June, Reimagined (81)

“You always fidget when you’re nervous,” Matt said. “Stop it.”

“Confession time, Matty. I don’t think I can do this. I’m better behind a camera, not in front of one.”

“Bullshit. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

“You have to say that. You’re my best friend.”

“No, I don’t. Remember when you had braces and I told you that you looked like a lightning rod?”

“I still hate you for that. I got worried every time it stormed.”

“You were right to be scared,” Matt said. “There was a lot of metal in your mouth.”

“I might throw up.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Everyone is going to stare at me.”

“That’s the point,” he said. “You’re giving a speech.”

“I don’t want to give a speech anymore.”

“Well, it’s too late to back out.”

“Can’t I just thank them for their money and call it a day? They all know I’m a failure, anyway.”

Every person in Sunningdale knew about June’s scandalous behavior with the Women’s Club of Sunningdale and her departure from Stratford College. That was simply the way the town worked. Like a spider web, each Sunningdale family was connected to the next, by design.

“They’re judging me,” June said. “I can tell.”

Matt grabbed June’s shoulders. “Fuck what those people think. They have to see failure to protect themselves. If they saw the situation for what it really is, they’d have to examine their own lives. Denial is easier than self-evaluation and vulnerability. Tonight isn’t about them. It’s about Josh.”

“What if I puke on the mic?”

“I’ll clean it up.”

June threw her arms around Matt. “You’re the best.”

“Now get out there.” Matt smacked June’s butt.

“You just wanted to smack my ass.”

“What can I say? It looks really good in that dress.”

The lights felt like a thousand degrees as June took the stage. What she wouldn’t give to be curled up on Matt’s couch, drinking wine and watching the latest Reese Witherspoon movie. If June was bad at babysitting, she was dismal at public speaking. She had agreed to do this amid fits of grief and shame, months ago, right after Josh’s death. Her parents had said it would be good for her. What was one little speech? But as she stood before the packed room, June realized just how bad the idea had been.

“Hi.” The mic squeaked, and she took a step back. Her palms were sweating, her mind blank. June had toiled over what to say after talking with her mom the previous night. Should she do what Nancy requested and speak honestly about her brother? Did she lay her family’s secrets on the stage for the whole town to see? “I’m June Merriweather. But you know that already.” The crowd laughed, but was it at her or with her? She hadn’t meant to be funny. “I, um . . .”

June fidgeted with her dress and looked at Matt. There was a high probability she would puke. The crowd was too quiet, too static. June felt undressed, stripped down, desperate to cover herself. Why were they all so still?

Instinct told June to run away as fast as she could, but then someone moved in the back of the room, catching her eye. He stood in the doorway, haloed in light and leaning against the doorjamb. June thought she was dreaming, or had passed out on the stage and was having an out-of-body experience. Because there was no possible way Lennox Gordon was in Sunningdale. God, she was so nervous she was hallucinating.

Her mom coughed, ever so slightly, drawing June’s attention. She snapped back to the moment, assuming her delusion would evaporate. He didn’t. Lennox walked into the dining room and stood at the back. He was dressed in a navy-blue suit, a look June had never seen on him, which made the situation all the more odd. If she was imagining this, why would she put Lennox in a suit? She didn’t even think he owned a suit.

The crowd sat expectantly.

“One second,” June excused herself. She ran offstage, directly to Matt.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“What the hell is going on, Matty?”

“You’re giving a speech. Did you forget?”

“Not the speech.” There was only one reason Lennox Gordon would be in Sunningdale, one person who knew of her attachment, one person who knew where to find him.

Matt looked downright pleased with himself. “Confession time,” he said. “Do you honestly want to live on my couch?”

“I like your couch.”

Matt grabbed June by the shoulders. “You deserve so much better than my fucking couch.”

Tears welled in June’s eyes. “I can’t believe you did this, Matty.”

“Just so we’re clear,” he said, “I still hate the guy.” Then he spun June back toward the stage and shoved her toward it.

June collected herself and walked back to the mic. For two months, she had banished Lennox from her mind out of fear that if she allowed herself to remember him, she would go mad, fall into a ravine with no desire to climb out. She would miss him, crave him, wonder about him incessantly.

Even now, from across the room, she smelled him—cedarwood, rain and firewood, salt water and sugar. She tasted tea. Felt Lennox’s hands gripping her legs, his stubble on her neck, his breath on her hair.