Falling for June: A Novel (12 page)

15

Y
OU SLY OLD
dog, you. Pretty darn smart working your way into the house with the old ‘I’m an accountant and can help you with your bills’ routine.”

“Hey,” he said, grinning, “you have to shake the milkshake God gave you.”

“Shake the milkshake. Is that an old accountant expression or something?”

“No, it’s from the song. You know:
My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.
”

He sang the line, holding his fists up and shaking them from side to side, as if he were doing the milkshake booty dance, even though he was sitting. I almost fell off the couch laughing again. “Where did you learn that?”

“
Mean Girls
,” he said.

“
Mean Girls
the movie?”

“Cable news isn’t the only thing I watch, although Lindsay Lohan’s on there a lot too these days. It really is a shame. I hope she keeps it together this time.”

“You know what, Mr. Hadley,” I said, sitting back and shaking my head, “you really are an onion, you know that? Each time I think I’ve got you pegged you peel off another layer.”

“Well, you know what happens when you keep peeling an onion,” he said. “Eventually you don’t have any onion left.”

He laughed, but then his laugh worked into a nasty cough again. He bent over in his chair and appeared to be struggling to breathe. This time I did get up, and I rushed over to see if I could help somehow. But I had no idea what to do so I stupidly patted him on the back, as if he were a choking child.

“What can I do?” I asked. “Can I help somehow?”

His breath was labored and wheezy, rattling in his lungs, but he finally sat up enough to look up at me, signaling by waving his hand that there was nothing to be done. I stood there over him while he caught his breath.

“Can I get you something?” I asked.

“Maybe another RC Cola,” he said, straining to speak.

“How about some water?”

When I came back from the kitchen, his breathing had improved. He fished a pill container from his big sweater pocket and picked out a couple of tablets and swallowed them.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Are you okay?” I asked, hesitating before taking my seat again on the couch.

He sighed. “Yes and no. But I will be. We all will be.” Then he looked up at the cat clock on the wall and squinted. “Would you mind telling me the time, Elliot?”

“Three twenty-two.”

“Oh, boy,” he said, “I had better get moving with the rest of this story then.”

“You had just started organizing June’s books.”

“Oh, yes.” He sipped his water and nodded. “Although she didn’t really have any books to organize. Just piles of papers. And she was right, it was worse than she even thought. You have to understand June had a lot of animals here at that time. She had maybe seventeen horses then. Almost all of them saved
from racetracks. Plus Rosie, who had just arrived, and who you met. But she also had goats. Sheep. A mule even, if I recall. Now she had that silly ostrich, of course. And there were so many dogs and cats you couldn’t count them.

“She was the catchall, you see. The last resort. Every other rescue within a hundred-mile radius knew June couldn’t turn an animal away, no matter how low on money she was. It’s the only reason she had started the stunt school. It had been Sebastian’s idea. He had left Los Angeles, where they had worked together on films years before, and he needed a place to stay, so she took him. She was struggling for money and he suggested using the property to run a stunt school, trading on their reputations to get students. It was their third or fourth session that summer when I arrived.”

“So, June was a stuntman then?”

“Stuntwoman. She’s even in the Stuntmen’s Hall of Fame. You didn’t think it was really Roger Moore parachuting off that cliff in
The Spy Who Loved Me
, did you?”

“Roger Moore?”

“James Bond.”

“Oh, you mean Daniel Craig.”

“Oh, boy. I forgot how young you are. Let’s just say June was an early BASE jumper. Maybe among the first. They claim the first was a guy jumping from El Capitan in 1966, but June never told anyone she’d jumped off of Half Dome in the same park a full five years before that. She was very humble about her accomplishments. In fact, besides me now, you’re the only one to even know the identity of the Barefoot BASE Jumper.”

“They never found her out?”

“No,” he said. “Never. It wouldn’t matter now, of course, but June would rather be anonymous.”

“But you still haven’t told me how you two finally hooked up.”

“You’re lucky I watch enough TV to understand your euphemisms, young man. But since you asked, I’ll tell you. It all started after the graduation ceremony when I saw her bathing naked in the creek . . .”

16

A
LIGHTNING STORM HAD
set the hills northwest of Echo Glen afire, sending great plumes of smoke up into blue summer skies. The fire department cut the electricity while they fought the blaze, and at night the flames reflected off the undersides of the clouds so brightly that it looked like the apocalypse had descended over the valley.

June spent long nights in the stables calming the horses, which seemed to smell and fear the fire. Her days were spent caring for the other animals, and in the evenings when she wasn’t in the stables, she was hard at work in the kitchen, cooking by candlelight on the old propane stove. And not just for David, but for the students too. They received neatly packaged lunches plus a hot meal at the end of each day, but David had never thought about who must have been preparing them until he saw June doing all the work. She had a few volunteer helpers who came and went, working mostly with the animals, but David got the impression that the time they had to offer was limited, and he overheard one of them breaking the news to June that she would be leaving soon for college.

