Page 35 of The Last Thing You Said

Dana’s a sweet girl. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t love her. But I don’t.

Guthrie takes a gigantic bite of his burger. I don’t expect him to say anything right away anyway.

He’s the youngest of five—he’s got an older brother and three older sisters. Those girls—and their mom—talk a blue streak. And Guthrie—just like his dad and Eddie—learned early on to choose his words carefully.

When he’s not fishing, he’s reading. He never knew his Ojibwe grandfather, and in fourth grade, he decided to learn everything he could about his ancestors. He didn’t stop there. He learned about other Native cultures and then moved on to German and Scandinavian immigrants, and French-Canadian trappers. He’s like a walking Minnesota history book.

We both plow through the food on our plates and then Guthrie says, “Well, this, too, shall pass.”

“You sound like my gram,” I grumble.

Guthrie throws money on the counter and gets up. “Gotta go. I still have to gut those walleye.”

I finish my burger and then a piece of pie that Daniel sets down in front of me without me asking for it—lemon meringue. I’m a simple guy, I guess, when it comes to pie. I like the classics, cherry and apple and lemon meringue.

Fuck if I know what that means.

I get in the Firebird.

I should drive over to Dana’s and convince her that the rumor about me and Lucy isn’t true. It wouldn’t take much. Her parents are never home, not that it would matter if they were.

Maybe I should break up with her.

I stare at the empty passenger seat, and suddenly I’m thinking about Lucy again.

For the first time ever, I don’t want to be in this car.

I drive over to Dana’s, but I don’t have the energy to break up with her. Not tonight.

19 · Lucy

Hannah’s back from the book tour, so we spend Thursday night at her house, watching movies and catching up.

“I was hoping for a lot of hot cowboy action in Texas,” she says, “but I was sadly disappointed. It was just one bookstore and hotel after another. My first and last book tour, promise. Let’s watch Young Guns. I mean, those guys are hot, right?”

I shrug. I don’t really care what movie we watch. I’m just happy she’s back.

Trixie may have been a splendid torch, but Hannah’s a wildfire.

“So, what’s up with you and your mom? She was really giving you the cold shoulder,” Hannah says. We’d stopped by the Full Loon to pick up the butterscotch pie she’d been craving since Texas. Mom didn’t say one word to me; she hasn’t spoken to me much since our conversation in the car.

I fill Hannah in.

“So she’s pissed at you because you won’t pick up that shift?” she asks.

“Yeah. I looked at the schedule and tried to juggle things around. I thought I’d come up with a decent solution, but that just pissed her off more.”

“Has she always been like this?” Hannah asks. “At the restaurant 24/7?”

“No. She worked part time until my grandparents retired and she took over. Daniel was working at a brewpub in Minneapolis, and she convinced him to move back and help her. But then Clayton left for school, and then there were tuition bills to pay. She let her assistant manager go and basically lives there.”

“So are you going to take that Monday night shift?”

I shake my head. “Nope. Standing my ground on this one, even if Mom doesn’t talk to me for the rest of the summer.”

“Good for you.”

“Or maybe I’ll quit.”