Falling for June: A Novel (14 page)

“It’s good to see you coming to your senses,” I said jokingly. “But let’s get back to your story. I think you were about to list your family home for sale.”

“That’s right, I did. And I spent that night there in my old bed after I’d listed it too. It was the last time I ever slept under that roof, and I swore I could hear my father out in the living room listening to the eleven o’clock news. It was a nice sound to fall asleep to. The next day I left to see June . . .”

19

I
T WAS SUNDAY
afternoon by the time he pulled into Echo Glen, and he saw no sign of either Sebastian or June. The truck they shared was gone, and the house was closed up and quiet. David parked anyway and walked down to the stables. As he passed the ostrich pen, the big bird lifted its head and followed him with its curious avian eyes.

“Easy, boy,” David said. “We called a truce, remember?”

He found Rosie in her stall, gnawing unenthusiastically on hay, and he reached into his coat pocket for the apple he had bought from a roadside fruit stand on his way.

“Hi, girl. You remember me?”

She lifted her head and licked his outstretched hand, signaling that she did. He couldn’t help but wonder if a blind horse could recognize voices the way a blind person could. Or perhaps each hand had a particular taste. He held out the apple, and after a few curious licks, she sucked it up into her mouth and crunched it loudly.

“Isn’t that the most beautiful sound in the entire world?”

June was standing in the entrance to the stable, smiling. The open doorway at her back cast a nimbus of golden light around her so that she appeared to David to be an angel called into being by the sound of a horse eating an apple, or perhaps
simply by his own silent desire. June joined him at the stall and reached out to rub Rosie’s head.

“She likes you,” she said. “So far she’s been pretty skittish with people. Even the vet had a hard time getting her to settle down for her shots.”

“Maybe she should have shown up with an apple instead of a needle.”

June laughed. “There’s truth in that.” Then she looked at David and he thought he saw a hint of sadness in her eyes. “How was your week?”

“It was okay,” he said. “How was yours?”

She shook her head. “Not good. I got some bad news.”

“About Echo Glen and finances?”

She didn’t answer his question.

“Do you have time to take a walk?” she asked. “I’d like to show you something.”

They crossed the creek together on the footbridge and walked into the wood. The shade felt nice. When they reached the point where David thought he remembered turning off to go hang gliding that night, he started to take the breakaway path but June gripped his arm and stopped him.

“I haven’t forgotten I owe you another lesson,” she said, “but right now I’d like to show you someplace very special.”

The path she led him up wound through old Doug firs, taking them slowly higher on gentle switchbacks until David could just glimpse the fields and house below them through breaks in the trees.

“Is this all part of your property?” he asked.

“This is nearly the edge of it,” she said. “We’re surrounded by state land, but fortunately because of the creek they don’t lease for logging near here. What I want to show you is just ahead, around the bend there.”

They walked together the rest of the way in silence, at least
until they rounded the corner into a glen and David impulsively said, “Whoa! It’s beautiful.”

He was standing next to June and looking up into a narrow mountain glen. The headwaters for the creek ran through the center of the glen, fed by a waterfall tumbling over a wall of moss-covered granite. There was a break in the surrounding trees the width of the glen and the sunlight illuminated the dewy moss, turning it into a carpet of sparkling green. There was a low hill beside the pool at the base of the waterfall with a lone oak tree growing on its crest. The oak’s thick leaves filtered the light, green and gold, onto the mossy hillside below.

“It’s absolutely stunning,” David said, drinking in the view.

“This is Echo Glen,” June replied. “Come on, I’ll take you to my special place.”

She took his hand in hers and led him farther into the glen. At the base of the hill, June kicked off her shoes. David did the same. Then they walked barefoot together up the hill. The moss felt cool and soft beneath David’s bare feet. When they reached the tree, June sat down with her back against the trunk and sighed as if releasing every care she had ever had in the world. David sat beside her, and together they watched the waterfall. It was not loud—the water ran low in the summer—but the sound was as soothing as any David had heard.

“Why is there no English word for that sound?” he asked, almost to himself. “The sound of a waterfall spilling into a pool. Or is there one and I just don’t know it?”

June appeared to agree, closing her eyes and saying, “There ought to be a hundred words to describe it.”

Yes, David thought, there should be a hundred words at least. But there ought to be a hundred more to describe it heard in the company of someone you love.

“If you yell a wish at the waterfall from right here it echoes back,” June said, opening her eyes. “And then it comes true. I
know because this is where I sat when I wished for this place to be my home. I suspected then what I know now, that this is where I would spend the rest of my days.”

“How did you find this place?” David asked.

“I came here to teach hang gliding for a summer. An old couple owned the property, but they had both moved to New Hampshire, where they later passed away, and the hang gliding school was leasing the property from their children, who also lived on the other coast. I got in touch with them and bought the place on the spot.”

