Page 98 of The Last Thing You Said

He nods and his eyes fill with tears.

“I’m not ready to believe it yet,” he murmurs. He props himself up on his elbows like he’s about to sit up. “Not even after the funeral.”

“No,” I tell him. “Sleep. I’ll stay here with you.”

He smiles, but it’s not the wide grin that I’m used to.

He’s hurt.

“You know, don’t you?” he says. “You know what this feels like.”

I nod.

“I’m glad you’re here.” He scoots to the side of the bed, making room for me. I lie down close to him and put my arm across his chest. He’s warm, and I can feel his heart beat. He turns to face me. “Thank you.”

I shouldn’t be here.

It’s not long before he falls back asleep.

I remember the days right after Trixie died, when I couldn’t get out of bed, my body so heavy, exhausted by the grief coursing through me. While I was sleeping, I didn’t have to think. I didn’t have to think about what happened the day Trixie died or Ben’s words that echoed through my head. I slept until I couldn’t sink any further into my grief, I moved through the days on autopilot, I prayed that I would wake up and the pain of missing her would have dissipated in my slumber.

Simon stirs again, murmurs a word I can’t make out. I brush my fingers against the hair that lies across his forehead.

I let him sleep. I let him feel comforted.

The next time I see him will be different.

53 · Ben

It’s quiet at the resort today—there aren’t a lot of kids here this week. One of the cabins has rented out the pontoon for the day. A group of sisters and their daughters in Bear and Wolf are spread out on the loungers at the beach. I hang out at the lodge and wait for someone to come in to play pool or buy snacks but no one does. At three o’clock I close up the lodge and do the garbage run, then go over to Loon to start cleanup.

Loon’s the smallest cabin, a studio with a small bathroom. The resort is usually sold out all summer, but this year they haven’t rented out Loon as much. John decided to add on a loft bedroom, so they’re closing it up for the last two weeks of summer to get started on renovations.

This is good. I need the quiet, I need to be alone.

Lucy’s not here today.

Monday night, seeing her at the Full Loon, was a kick in the gut. I think of how she pushed me away when I kissed her and what Simon told me the night of Hannah’s party.

Lucy slept with Simon.

And she doesn’t want to be with me.

I start in the kitchenette, cleaning out the small refrigerator. The stuff guests leave behind—mustard, half-empty milk jugs, tubs of butter.

The guy who rented Loon last week left a couple of cans of beer in the fridge. No sense in wasting those. Perfect. I’ll drink away every fucking thing that’s happened this summer, Lucy and Simon and what an asshole I’ve been. I’m about to crack one open, but something stops me.

John and Tami trust me. I shouldn’t drink on the job.

All this time, I’ve been killing everything with booze—all my guilt and regret, all the sorrow that’s been eating away at me. And it hasn’t changed one fucking thing. Trixie’s still dead.

But Lucy’s not. She’s right here.

God, if I could just think of a way to fix it.

I put the beer in a plastic bag I find under the sink and throw it in the back of the UTV.

I’ve screwed up a lot of shit this summer, but I’m not going to screw this up. It’s a start.