The Truth About Keeping Secrets(13)

She shook her head.

I felt in control of the conversation. Not because I’d taken it; she was letting me have it. ‘Did my, uh, speech scare you off?’

June didn’t laugh at this. ‘No, that wasn’t –’

‘It’s OK,’ I said. Right. Jokes about murder accusations during moments of bereavement paranoia were off-limits. Maybe because the paranoia had actually scared her off. ‘Why’d … why’d you leave? So quick?’

I found myself wanting to hear her speak again. Her voice was low, raspy, but in a nice way, like she’d spent the night talking over loud music. ‘I was there alone,’ she said. ‘And, man, I just didn’t want to be weird. And it felt weird. To hover. After you saw me I just, like, felt like I wasn’t supposed to be there. Didn’t want to draw any attention.’

Ha. She was worried about being weird. I went to address the elephant in the room. ‘Sorry, why were you even –’

She’d known the question was coming and interrupted: ‘I was seeing your dad.’

There it was. With my suspicions now proved correct, a pang of jealousy arrived. She had memories of Dad that I didn’t. I tried to imagine them sitting in his office together, June sprawled over the couch, Dad listening intently, but I couldn’t get the image to materialize. He was something to June that he never was to me. She didn’t just remind me of it all – she was a part of it all. ‘Yeah. I’d been seeing him. Wanted to pay my respects, I guess.’

But how could she have been? Why did June Copeland need Dad?

She could tell I was taking too long to respond. I apologized. ‘You’re just not his regular clientele, I guess.’ I didn’t know shit about his regular clientele.

June smirked. ‘No?’

‘They were usually, uh, older,’ I said, because I suspected it to be true; as far as I knew, he didn’t see many kids from the high school.

‘Mm,’ she said, slightly deflated. But she had this knowing look – the kind of knowing I guess you only saw if you looked straight into her eyes.

‘So, what,’ I said, nodding towards the headstone, ‘you couldn’t get enough of him, or …?’

That brought her back to life. ‘Like, basically that.’ We laughed. ‘So, he was really great. I’m sure you know that already, but he … yeah. He was so helpful when stuff was shitty, and, yeah, stuff has been shitty, so I thought I’d … stop by. God. Sorry. That feels stupid to say to you.’ I got the impression she was really considering her words; I wasn’t sure if I was grateful for that or not.

‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘OK, wait, let me just get this out of the way. I want to say sorry, but that seems super-patronizing, but I also don’t want to say nothing because that seems really inconsiderate –’ a nervous laugh – ‘so I don’t really know what to … do right now.’

I reached for the phrases, It’s OK. I don’t want to talk about it. But that didn’t feel right here. It didn’t feel true. ‘I’m sort of just working under the assumption that everyone is sorry by default. You know? No one’s like, “Fuck you and your dead dad.” ’

That made her laugh. ‘Maybe that’s what I should have done. Kept you on your toes.’

I smoothed my face over with the heel of my hand, like I was massaging something out of it. ‘But, yeah. It, uh, sucks, pretty bad, it turns out. Surprise, right? I kind of just feel exhausted.’ Why the hell was I telling her all this? ‘I haven’t slept for, like, a week.’

‘I get that too,’ June said. ‘Insomnia. Not fun.’

I wanted to ask why. What kept her awake? I guessed there could have been all sorts of reasons; I didn’t imagine that sleep felt too much like death to her as well. Then I remembered: I’d gotten up early the day after the funeral. The flowers. ‘There were flowers on his grave last week. That we didn’t leave. Were you –’

‘Yeah, that was me. Mysterious flower-bringer. God, you probably think I’m so weird.’

‘No, it’s OK,’ I said. An invitation for her to explain.

‘I wanted to … so, you know, I got spooked at the funeral but I still wanted to give him something, so I dropped them off after everyone left. Your dad did … a lot for me. And something, like, happened … er, it’s complicated. Whatever. So I just want to give him something. Anything. I’m saying a lot of things right now but I’m not really sure if any of them mean anything. Words.’

Something happened? What did that mean? But she seemed anxious about it, so I didn’t prod. ‘Words,’ I said back. Wait. I was still supposed to be in class. Which meant she was too. ‘Don’t you, uh, aren’t you supposed to be in school?’

‘I have early release.’ She nudged a rock towards me with her foot. Smirked. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be in school?’

I took one sharp breath, now so deeply rooted in this absurd situation that the previous absurd situation didn’t seem so bad any more. ‘It’s complicated.’ June smiled again, and I figured that was her way of telling me to keep going. ‘I ran away.’

‘Um. Care to elaborate?’

I kicked the rock back towards her. ‘I was having a temper tantrum.’