“Was it your plan to make it an animal sanctuary?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head and smiling. “That was an incremental accident. I was dividing my time between here and Los Angeles, working down there whenever I could. Then one by one, I seemed to come across animals in need. Or maybe they came across me. I don’t know. But here I had all this property and these old barns and stables sitting empty. So I started taking them in. Then word got out and the phone began to ring. Before I knew it, I had way too much responsibility here to spend much time in LA, plus falling down for a living starts to get old. That’s when I officially founded Echo Glen.”

“When I was doing your books it looked like the nonprofit was pretty well capitalized initially,” David said. “You must have had a big donor to start with.”

“We did.” She chuckled. “That big donor was me.”

“You did this all with your own money?”

“Why not? I had been fortunate, hadn’t I? Being paid pretty well pretending to be big-name stars, jumping out of airplanes or burning buildings. Did you know I once crashed a Shelby Mustang wearing a mustache and a wig? Anyway, this seemed like as good a way as any to give back. You can’t see it now, but we’ve helped a lot of animals over the years. Nursed them back
from the brink, placed them in homes. I’m proud of what I accomplished and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Even though you’re out of money now?”

“What’s money good for if it isn’t used for good?”

They sat quiet for a while, watching birds flit between the trees and listening to the murmur of the waterfall. After a while, David reached and took June’s hand in his.

“I have to tell you something,” he said. “Remember how I told you about my family house up in Bellingham? How Realtors kept calling me to deal with it? Well, it seems like Californians are selling their homes for a lot of money and retiring up there, and the old place is worth more than I thought. I finally listed it yesterday. And when it sells I should have enough to pay off your mortgage here.”

When he finished delivering the good news, he looked over at her, hoping to see the smile that he had come already to love. But all he saw was confusion in her eyes. She released his hand and turned to face him.

“I can’t take your money, David. It’s out of the question.”

“Why not?” he asked. “You take donations for the sanctuary all the time.”

“That’s different and you know it.”

“How is it any different?”

“Those people can afford to part with the money for one thing. You have your own retirement to think of. You don’t want to end up with nothing like me.”

“That’s my choice, not yours. And didn’t you just say money wasn’t good for anything unless it was used for something good?”

“Don’t do that, David. Don’t turn my own words against me like that.”

“Fine, but I’m still donating the proceeds when the house sells.”

“No.” She said it like she meant it. “I’m not accepting it, David. When people pledge money they do it in amounts they can afford. And they do it for the animals, not because they’re expecting something in return from me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, June?”

She opened her mouth to reply but appeared to change her mind, getting up instead and walking over to stand by herself and look off toward the waterfall.

Then she said, “We should be getting back.”

David stayed seated.

“I can’t believe that you think I’m doing this expecting something in return, June. What, just because we had sex?”

“I don’t know what you’re doing it for,” she said, still looking away.

“Maybe because I just want to, June. Can’t that at least be a possibility?”

She turned and walked back, standing to look down on him. Her eyes were wet and she was shaking her head.

“You don’t want to fall in love with me, David. You really don’t.”

“Who said I was falling in love?”

“Are you telling me you’re not?”

Now David looked away. “Maybe I already have,” he said. “I don’t know.” Then he turned to look up at June again. “But you don’t get to decide who I fall in love with, June. If you don’t love me back, that’s your business. My love doesn’t require it. And neither does my gift.”

“You hardly even know me.”

“That’s bullshit, June. How well does anyone ever know anybody? I knew you the moment I saw you on that roof. And I think you knew me too.”

“Come on, David . . .”

She walked off a few paces again, standing at the hill’s edge
and looking down into the pool with her arms crossed. David got up off the ground and went to stand beside her.

“Listen, June.” His voice was gentler now, almost resolved. “I know I’m just a dumpy old accountant, not some Hollywood hotshot. It doesn’t take a genius to know that some suicidal slob you met on a roof isn’t exactly the world’s greatest catch. I know this. And I know I don’t deserve someone like you. And that’s fine, too. I’m not asking for anything. I’m really not. You’ve done enough for me already.”

“That’s silly, and you know it,” she said.

A few quiet moments passed between them. Then he asked, “Which part?”

“Which part what?”

“Which part is silly?”

“All of it,” she answered. “But especially the part about you being dumpy and not deserving me. I happen to think you’re very attractive. Don’t laugh; it’s true. And besides, I’ve had quite enough of Hollywood and its hotshots. But this isn’t about that, David. There are things about me you don’t know. Hell, there are things about me I didn’t even know until recently. So let’s just let it go for now. All right?”

He wanted to push the conversation, but something in the tone of her voice was almost pleading with him to let it go, so he did. He couldn’t bear to see the pain that was in her eyes.

“Will you still give me that glider lesson?”

She looked down for a moment, and then the smile he had longed to see crept back into her eyes.

