Page 34 of The Last Thing You Said

“Where at?”

He thinks for a minute. “Second weedline. About twelve feet. Fifteen maybe.”

“Huh.” Warmer temps and the walleye go deeper. He rattles on, this in-depth analysis of the air temperature in relation to the water temperature, the delay in weed growth this year.

“Eddie landed this giant crappie,” he says. “You shoulda seen it. Biggest damn crappie I’ve ever seen.”

“He keep it?”

“Nah, threw it back for somebody else to catch. You go out today?”

“Yeah. Took out a family with a couple of high school kids. The guy was a dick but the girl was okay.” I pause. “Kinda cute.”

Actually, she reminded me a little of Lucy, except her teeth were straight and she couldn’t even bait her own hook. Not that I should be looking.

Not that I should be thinking about Lucy.

“So,” he says, “did you end it with Dana?”

Whoa. What?

“End it with Dana? Where did you hear that?” My throat goes dry and I reach for my water glass.

“Oh, it’s around, man. Rumor is that you’ve been hanging out with Lucy. Something about you two out on the lake together.”

I nearly spit water all over the counter. “What?”

“Yeah. I’ve tried to dispel that rumor.”

“So you don’t believe it?”

God, what a stupid thing to say.

Guthrie gives me a dry look. “Why would I believe it?”

I don’t answer. I shake my head.

“Am I missing something?” Guthrie asks. “You’re checking out some girl at the resort. You’re acting all weird about Lucy. What’s going on?”

I shake my head again. “Nothing. I don’t know what I’m saying. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“So did you and Dana break up?”

“No. But I did take Lucy out fishing. Lucy and Emily. It’s my job.”

Daniel sets two plates in front of us. I’m so hungry, the smell of bacon nearly turns my stomach inside out. For a minute all I can think about is how fucking awesome this burger is going to taste, but then something hits me.

“Wait. Is Dana telling people we broke up?”

Guthrie stuffs a handful of french fries into his mouth. He chews for a minute, swallows, and doesn’t answer right away, as if he’s giving serious consideration to my question.

“Are you in love with Dana?” he asks.

“Seriously, Guthrie? I think you know the answer to that question.”

“I don’t know that I do,” he says.

He’s trying to make me say it. I’m not going to say it. Hell, no, I’m not in love with Dana.