52 · Lucy
The next day, I wake with the memory of Ben’s arms around me, of his kiss. How I pushed him away. My stomach drops.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
My parents are at work, and the empty, echoing house closes in on me. I step out to the deck. The sky today is sunny, bright blue. A bluebird sky, Ben would call it.
I wonder what Ben’s doing, if he’s out fishing, if he’s thinking of me and the horrible things I said.
I call Hannah.
“Lucille,” she says after I’ve told her what happened, “honey, you’ve got to let him back in.”
If only it were that easy.
I get ready for work.
At the Full Loon, I can be one of my mom’s best servers. I can treat every customer like a guest. I can throw myself into it. I can ignore the sick feeling in my stomach, the guilt that bubbles up. Guilt about the kiss. Guilt about feeling so relieved that Simon has gone home for his grandfather’s funeral, that I don’t have to see his bruised face.
Everyone in town comes out for the Grand Reopening the next day. Tami brings Emily, who spins on one of the new stools at the counter. Clayton shows up as promised. He hugs me and says, “So, how’s my favorite little delinquent?” I shove him but really I’m glad to see him.
We serve pie and coffee. The man from the newspaper takes pictures and interviews Mom and Daniel. We all crowd around behind the red ribbon as Mom cuts it with an enormous pair of silver shears. Rita’s here even though she quit months ago—Mom said it wouldn’t be the same without her.
And later, because it’s Monday night, Guthrie and Ben show up.
They sit at the counter and my mom serves them. Guthrie raises his hand in a wave as I walk into the kitchen.
I shiver, remembering Ben’s hands on my back as he pulled me close to him, his lips on mine.
“Take these out to the boys?” Daniel says, motioning to two plates of the Grand Reopening Special—Daniel’s brand-new Five Alarm Jalapeño Burger with Smoky Sweet Potato Wedges.
“The boys?”
“Yeah. Ben and Guthrie, at the counter?”
“I’m not on the counter tonight, Daniel,” I tell him. My voice shakes, and I’m irritated with myself for being such a baby.
“Patty’s out having a smoke. I’d take them myself but I got my hands full back here. Come on, Luce.”
“Fine,” I snap. I can do this.
When I bring out their plates, Guthrie says, “The place looks great, Luce. Even better than before.”
“Thanks,” I tell him. “Can I get you guys anything else?”
Guthrie mumbles no, his mouth already stuffed with sweet potato wedges. I feel Ben’s eyes on me, and when I turn to him, he holds my gaze and I can’t move. There is so much hurt in his eyes. I can’t bear to look at him.
“Lucy!” I hear Daniel call from the kitchen. “Order up!”
I turn away before Ben can see my tears.
Three days later, Simon comes back.
When I get home from work, Dad says, “Shay stopped by. She said Simon’s pretty upset. She asked if you’d go over when you got home.”
“Okay,” I mumble. “Sure.”
I’ll go. Of course I’ll go. Simon’s still my boyfriend. And he’s hurting.
I’d planned to talk to him soon anyway, for a different reason. This—being with him when he’s grieving—might be harder than telling him that I need to break up with him.
Now I know how people must feel around me.
I walk across the small grassy patch between our houses. Shay answers the door.
“Oh, Lucy,” she says and pulls me into her chest. “Thank you for coming over.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss, Shay.”
“Simon’s downstairs. He’ll be so glad to see you.”
There’s something in her voice that tells me she wants me to find a way to help him.
I don’t know how, really. But one thing I do know: Grief takes its time.
Simon sleeps in the basement. I haven’t been here much this summer, and I haven’t set foot in his bedroom, but I know my way around the Clarks’ house as well as my own. His door is closed, so I knock. He doesn’t answer or invite me in, but I open the door slowly and walk across the room.
The room is dark except for the bright blue glow of a neon clock above the dresser. Music plays from an iPod dock on the desk, Pink Floyd, “Wish You Were Here.” Clothes are thrown across the back of an old recliner in the corner, and there’s a stack of Stephen King paperbacks on the nightstand.
Simon’s lying on top of the covers, his hands linked across his stomach, and his even breaths carry across the room. He’s asleep.
I step closer to the bed. His hair’s its usual mess, and except for the fading bruises, his face looks so peaceful, so calm. You’d never know that someone important to him had died, that inside of him, his heart and his soul have withered with the news.
I know what it’s like. I know what he’s feeling. I wheel the office chair from his desk over to the bed. I sit. The music changes to a song I don’t recognize, melancholy and aching.
Like everything in this room.
Simon stirs and startles when he opens his eyes and sees me.
“Lucy,” he says. “I’ve been waiting for you.” He reaches out a hand for mine, and it’s warm and soft against my skin.
“I’m so sorry about your grandfather, Simon.”
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.