June, Reimagined (29)



But Lennox’s request was impossible. June was already shattered.





TWELVE


To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Mark your calendar!

You are formally invited to the Josh Merriweather Invitational Golf Tournament and Gala!

WHERE: Sunningdale Country Club

WHEN: May 31, 2003

The schedule of events is below. Golf tournament begins at 7am. Gala to follow that evening. To donate items to the silent auction, please contact Sheila Smith. All proceeds go to the Josh Merriweather Athletic Scholarship Fund presented by the Sunningdale Boosters in conjunction with Nancy and Phil Merriweather and their daughter, June.

Please RSVP by clicking the link below.

We hope to see you there!

When the police had called the Merriweathers the day after Thanksgiving, June’s house had still smelled of roasted turkey and stuffing. The night before, the weather had dropped to bitterly cold temperatures. June had sat at the island in the kitchen, home from Stratford College for the long weekend, hugging a mug of coffee in her hands, the hood of her Ohio State sweatshirt pulled over her head for warmth. She had stolen the hoodie from Matt. The cuffs were tattered and worn. A small cut had been made at the neckline, so the hood didn’t hug too tightly around June’s neck. The fuzzy cotton inside had long since pilled. And with the hood pulled tightly around her head, June could smell coffee and old books, as if she were wrapping herself in a Matt Tierney cocoon. June had washed the hoodie so many times that she knew the smell was most likely in her imagination, but either way, when she snuggled herself in that sweatshirt, it was like she was hugging Matt. It was June’s most treasured piece of clothing. She never traveled anywhere without it.

When the house phone rang that morning, June didn’t move from her seat.

“Don’t pick it up,” she said to her dad.

“This could be your brother. I’m not missing his call.” Phil Merriweather poured his cold coffee into the sink and reached for the phone.

June pleaded with him. “Josh would call your cell.”

“No, he wouldn’t. He knows I can’t get used to the thing. I never even turn it on.”

“Then he’d call Mom’s phone.”

“She’s worse than me,” Phil protested.

“It’s not him, Dad. Please let the answering machine get it.”

“June, what has gotten into you? It’s your brother.”

The bad feeling that had become rooted in June when Josh didn’t show up for the holiday intensified. She thought about tearing off the hoodie, but each ring of the phone was like an electric shock to her system. She couldn’t move.

Nancy ran into the kitchen then, her hair still damp from the shower. “Pick it up. It’s Josh.”

June pulled the hood more tightly around her head, muffling the sound of her father answering, the weighted pause as he realized it wasn’t Josh, the scream of her mother when Phil looked at his wife with a quiet sob and then said, “Josh is dead.” June breathed in and out, slowly, but the smell of Matt was already fading.

In the weeks that followed, as funeral arrangements were made, flowers were sent to the house, people were called, and lasagna was delivered by neighbors, June would blame Josh for many things—the constant putrid smell of rotting lilies in the house, the five extra pounds she put on from so much pasta, the awkward interactions with old schoolmates she hadn’t seen in years—but the most superficial was the hoodie. It was ruined. She could never wear it again without thinking of that morning.

The police had found Josh’s body on the bathroom floor of his apartment. The sink was still running. The television was on. The fridge contained only Hot Pockets and Mountain Dew. He had been dead for three days.

June and her father went to Marion to speak with police and collect Josh’s personal effects. Nancy refused to go. Instead, she made phone calls.

Josh Merriweather had died of a rare and undetected heart condition. The faster Nancy could spread the news around Sunningdale, the more real it felt until, a week later, it had become the truth. June marveled at how a lie could morph into fact, simply by a confident delivery. In all of June’s life, what else had she been told with such earnestness that she didn’t even think to question it?

June hadn’t worn the Ohio State hoodie since the morning the Marion police had called, but she had brought it with her to Scotland, because, like with Matt, she could never let it go. She held it in her hands now as she stared down at the half-packed suitcase on her bed, Josh’s urn next to the bag.

“You know what I did when the phone rang that morning?” June stared at the ridiculous urn with Josh’s name engraved at the base. “I prayed.” She sat on the bed and spoke as if Josh were actually by her side. “I didn’t pray for you,” she confessed.

That morning June had said a silent prayer to God, begging not to lose Matt Tierney. She knew that it was fruitless, even then, but she pleaded nonetheless. Until then, she had convinced herself that all the lies she’d told Matt could dissolve away if Josh changed. One turn of direction and everything June had fabricated for three years to cover her brother’s choices became worth the risk. Instead, with his death, her lies turned to concrete.

It had been three days since June and Matt’s last phone call, and while she might not be speaking to him, her mind was obsessively occupied with her best friend. She didn’t know what was worse—losing someone who was already dead or losing someone who was living. She pressed the sweatshirt to her nose and took a deep breath, searching for Matt, but all she smelled was roasted turkey and stuffing.

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