18 · Ben
Guthrie and I started hanging out at the Full Loon on Monday nights a couple of months after Trixie died. I was so sick of being at home, of sitting across from my parents at dinner, struggling to find something to say that wouldn’t remind them of Trixie, that I called up Guthrie and asked him to meet me there to watch Monday Night Football. And the next week and the week after that.
I don’t even like football.
We ate there every Monday night, even after the football season ended.
Lucy doesn’t usually work Monday nights. Last week had to be a fluke. I’m counting on it.
“Hey, Ben,” Daniel says as I sit down at the counter. “How’re the fish biting?”
“Good,” I say. “Water levels are up after this week’s rain.”
“How are the folks?”
“Good,” I say again, although this time it’s not quite the truth. Mum had one of her days when she didn’t get out of bed, and Dad flipped out at me when I scraped the Crestliner against the dock.
“You want the special?” Daniel asks, and I nod.
The special, Daniel’s famous Onion Ring Barbecue Bacon Burger. Dad used to call it a heart attack on a plate, but we don’t make jokes like that anymore.
We don’t make any jokes anymore, come to think of it.
Guthrie slides onto the stool beside me. He’s tall and lanky with dark copper hair and a broad forehead. He’s part Irish, part Ojibwe, with a low, even voice. It takes a lot to get Guthrie riled.
“Hey,” he says. “I’ll have the same.”
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Well,” he says, “me and Eddie drove up to Whitefish today. Caught a nice mess of walleye.”
“Where at?”
He thinks for a minute. “Second weedline. About twelve feet. Fifteen maybe.”
“Huh.” Warmer temps and the walleye go deeper. He rattles on, this in-depth analysis of the air temperature in relation to the water temperature, the delay in weed growth this year.
“Eddie landed this giant crappie,” he says. “You shoulda seen it. Biggest damn crappie I’ve ever seen.”
“He keep it?”
“Nah, threw it back for somebody else to catch. You go out today?”
“Yeah. Took out a family with a couple of high school kids. The guy was a dick but the girl was okay.” I pause. “Kinda cute.”
Actually, she reminded me a little of Lucy, except her teeth were straight and she couldn’t even bait her own hook. Not that I should be looking.
Not that I should be thinking about Lucy.
“So,” he says, “did you end it with Dana?”
Whoa. What?
“End it with Dana? Where did you hear that?” My throat goes dry and I reach for my water glass.
“Oh, it’s around, man. Rumor is that you’ve been hanging out with Lucy. Something about you two out on the lake together.”
I nearly spit water all over the counter. “What?”
“Yeah. I’ve tried to dispel that rumor.”
“So you don’t believe it?”
God, what a stupid thing to say.
Guthrie gives me a dry look. “Why would I believe it?”
I don’t answer. I shake my head.
“Am I missing something?” Guthrie asks. “You’re checking out some girl at the resort. You’re acting all weird about Lucy. What’s going on?”
I shake my head again. “Nothing. I don’t know what I’m saying. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“So did you and Dana break up?”
“No. But I did take Lucy out fishing. Lucy and Emily. It’s my job.”
Daniel sets two plates in front of us. I’m so hungry, the smell of bacon nearly turns my stomach inside out. For a minute all I can think about is how fucking awesome this burger is going to taste, but then something hits me.
“Wait. Is Dana telling people we broke up?”
Guthrie stuffs a handful of french fries into his mouth. He chews for a minute, swallows, and doesn’t answer right away, as if he’s giving serious consideration to my question.
“Are you in love with Dana?” he asks.
“Seriously, Guthrie? I think you know the answer to that question.”
“I don’t know that I do,” he says.
He’s trying to make me say it. I’m not going to say it. Hell, no, I’m not in love with Dana.
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.