46 · Lucy
The last of the parade floats pass us. The Boy Scouts hit the street and sidewalk to pick up the missed candy and trash. Hannah waves her watermelon-shaped paper fan in front of her face.
“It’s hot,” she says. “Ready to go?”
“Sure.” I stand up. As we walk down the block, I see Jane and Tom in their yard, folding up lawn chairs.
I’m filled with a rush of emotions—sadness and regret and the bitter ache of missing them.
I don’t want to miss them anymore.
“Hannah,” I say, “how would you like to meet Trixie’s parents?”
She grins at me and pulls me into a tight hug. “Lucille, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do! Except maybe Guthrie.” She laughs and I roll my eyes.
We walk across the street and she squeezes my hand. “You can do this,” she whispers, and I’m so grateful for her my heart might split in two.
“Lucy,” Jane says as she stands, “it’s so wonderful to see you.”
And before I know what I’m doing, I’m in her arms, tears dampening the shoulder of her blouse. When I finally pull myself away, Tom is standing, too, and puts his hand on my arm.
“We’ve missed you, kiddo,” he says.
I remember that Hannah is here, too, and I step back to include her.
“Jane, Tom, this is my friend, Hannah Mills. Hannah, meet Trixie’s mum and dad.”
Hannah—awesome, fearless, incomparable Hannah—hugs them both. “I’ve been waiting a long time to meet y’all,” she says. “I’ve heard a lot about Trixie, and I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Jane nods like she might cry and reaches for my hand. “Thank you,” she says.
“I know Ben, too,” Hannah says. “I’m dating Scott Guthrie.”
Oh, I wish she hadn’t brought up Ben.
“Yes, Scott mentioned you,” Jane says. “Girls, why don’t you come inside where it’s cool and have some iced tea?”
“We’d love to,” Hannah says. She nods at me, as if she’s telling me I can do this. It’s going to be hard, but I can do this.
I help Tom carry the lawn chairs to the garage.
“Lucy, you have no idea how happy we are that you’re here,” Tom says as he holds the door for me and I step into the kitchen. I take a deep breath. I haven’t been here since Trixie died.
It feels likes home, like no time has passed at all.
As we’re walking back up the hill to Hannah’s car, I get a text from Mom. Still in town? Stop by for some pie.
I hold out the phone to Hannah. “Seems suspicious. Code for We’re up to our eyeballs, come help.”
“Oh, Lucille,” Hannah says, “don’t be so hard on her. Go on, see what she’s up to.”
“You don’t think I’m going to go in there alone, do you? Come with me.”
“No way. I haven’t seen Guthrie for days. I need me some sugar.”
“Days? It’s only been a few hours!”
She laughs. “It feels like days. Meet us at the carnival later? Text me when you’re done.”
She hugs me, and I turn to walk back down the hill to the restaurant. This is the second full day of their soft open—Mom wanted to be back in business by Watermelon Days but hasn’t had her big grand-reopening celebration yet. It’s not as busy as I expect. Most of the parade crowd must have worked its way back to the festival grounds or the lake.
I slide into the booth across from Mom. From here I can see Trixie’s quote in swirling script on the chalkboard wall by the door: Life is no “brief candle” for me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible.
Mom’s got a notebook in front of her, filled with lists and figures. She refills her coffee cup from the carafe on the table and offers me some. I shake my head.
“What’s up?” I ask. “Do you need me to work or something?”
She frowns. “That’s what you automatically think, isn’t it?”
I shrug. “Well. Yes. I mean, isn’t that what you usually want?”
She nods. “I’m sorry for that. And I do have a favor to ask, but that can wait.”
Joellen sets a glass of water in front of me. “What can I get you girls?” she asks.
Mom shakes her head. “I’m fine. Luce? Pie?”
I haven’t eaten much today besides the banana and a cookie with Jane and Tom, but the combination of Advil and sunshine and Hannah seems to have worked. My stomach growls.
“Wild rice burger, pub style, onion rings. And a Coke. And a slice of lemon meringue.”
My mom raises her eyebrows at me. “You must be feeling better.”
I shrug. “Yes and no. I suppose Dad filled you in?”
“Yes.”
“Is that why I’m here? So you can lecture me? Trust me, Dad’s was sufficient.”
I don’t expect her to laugh, but she does. “I’m sure it was.”
“So what, then?”
“Are you okay, sweetheart?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I mean that it’s been a rough year for you, and you’ve been so distant this summer, and I just want to make sure that everything’s okay with you.”
My mouth drops open. I can’t help it. There’s so much I could tell her, but she continues before I can say a word.
“I know it’s been a lot different around home now that I’m running this place. And with Clayton at school. Your dad and I have had to figure out a lot of things financially, and it hasn’t been easy.”
“I know.”
“I appreciate everything you do to help out around the house, Lucy, and here, too. You’re one of my best servers.”
“I am?”
“Yes. People love you. You work so well under pressure, you’re never ruffled when it gets busy, and you treat everyone like your guest. I’m proud of you. I know I don’t tell you that often enough.”
“Wow. I mean, thanks.”
She laughs, then smiles sadly. “Losing Trixie was hard on us, too, Luce. It’s hard to see someone close to you lose a child. It was easier for me to throw myself into the restaurant. But then this place burned, and I realized that you can rebuild a restaurant, start again. Other losses are . . . irreplaceable. When Shay asked me how you were doing with the anniversary coming up, and I couldn’t answer her, I felt terrible.”
This is a lot to take in. “Shay?”
“Yes.” She takes a sip of coffee. “Simon told her about Trixie and the anniversary, and she asked me how you were doing with it. I had no answer. Luce, I’m so sorry.”
When I don’t say anything, she continues. “It’s okay to be sad, Lucy. It’s okay to miss her. I hope you know that your dad and I are here for you if you need us.”
It’s nice to hear her say this after some of the conversations we’ve had this summer. I nod. “I know.”
Joellen sets my food down and laughs as I dig into the pie first.
Mom smiles and reaches across the table to pat my hand. “Now, I need a favor. Can you work Monday? It’s our big Grand Reopening, you know, with a ribbon cutting from the Chamber of Commerce and everything. Louis from the paper will be there. Clayton’s coming home for it.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, and Dad took the day off. I’d like for the whole family to be there.”
“But you need me to work?”
“You’re as much a part of this place as anyone.”
“No problem,” I tell her. “What time?”
“No problem?” she repeats. “Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?”
“Ha ha.”
Mom reaches across the table again, this time for an onion ring. “So, tell me about Simon.”
I roll my eyes and take another bite of pie. “Don’t invite Simon and Shay to the Grand Opening, okay?” I mumble through a mouthful of meringue. “I’m going to break up with him.”
“I thought you liked him.”
My phone buzzes with Simon’s name at the top of the screen. “Speak of the devil,” I mutter.
My grandpa died today. We’re on our way home. I won’t be back for a few days.
My breath rushes out of me, awful feelings of relief and guilt. “Oh.”
“What’s wrong?” Mom asks.
“Simon’s grandfather died.”
Her eyes go soft. “That’s terrible.”
I tap out a quick reply. Simon, I’m so sorry.
I set my phone aside. There isn’t much else to say.