June, Reimagined (65)

Hamish’s wife, Sophie, had left a detailed schedule for June. It was already seven thirty, and June was two hours behind. She was meant to have the two bigger kids fed and on their way to the bath by now. While the two were bathing, June was supposed to feed little Ian a bottle, burp him, change him, and put him to bed with at least two songs to soothe his sensitive tummy, while keeping an eye on the older girls in the bath.

June needed two bodies. She wiped a hand across her forehead and leaned back on the kitchen counter, Ian on her hip. The messy house had been made worse when the older girls had pulled the cushions off the couch to use as crash pads for jumping off the furniture. June was sure one of them would break a bone, the cherry on top of an absolutely awful evening.

The Stone Roses, Hamish and Sophie’s favorite band, were playing a concert in Edinburgh, one night only. June had forgotten about her promise to babysit in exchange for days off when Matt had been in town. Just another ripple effect from Matt’s visit that kept knocking June on her ass. But when Hamish said it would be their first night away from the kids in years, June couldn’t say no, even if it petrified her to be alone with three children overnight.

A pot of noodles boiled on the stove. June had no idea how to transfer the noodles to the colander in the sink with baby Ian in her arms. Every time she set him down, he started to cry. She couldn’t screw this up and let Hamish down. She had yet to tell him that she would be leaving Knockmoral soon, before her sixty-day deadline with Stratford College. Every time she tried, Hamish cut her off, asked how her work visa was coming along, insisted that he couldn’t wait to pay her a real salary once everything was official or that he couldn’t have gotten through the past couple months without her.

June wasn’t anxious to get back to her life in the States, but she couldn’t stay in Scotland either. At least at home she had her scholarship at a good college. Scotland was a dead end. She had run long enough on a road that wasn’t meant to go on forever. Now she just needed to stay a little longer and make enough money for a plane ticket. Asking her parents to fund the flight would have been unfair. She had put them through enough. Between her tip money and her new income selling her photos at the café, she was nearly there.

June had set up a display of Up Helly Aa images and sold the lot within a week. Ivan bought five. People came in asking for more. The town, June suspected, took pity on her, like passing the collection plate at church, their good deed done, probably hiding away the pictures in a drawer once they got home.

Hamish’s middle child, Sorcha, interrupted June’s self-criticism. “When are Mummy and Daddy going to be home?” she asked, tears welling in her eyes.

“Not until tomorrow, honey.”

One round tear rolled down a rosy cheek. “I miss Mummy. She’s better at this. She makes me laugh. You’re no fun at all.”

June wanted to sink into the ground and disappear. How could she be fun when all three kids were on the verge of death at all times? Every second it was something. June had caught herself holding her breath, numerous times, amid the chaos. How did Sophie survive this?

The water started boiling over the top of the pot.

“Shit.” June turned down the burner.

“You said a naughty word,” Sorcha chided.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. I heard you. You have a potty mouth.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. Mummy says you shouldn’t lie. It’s bad for your breath. She says the more lies you tell the worse your breath stinks and no one wants to be around you because you smell so bad. You won’t have any friends. Your breath must be really bad because you said a potty word and you lied.”

June leaned back on the counter. This four-year-old was so much smarter than her.

It had been three weeks since Matt had left Scotland. She had written and deleted at least fifty emails to him. Nothing she said was sufficient. “Sorry” felt trite. And was June really sorry? Yes, it was wrong to keep the truth about Josh from Matt for so long. She should have trusted him, but he had also been wrong in coming to Scotland under the guise of wanting to see her, when it was all a ploy to get her to go home. And the kiss . . . time had not made it less confusing. In the end, June decided silence was best, but detached from her best friend, a part of her felt unanchored.

And then there was Lennox’s empty house, which sat, lights off, day after day. Part of June wished she’d never overheard his conversation with Angus, and part of her was glad she had. Amid all her uncertainty, one thing was true: Lennox didn’t want her.

Innis, Hamish’s oldest child at six, came into the kitchen. “I’m hungry. Is dinner almost ready?”

“The noodles are almost done.”

“I don’t want noodles,” Innis whined. “I want shepherd’s pie.”

“Well, I don’t know how to make shepherd’s pie.”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no.”

“Is there something wrong with you?”

“Why would you say that?” June balked.

“Do you want to have kids?” Innis pressed.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, you shouldn’t. You’d be a terrible mum. I’ll make the shepherd’s pie myself.” Innis went to the cabinet and began rummaging around. June saw disaster unraveling before her eyes, but right then Ian grabbed her hair and pulled as hard as he could. June yelped and began trying to detangle his sticky fingers from her hair when an entire jar of tomato sauce broke on the floor, splattering glass and liquid everywhere.