June, Reimagined (21)
Max lumbered out the door, his large ears swinging.
“You have a dog?”
“Why so surprised, Peanut?” Lennox held out his hand, displaying two pills. When June hesitated, he said, “Aspirin. I take them to dull the pain of the stick up my ass, but they work for headaches, too.”
June cringed, remembering what she’d said to Lennox the night before. She took the medicine and swallowed it down with the glass of water sitting on the nightstand. “Do you have anything that will restore my dignity?”
Lennox actually chuckled.
“Is this when you lecture me about the perils of alcohol, and the fact that you saved my ass once again?”
But Lennox didn’t reprimand June. “No, Peanut. I’m the last to judge.”
An awkward silence followed. He was different this morning. Softer. Tired, maybe. June should have scurried out of the bed and headed back to the inn, but something kept her rooted. She told herself it was the hangover, and Lennox’s comfortable bed, but it was deeper than that. The truth was that June felt awful for what she had said at the pub.
She should apologize. She had been drunk and sensitive and looking for a punching bag, but when it actually came to saying the words, she couldn’t get them out.
“Do you want breakfast?” Lennox asked.
June needed to get out of his house before the two of them ended up in a fistfight over pancakes. She stood up from the bed. “Does breakfast come with coffee?”
Lennox placed a plate of fried eggs, thick-cut bacon, and toast in front of June. The delicious smells of warm butter and hot coffee filled the kitchen. She restrained herself from lunging at the plate face first.
“You got the cooking talent in the family.”
“Along with my stunning good looks and huge . . .” Lennox paused, smiling. June gaped, waiting for the next word. “Feet.”
“Right.” She chuckled. “I bet the girls just love your . . . feet.”
“I’m happy to show you.”
June choked on her coffee. Was Lennox flirting with her? He laughed and set his tea on the counter. “I better get ready for work.”
“Wait.” June took his arm as he walked toward the stairs. Now was the time for her to apologize for needling him last night. To thank him for bringing her safely home from the pub. She bit her lip, trying to find the words. His skin felt warm against hers. The tally-mark tattoo on his arm seemed darker today—more defined, like it had been carved deeply into his skin instead of etched on the surface. June wanted to run her finger over it.
“Finish your breakfast, Peanut.” Lennox pulled away. “I’ll just be cleaning my . . . feet upstairs.”
He left, and soon June heard the water running in the bathroom. She tidied the kitchen, washing the dishes and running a sponge along the countertops, delaying her departure. What was she doing? For a week, all June wanted was to avoid this man, and now she didn’t want to leave.
With the water still running upstairs, June meandered into the living room, where a couch was made up as a bed. The room smelled slightly of the old logs and ash in the fireplace. Max lay on his dog bed at the foot of the worn fabric couch. He got up to greet June as she walked into the room, brushing against her leg, and she bent to pet him.
Other than the couch, the room housed an oversize canvas chair and an end table. There was a cabinet with an eight-disc CD player and a tall rack of CDs. On display in another corner, three guitars, two acoustic and an electric, were propped on stands. Not a single picture was displayed on the mantel or anywhere, just like at the inn.
June started to fold the blankets on the couch. It was the least she could do. She made sure to be neat, taking her time. The couch would have fit June fine, but Lennox must have slept with his legs hanging off the end. When she was done, June investigated the CD collection. She ran her finger down the rack, reading the album titles, until she came to Pearl Jam’s Ten. It had been a few years since she’d listened to the album in its entirety, but back in high school, she had played it on repeat.
She put the CD in the stereo, skipped to track three, and pressed play. Then she sat on the floor, “Alive” humming through the speakers, remembering late nights in Matt’s Lancer, windows down, a bag of Skyline Chili Coney dogs between them, screaming the lyrics at the top of their lungs. She had felt young, infinite, in that moment, like nothing would ever come between them, nothing would ever complicate their relationship to the breaking point. How naive she had been, and yet she would do anything to get that feeling back now.
June lay back and closed her eyes. Her fingers dug into the rug beneath her as if it might morph into Matt’s smooth hand. He’d grab ahold of her, pull her from the floor, and say, OK, confession time. If I had to make out with a man, it would be Eddie Vedder.
OK, confession time, she’d say. If I had to make out with a man, it would be Eddie Vedder.
Matt would act offended and make June promise to never let a man come between them.
“Are you lost, Peanut?”
June startled. Lennox stood in the doorway, a large cardboard box in his hands. He set it on the chair, his hair still wet from the shower, his woodsy scent filling the room.
“You didn’t need to clean the house,” Lennox said.
“It was the least I could do.” June suddenly felt sheepish again for her behavior the previous night. She should have left after breakfast, but even now, she wasn’t racing to the door. In fact, she was angling for a reason to stay. She pointed at the guitars. “Do you play?”