David himself had been busy putting the finishing touches on June’s books, having dug through years’ worth of poorly kept records, working out figures by hand once the power was cut.
He was still waiting to present her with the bad news, however. He had tried several times to bring it up, but she seemed to know it was coming and kept herself so busy he could never get an audience with her for more than a few stolen moments here and there.

But for the first time in ages David was enjoying his work. It felt good to be doing something helpful for someone else, and he was sitting at that desk and looking out at the creek when he had a sort of small epiphany: maybe all this time when he’d been looking for some way to help himself, all he had really needed was to get busy helping someone else. Maybe that’s the secret June had discovered; maybe that’s why she cared for all those animals the way she did. She offered David a guest room, but he made sure to return to the bunkhouse with the students each evening. They razzed him a little, calling him the teacher’s pet, but only in good fun.

That Sunday was the third and worst day of the fires as the students gathered outside the bunkhouse for their graduation ceremony. There would be no Sunday bonfire, since a burn ban was being enforced countywide, and there was no ice to be used for June’s famous lemon ice cream, but she made a blueberry pan cobbler on the propane stove and they circled up around the fire pit just the same. The graduation ceremony consisted of a speech from Sebastian, delivered from the platform of the scissor lift ten feet in the air, thankfully without his bullhorn. He said things like not to keep your eye on the goal because then you’d only have one eye on the path. He said to become one with your performance.

“And above all else,” he told them, but he was looking at David now, “always be brave.”

As he lowered the scissor lift after his speech, the students readied the bucket of water they had collected from the creek. David got the impression that he knew it was coming, but he
played along and acted surprised when they doused him with it anyway. He really did have a smile that caught on like a yawn. He walked off dripping, returning moments later with a damp diploma for each of them. He had even made one for David.

They were all sitting around the unlit fire pit, eating blueberry cobbler with their hands and watching the setting sun paint the smoky clouds in glorious shades of pink, when the cars began coming up the drive. One by one, they’d pull up and stop, and then a student would get up and go around and say good-bye to everyone, paying special attention to Sebastian, whom everyone had grown to love, before climbing into the car and waving one last time as it pulled away. This caravan of farewells went on until Sebastian was standing in the drive watching the taillights of the very last car disappear into the dusk. He walked back to the fire with his head hung, his countenance clearly forlorn.

“Well, another stunt camp comes to a close, comrades,” he said. “I’m afraid this might have been our last.”

“Why would it have to be the last?” David asked.

But neither Sebastian nor June answered him. They both just looked up at the sky as if the answer were there somewhere in the burning clouds. And David knew anyway, since the answer was really on the ledger he had prepared.

“I think I’m going to turn in,” Sebastian said.

“Good night,” June replied. “I’ll catch you on the flip side.”

When June and David were alone, David brought it up.

“We really need to go over your finances, June. I’ve been trying to get a moment with you.”

“I know,” she said. “But not tonight, darling. Let’s enjoy tonight. It’s always so quiet when they leave. And the clouds are so pretty. Scoot over here. Watch them with me.”

She was sitting with her back against an old log and her legs outstretched, barefooted of course. David scooted over to
sit beside her and they watched the last of the light drain from the clouds. The fires had moved downwind, but you could still see them reflected in the sky. It was a very warm evening, maybe the warmest of the summer so far.

“I hope everyone’s all right,” David said, referring to the fires.

“It’s mostly timberland that’s burning,” June replied. “As long as the firefighters stay safe, it should be okay. Lightning’s been around a lot longer than we have. Plus, they’ll be some great quaking aspen groves in a few years.”

David looked around at the ranch. “It really is beautiful out here. I almost hate to return to the city.”

“Oh, that’s right,” June replied. “You have a job to get back to. I’m always reminded on these last days of camp that the real world still exists. I watch the cars drive away and I wonder where they’re all going. Where they’ll end up. They’re all so young. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to be staying here. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. But sometimes it’s lonely. And sometimes I think it’s a shame we don’t get to live a hundred lives. Do it all. See everything.”

“Maybe we do,” David said. “Maybe Shirley MacLaine’s not as mad as a fish in a raincoat like they say. Maybe reincarnation could be true and we’re all thirty-five-thousand-year-old spirits.”

“No,” June said. “On second thought, one life is enough. Unless I could come back as a horse. I wouldn’t mind living the life of a horse. But a wild one in a place without fences.”

“I would have thought you’d choose a bird.”

She looked at David with a smile in her eyes. “That’s the thing about people, darling; they never do quite what you think they’ll do. It’s what makes humans absolutely impossible and absolutely interesting at the same time. Like you. I never would have guessed you’d stick it out and be the last one here.”

David looked at the rolled-up certificate in his hand.

