June, Reimagined (70)

Love,

Dad

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: apartment next year!!!!!!

so . . . i haven’t heard from u since “the clothes incident,” which i swear was totally an accident and i promise i’ll never do it again. and anyway, thrift t-shirts are totally in now, so it’s not a complete disaster. we’ll laugh about it when we r forty and drink too much chardonnay and r slightly overweight from having kids. (being pregnant will be so awesome. we can finally eat whatever we want.)

i have good news. u know those houses on court street? well, shannon totally scored a lease for one for next year!!!!!! rachel, nikki, and i are in. there’s one bedroom left. ayla wants it, but i’m like no fucking way. i can’t put up with that whore all year. i told shannon u get the room. and shannon was like, is june even still alive? and i was like, fuck off, yes she is. i talk to her all the time. and she was like, fine then she needs to put in for the deposit on the place. i was like, CALM DOWN LUNATIC, june will totally send u the money.

so . . . shannon needs $500 from u.

—Al

In mid-March, the return of the sun and unseasonably warm weather brought people in the Highlands out of their winter hibernation, shedding layers of clothing and exposing skin that had not seen the sun since the fall. The hills around Knockmoral shined an iridescent green and brown, the ocean a navy gray that sparkled in patches, the partly cloudy sky peppering the earth with rays of light. People walked the streets with grocery bags and strollers, and couples strolled hand in hand with nowhere to go, soaking up the warmth that had been at bay for months.

The rain stayed away for over a week, and people in Knockmoral whispered about the good weather, as if speaking too loud might provoke storms again. Could winter really be over? Would spring come that easily? People drank in the fine weather like an expensive wine—slowly but indulgently, not sparing a drop for tomorrow, for fear it would turn sour overnight.

June wanted to join the revelry. Her toes, fingers, and nose were all warm, maybe for the first time since arriving in Scotland. Her clothes felt fully dry. For the last week, her tennis shoes hadn’t needed the newspaper she stuffed into them. During her runs, there were no puddles to dodge, no rain jacket required, no hot cup of tea to warm her bones when she returned to the inn. One afternoon, she found herself looking up toward the sun, sweat dripping down her cheeks and forehead, not a cloud in the sky, and she thought, I might need sunscreen. Sunscreen! She had lived through the cold, dark winter and had made it to the spoils of spring, and yet June couldn’t fully enjoy it. There was no upside to the brightness, the sunshine, the warmth, because June was leaving Scotland.

June Merriweather would apologize to the Women’s Club of Sunningdale and keep her scholarship. She would finish out her junior year at Stratford College, make up lost time in summer school, and move into the house on Court Street with Allison. In a year, she would graduate with a degree in education, look for a teaching job, get an apartment of her own, and, hopefully, start educating young people. Just as she had planned for the past two and a half years.

Tomorrow, she thought, she would take the bus to Inverness and collect her plane ticket home to Ohio from a travel agent she had spoken to earlier in the week. The purchase would nearly wipe out her bank account. But June needed a proper ending. A period to this run-on sentence.

After she purchased the ticket, she would tell Hamish and the rest of her housemates. As for Lennox, she doubted he cared. Isobel’s message—I love you—rang in June’s ears like a church bell, every hour, reminding her that it was time to go. She had used the message as an incentive to avoid him, not that he was seeking her out. After the babysitting night, Lennox had been just as distant as when he had been gone. Practically invisible. June needed no more proof to solidify that what had happened between them was a blip, a mistake, a memory that would slowly dissolve into a quiet whisper.

Anderson’s Pub was crowded as June thought about her departure, the pub humming with unusual energy for a Thursday night. She leaned back in her seat, half a beer in her hands, trying her hardest to enjoy herself, but a rock sat heavy in her belly.

June snapped a picture of the busy pub just as Amelia arrived with a tray of pints and said, “Family meeting. I have an announcement.”

“I don’t want to be a part of this family,” Angus said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his strong arms.

“And why not?” Amelia protested.

“Because I can’t shag you if we’re family.”

“Family meeting it is!” Amelia pronounced, banging her hand on the table. “I have some news, and it involves all of us.”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, lass,” Angus said. “Won’t work. Too many people. Three you can handle, but five . . . there just isn’t enough room in the bed.”

“Is sex all you ever think about?” Amelia chided.

“No. I think about sex. And I think about you. And I think about the space-time continuum.” Angus pounded his chest and burped. “Sometimes all at once.”

“Can we kick Gus out of the family?” David asked.

Angus leaned back in his seat. “No one would believe someone as good looking as me was related to a wee bawbag like you, anyway.”

“Every family has at least one pervy uncle,” Eva said.