June, Reimagined (80)
“Nearly.”
“Let me translate for you,” Matt said to Lottie. “June hasn’t even fucking started.”
June pretended to be offended, but she instantly caved. “I’ll be ready in a jiffy. Promise.” She took off her apron and hung it on a hook behind the cashier counter.
“You have a dress, right?” Matt asked. “It said formal on the invitation.”
“If she doesn’t, she can borrow one of mine.” Lottie smiled. The dancer was about five inches taller than June and twenty pounds lighter, but June appreciated the offer, as did Matt, who had been spending most of his time at Lottie’s house. She would not be his forever, June knew. But she was good for now.
“Thanks, but I have a dress,” June said.
“It’s not that ugly green thing you wore to homecoming that one year, is it?” Matt asked.
“It was not ugly! I loved that dress. It was crushed velvet.”
“It crushed your chances at getting laid, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, piss off, Matty.” June whacked him with a dish rag. She had in fact gone shopping for the coming weekend’s festivities, buying a red knee-length dress. If June had to endure the weekend in Sunningdale, listening to people boast about Josh, she might as well look hot.
“Are you bringing a date?” Lottie asked as the three of them walked out of the café.
“Indeed I am.” June smiled. “I plan on spending most of the evening with my camera.”
Matt and Lottie dropped June off at her parents’ house at dusk. She walked in the front door and smelled burgers on a charcoal grill, a familiar scent from her childhood. Phil was outside barbecuing with Nancy, who sat sipping a glass of white wine. The evening was warm, with little humidity and no bugs, one of the best Sunningdale could offer.
June let her parents know she had arrived and, having come straight from work and smelling of coffee, went upstairs to shower and change. She passed Phil’s masterpiece—Chicken with Its Butt on Fire—hanging over the fireplace in the living room, and smiled.
After her shower, June dressed in pajamas. Her bed was freshly made, the carpet vacuumed. Nancy had even set a towel and washcloth on the end of the bed, like she did for all guests. I’m a guest now, June thought, and while that was slightly unsettling, it was true. The girl who grew up in the room didn’t fit there anymore.
June paused at Josh’s open bedroom door. His bed was also made, and the carpet vacuumed, but June noticed that his posters had been taken down. The trophies that had lined the dresser were gone, replaced by a family photo. June went in and opened one of the dresser drawers.
Empty.
The closet. Also empty.
She looked under the bed. Nothing.
“Did you know your brother hid empty vodka bottles under his bed?” Nancy stood at the bedroom door with two glasses of white wine. “I cleaned out five bottles and two empty cases of beer.”
“Those were from a party we threw when you and Dad went to Lake Cumberland.” June smiled at the memory. “I forgot he hid those there. We were afraid you’d notice them in the garbage.”
“And he had a naked poster of Madonna in the back of his closet. Did you know about that?”
June nodded. “With a pack of tube socks, no doubt.”
“Men can be so disgusting.” She handed June a glass of wine and sat down on Josh’s bed.
“I can’t believe you got rid of all of his stuff.”
“I didn’t get rid of it,” Nancy said and took a sip of wine. “I passed it on to people who need it more than us. Hortense suggested it, and I thought Josh would have liked that. He wouldn’t want his room made into a mausoleum. Hortense said that if we want healing to come into our lives, we have to open ourselves up to it. So I thought, why not open the room up for change? Who knows what might move in here.” She stood from the bed. “Which reminds me . . .” Nancy swallowed tears and forced the words out. “You can tell them, June. Tomorrow at the gala. Tell them the truth about how Josh really died. I want my son to be remembered as he was, flaws and all. Being perfect doesn’t make a life worth honoring. Being honest does. I’m sorry I ever lied about it in the first place. I was so ashamed, not of Josh, but of myself. What kind of mother lets her child die of a drug overdose? I should have saved him.”
June set her wine down and grabbed her mother into a tight hug. “Josh had choices just like the rest of us, and he became what he chose. That’s not your fault.” She wiped tears from Nancy’s face. “Want to play a game?”
June went into her room and got a tennis ball from her desk. She instructed her mom to sit on Josh’s bed, positioned herself on her own, and threw the ball at Nancy. It landed on Josh’s bed. “Now you throw it back to me,” June said.
Wine in hand, Nancy tossed the ball back. “This is surprisingly fun.”
“I know. Josh and I used to play for hours.”
June settled back on her bed, and for the rest of the night, mother and daughter tossed the ball back and forth across a hallway that once felt like a great divide, but had now become a bridge.
THIRTY-TWO
The large dining room at the Sunningdale Country Club was crowded. Sun had kissed the cheeks of the golfers during the tournament earlier that day. June squirmed in her red dress, offstage, wishing she had picked a more comfortable outfit. She couldn’t believe the number of people in attendance. Every table was full. The golf proceeds alone had raised forty thousand dollars. Her parents sat at the front of the room, closest to the stage, at a table with friends.