40 · Lucy
Summer unravels.
August has arrived, and with it the fact that soon it will be one year.
I am moving forward. Trixie is not.
Trixie is now memories and stories and photographs in frames and albums and scrapbooks. The Trixies I tell to a little girl who misses a cousin she barely knew.
I’m still grounded. The fire at the restaurant caused a lot of damage to the kitchen and part of the back dining room. They say it was the lightning that night after all. The timing couldn’t have been worse, in the middle of the summer tourist season, but they’re hoping to reopen in a couple of weeks.
At least Mom is talking to me again since the fire. I guess she must have decided that, in the grand scheme of things, my refusal to work that Monday night shift isn’t such a big deal.
Simon has come over twice. I’m worried, though, that someone will come home and find him here, and I can’t do that to my parents. Not now, after South Dakota and the fire.
So I tell him he needs to go; he kisses me. He sends me text messages; he misses me.
Today, he and Shay are taking a day trip up to Lake Itasca, the headwaters of the Mississippi River, an hour and a half away. I watch them drive off from the kitchen window.
It strikes me that I won’t miss him when he’s gone—not today, not after he goes back to St. Paul.
I run upstairs to my room for my phone and call Hannah, who picks up right away.
“I should miss him, right?” My breathing is heavy.
“Lucille? Miss who? Is everything okay?”
“Simon. I should miss him, right, when he’s not around? Isn’t that how love works? You want to be with a person all the time, and when you can’t, it’s like a piece of you is missing?”
She doesn’t answer right away.
“Hannah?”
“You miss Ben.”
I don’t need to say anything. I’ve never stopped missing Ben.
“I think you know what you need to do. I really had high hopes for Simon, though.” She sighs. “I wish I could come over.”
“Me, too. I miss you.”
Hannah laughs. “That’s how you know it’s love. I love you, too, Lucille.”
I end the call and lean my head against the wall. The next time Simon sneaks over, I’ll tell him that it’s not working, that we should break up.
I take a deep breath. I don’t want to think about this anymore. I grab a book and walk down to the patio to take advantage of the fact that Shay’s not using it today.
But the words are a jumble on the page. My mind wanders.
It’s too quiet.
I’m too alone.
I find my iPod and slip my earbuds in and walk into town, cutting through Sullivan Street Park.
I walk the trail and sit at the edge of the lake, my toes in the sand. I close my eyes and count the days until summer ends.
My phone buzzes with a text—a photo of Simon standing next to the tall marker at the headwaters, then another of him standing in shallow Lake Itasca. Missing u @ the Mississippi. Wish u were here.
I don’t respond.
I stand up, brush the sand off my shorts, and cut through the woods on the path that leads to the back parking lot of the Gas-n-Go. I’m inside the convenience store reaching for a bottle of water in the cooler when I hear my name. I turn to see Daniel.
Of course.
“Whatcha doing here, Lucy?” he asks me. “Aren’t you grounded?”
I hold up the water. “It’s a long walk home. Would you rather I succumb to dehydration and heat exhaustion?”
“Shouldn’t you already be at home?”
“Daniel, come on. I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed fresh air. Exercise.”
“I’ll give you a ride home. I’m on my way to Brainerd anyway.”
He fills me in on the day’s progress at the Full Loon. “It’s going to be better than ever. We’re coming back strong, Luce.”
When I don’t respond, he says, “I haven’t seen you much since you got back from South Dakota. Everything okay?”
“Well, no. I got grounded, remember? For life?”
“Never been grounded before, huh?”
I shake my head. “No, and they threw the book at me, didn’t they?”
Daniel laughs. “Everybody was pretty worried about you, Lucy. I can’t blame them for being so upset.”
“The worst is that I can’t see Hannah. Guthrie is throwing her a birthday party, and Mom and Dad won’t let me go.”
“Well, the way I see it, and shit if I’m not going to sound just like my dad, and probably yours, you have to accept the consequences of your actions. And if that means not seeing Hannah and missing her birthday, there it is.”
I swipe at a tear in the corner of my eye. “It’s not fair. Clayton can get away with murder. I make one mistake—one—and I’m punished for weeks! I need to see Hannah.”
Suddenly I get an idea. Daniel can help me get to that party.
“Daniel,” I say, leaning toward him. “You’ve got to convince Mom to let me go to the party.”
“Oh, no,” he says. “No way. I’m not getting in the middle of this.”
“Please, I’m begging you. This summer has been awful. Please.”
He’s quiet for a long time. Then: “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do what I can. Don’t fuck this up, okay?”
“Okay, yes, thank you.” The words rush out of me.
“Seriously, don’t mess this up.”
As if this summer could get any more messed up.
By the time Mom gets home, I’ve showered again and made tacos for dinner. She comes out to the deck, where I’m sitting with my laptop, pinning quotes to my online bulletin board.
I don’t regret the things I’ve done. I only regret the things I didn’t do when I had the chance.
I can picture that quote in our notebook, one of Trixie’s favorites, written in dark teal cursive.
Don’t count the laps—make the laps count. Trixie’s favorite swim team quote.
I would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light. One of the many Helen Keller quotes I wrote in the book.
I close the laptop when I hear the sliding door open.
“Hey, Luce.” Mom flops down into the chair next to me. “What an exhausting day. But the new roof is on, so that’s a relief, at least. And the painters come tomorrow.”
“Mm-hmm,” I say. Daniel already told me. “That’s great.”
“Dinner smells fantastic.”
“Dad’s not home yet. I figured tacos would be easy enough to reheat.”
“Good thinking. I’m exhausted,” she says again. “So what have you been up to today?”
“Oh, you know,” I say, “the usual. A load of laundry, a little reading.”
“What were you doing just now?”
“Do you remember that notebook Trixie and I used to keep? Quotes and song lyrics and stuff like that?”
She smiles. “The Book of Quotes?”
I nod. “Well, I started a new online board with some of the quotes. The ones I can remember, anyway.”
“Don’t you have the notebook?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s at Trixie’s.”
She frowns. “You haven’t asked for it?”
“No.”
“Honey, it’s important to you. I’m sure Jane and Tom would understand if you—”
I cut her off. “No, it’s okay. Plus, I don’t really see them, you know?”
“I’ll call Jane right now.” Mom stands up.
I reach out and grab her arm to stop her. “No, please don’t. It’s not important, Mom. Don’t bother them.”
She looks at me for a minute, then says softly, “Maybe you could ask Ben to find it for you, then.”
I pinch my lips together and shake my head again.
Mom smiles. “Hey, I just had a great idea. We’re painting some sections of the walls at the restaurant with blackboard paint. Why don’t you pick out a few of your favorite quotes, and you and Hannah can write them on the walls with chalk? It would be a nice way to honor Trixie’s memory.”
I pick up my laptop and nod. Since the fire, Mom hasn’t been as angry with me, but I know that her disappointment is still there, simmering beneath the surface. I don’t want to disappoint her again. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“Lucy? Think about asking Ben for the notebook, okay?”
That I can’t do.