
“I don’t want to be in it.” Louder this time. The guests, milling about the lawn, went quiet. “I won’t be in it. You can’t just …” She stopped, her face red and eyes shimmering. “You can’t just … do this.” Luci turned and walked fast toward the cliff fence, arms tight to her sides.
“We can come back to it later,” the photographer said, sounding desperately cheerful.
Becca looked like she was going to cry.
“Let me talk to her,” I said.
“Yes, okay,” Becca whispered.
“Luci’s being such a nudge,” I heard Maria say to Mark as I headed toward the fence.
A gate opened to a trail that led down to the beach. I found Luci sitting on a wooden bench about halfway down the hill. She had taken her sandals off and was about to hurl one into the ocean when I called out to her.
“Hey, Luci.” I sat next to her on the bench. The afternoon sun was still high in the sky. I squinted, wishing I had sunglasses. “You want to talk?”
“Nothing to say.” She wiped her face with the back of her wrist, hard, like she was trying to punish her cheeks. “I’m not going back for the picture. They can all suck it.”
Suck it.“Okay.”
“I’m not.”
“I heard you. Nobody’s making you.”
That seemed to take some of the wind out of her. She’d clearly been braced for a speech but didn’t get one. She looked back at the water, glistening under the sun.
“Did you know she’s selling our house?” she said. “And she gave away all our furniture. Even my bed. Apparently, Mark wanted me to have a new one. And you should see my new room. They decorated it like I’m a little girl. All pink and fluffy.”
“I heard that. I mean, not about your room, but about the house.”
“My dad found that house. Mom always tells the story, how he saw the listing when he was still—when he was away. She had to look at it without him and walk through every room taking pictures on her phone.” Her jaw worked. “And the place in the kitchen where they marked our height every year on our birthdays? Gone. Just ripped away, like it was never there.”
I didn’t say anything. There’s nothing to say to that, and twelve-year-olds can smell it when you try.
“Maria doesn’t even remember him.” Luci bit out the words. “She thinks she does. But she just remembers the videos. She told her friend this story about Dad teaching her to ride her bike and it’s not even her memory, it’s from a video. It was me. Me he taught to ride a bike. Maria put herself in the memory and she doesn’t even know she did that.” She turned and looked at me, tears spilling from her eyes. “Did you hear Maria calling him Dad? He’s not our dad. And Mom’s changing her name. So now we won’t match. And we’re moving into this dumb house and everyone keeps saying how happy we all must be and that isn’t it nice that Mark’s such a good provider?” She made a sound between a laugh and a sob. “We’re not his to provide for. That was my real dad’s job. And I miss him so much.”
“I know, kid. I do too.”
“Somebody has to still be sad.” She said it simply, like it was obvious she was the only one who was around to do it. “Ifeverybody just stops being sad, then it’s like he was never even here. Maria’s got a new dad. Mom’s got a new everything. So it has to be me. I’m the only one left who … who still remembers who he was to us.”
The wind came up off the water, ruffling our hair and bringing the briny scent of the ocean.
“Luci. Look at me a second.” She did. “Being sad isn’t the same as remembering him.”
“Yes it is.”
“I get that it feels like the same thing. Like if you’re happy or moving on that you’re somehow letting him down. But it’s not true. I knew your dad like he was my brother. And his demons were deep. You know that. But the one thing I know for sure—he loved you and your sister more than anything. He wanted only the best for you.”
“Then why did he leave?”
I let out a sigh. “His demons were strong, kid. They pulled him under. But that doesn’t change how much he loved you. Or you him. He’s still with you. He’ll always be with you as long as you remember him.”
“What if I’m the only one who remembers him? What if I start forgetting?”
“First of all, you won’t. Second of all, I remember him too. I remember everything. Every dumb joke and long story he used to tell. The man could go on and on.”
“Especially if it was about cars.”