“Well, I’m an honorary graduate, I think, since I pretty much skipped the final week.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, darling; you really are a remarkable man.”

“Because I jumped over a burning car or because I was dragged through a pile of manure?”

“No, because you were stuck in your life and you did something to change it. That takes courage. It really does.” Then she laughed. “And so does taking on an ostrich. How’s your leg, by the way?”

“It was a scratch really. The last stitch fell out by itself in the shower yesterday.”

“That sounds nice right now,” she said. “A cool shower. Too bad the power’s still off and the well pump’s dead. Hey, there wasn’t any money left in my accounts for a new generator, was there?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“No, let’s go over it tomorrow. If you don’t mind staying one more night,” she added. “You might need to get back.”

He had already missed two weeks of work and really should have been getting back. But what was one more day? he thought. Besides, it felt good to be alone with June for once.

“No,” he said, “it’s no problem. I was hoping to stay. I have a little more work to do to finalize your books. I can have it ready to go over with you in the morning.”

“Good,” she said, standing up and brushing the grass off her pants. “I’m going to go check on the horses. I left a lamp burning in the living room. There’s a guest bedroom all made up in the house. You can sleep there. The bunkhouse is too big and too lonely for one person.”

David sat on the grass and watched her walk down toward the stables. She faded like a beautiful ghost into the dim red
light that seemed to be coming from the clouds themselves. David was suddenly struck by how lonely he already felt. The thought of leaving made him sad, and he could not quite picture what it would be like returning to his life in the city. He pushed the thought away, telling himself he still had tonight. Then he rose and went up to the house to finish his work.

He was at the desk an hour or so later, working by the light of a kerosene lantern, when movement outside the window caught his eye. He held the ledger up to shade the lantern’s glare from the window and he saw June standing beside the creek. What was she doing? he wondered. Then, without warning, she peeled her shirt off over her head and dropped it on the ground. She was facing away from him, but he could clearly see her naked back in the dim rubicund glow.

With a trembling hand he turned the lantern down to improve his view. He could now see her so clearly through the window that they might as well have been in the same room. His jaw dropped when she bent to pull down her pants, then stood and stepped out of them. She was now wearing nothing but her underwear, and the reflected light was so dim that it seemed to David as if her skin itself were glowing pink against the backdrop of dark trees beyond the creek. David felt things stir in him that he had not felt in many years, and this stirring made him feel at once lustful and guilty, shameful and dirty, and oh, so very, very alive.

June waded out into the creek and sat down in the water. Then she leaned her head back, letting the current sweep up her hair. She arched her back so that her ribs and her breasts pointed up to the burning sky. David felt his hand instinctively moving up his thigh. Then the guilt won, and he was overcome. He stood to leave but was glued to the window by some power beyond his control. June rose from the water and stood in the creek, looking straight back at the house and him. He wasn’t
sure if she could see him or not, the lantern having been extinguished, but embarrassment flooded over him just the same. He turned and left the window. Then he left the house.

Twenty minutes later he was lying on his cot in the dark when he heard the bunkhouse door open. She smelled like the outside when she sat down on the edge of his cot—he would never forget that. Before he could say something stupid, which he very well might have, she leaned down and kissed him. David’s hands rose to touch her and he realized she was naked. The feeling of her bare flesh sent an electrical current from his fingertips to the very center of his spine, and he pulled her to him and kissed her more deeply.

She felt small and delicate in his clumsy arms, like a thing too precious to be handled. The world ceased its spinning, at least for him, all its turning having led to this very moment—this embrace, this kiss—and he said a silent prayer that he would always be gentle and loving and generous with her. This prayer seemed necessary moments later when his army surplus cot collapsed beneath their combined weight and only his belly broke her fall. They laughed together in the dark.

“Should we go up to the house?” he asked.

“No,” she said, kissing him again. “It’s too far. Take me to the hay and ravage me like a wild animal would.”

So much for her being delicate, he thought. But he did as she had asked, standing and picking her up with strength he hadn’t known he had, carrying her over, and laying her down in the hay. Just enough red glow was coming in through the high hayloft window for him to see the outline of her face, and he caressed her hair and her lips. Then it occurred to him that they should have the talk, although he hated to spoil the moment.

“I don’t have any protection,” he said. “I’m supposed to be sterile. I mean, I couldn’t have a child with my wife, but the doctors said there was always a slim chance.”

She laughed, reaching up to place her palm against his cheek. “Oh, darling, you’re so cute. I’m fifty-three years old and we’re not making any babies tonight.”

“Hey,” he said, “it happens sometimes. Even at our age.”

“Between your sterility and my hysterectomy, if we produce a child there had better be three wise men bearing gifts outside in the morning. Now stop talking and make love to me, please, for the love of nature.”

Never before had David heard a more welcome plea, and so for once in his life, he gratefully shut his big mouth and did as he was told.