“Fine,” she said. “But I won’t have you talking nonsense about giving me your money while I’m a captive audience a thousand feet in the air. No funny business. Promise?”

“No funny business. Scout’s honor. Can’t I at least grope you a little in the harness, though?”

She laughed. “I usually charge extra for that, but seeing as
how you’ve already paid, it’s okay. But we better get moving. We’ll have to carry the glider up, and we’re losing daylight fast. There isn’t any moon to fly by tonight.”

They walked down the hill together and quietly reclaimed the path. When they had left the glen and the sound of the waterfall behind, David stopped.

“What’s the matter?” June asked.

“Wait here a second,” he said. “I forgot something.”

She looked confused but agreed to stay put while he turned and jogged back up into the glen. He never would know for sure, but he suspected then, as he did many years later long after it had come true, that from where she stood waiting for him on that path she must have heard the wish he hollered at the waterfall come echoing back.

20

H
E STOPPED THE
story there and reached for his cane. Then he rose from the chair and walked to the window and looked out. When he spoke again, it was almost as if he had forgotten that I was there and was talking instead to himself.

“The sun was setting when we launched the glider, but it wasn’t that cool yet. It was still July for God’s sake. Yet she was shaking like a leaf in my arms when we landed.” He shook his head. “And all I cared about was me, me, me, and how good I felt at the time. I didn’t think anything of it. I didn’t even offer her my jacket, not that it would have helped. I had no way of knowing, did I? It never occurred to me before, but she must have known already. She must have known.”

“Known what?” I asked. “What was wrong?”

At the sound of my voice he seemed to come to with a jolt, turning from the window. He looked momentarily confused, glancing around the room, and then to me, as if he had to think about where he was.

“I was hoping to finish the story before we lost our daylight,” he finally said, “but it appears my timing was a little off. I think it’s time we take a walk, if you’re up for it.”

“But it’s still raining,” I said.

“You don’t look like you’ll melt, young man. I’m pretty sure
I’ve got some galoshes that will fit your feet, and we can bring along the bumbershoot.”

“Bumbershoot?”

“Umbrella,” he said. “I’ve got a big one.”

It turned out he was wrong about the galoshes. They wouldn’t stretch over my shoes. Instead he found me an old pair of rubber muck boots, far from a perfect fit but large enough to do the trick. But while he had been wrong about the galoshes, calling the umbrella big was absolutely accurate. I wasn’t sure whether it was a golf umbrella or some kind of gag gift, but it looked like it was meant to be stuck in a picnic table and was large enough and sturdy enough to protect a small family from a hurricane. The damn thing was heavy too.

“Do you usually carry this umbrella yourself?” I asked as we left the porch and walked around behind the house.

“Lord no,” he said. “This is actually the first time I’ve used it. I won it from the golf store in a radio raffle. You should have seen the box they sent it in.”

“Well, now I see why you call it a bumbershoot; I’ll bet you could use it for a parachute in a pinch.”

He led me across the creek, over the old footbridge, and up the path into the wood. The rain thundered loudly on the big umbrella and our boots plashed in puddles on the path. As we walked deeper into the forest, the trees blocked the worst of the rain and the pounding on the umbrella quieted to a patter, allowing us to talk.

“You’re taking me up to Echo Glen, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “There’s something there you need to see before I can explain my predicament and my proposition.”

“Good,” I replied. “I was worried there for a minute that maybe you had a little hang gliding adventure planned for us.”

He laughed. “I wouldn’t do that to you. My flying days are far behind me now. Besides, the only person I ever took tandem
was June. We had one last flight several years ago. Hot summer day, lots of thermals, we stayed up for over an hour. You should have seen her smile. It really was beautiful.”

We walked quietly for a while after that. Partly because the rain falling through the trees created a solemn feeling in me, and partly because Mr. Hadley began to struggle as the path inclined. He had brought along his cane and was leaning on it more and more, his breathing becoming labored and his pace slowing considerably. Looking back now, there was no way he should have been climbing up that path—although when I casually mentioned that maybe we should turn back, he told me that no hitch in his step could keep him away. He said he’d gone up every day, rain or shine, for five years. And once we got there I understood why.

I heard the waterfall before I saw it. Then the trees cleared overhead and the rain returned to the umbrella canopy as we rounded the bend and walked into Echo Glen. The result of the rumbling waterfall and the rain pelting the umbrella was that I could hardly hear myself exclaim, “Whoa!”

Echo Glen was even more beautiful than I had imagined it. A narrow cut in a sheer face of granite cliff, over which the waterfall spilled into a pool, with the gorgeous, clear-water creek weaving through the glen. Then I saw the moss-covered hill and the oak tree. Many of the tree’s leaves had fallen, but those that remained were reddened a startling shade.

I couldn’t tell whether he was waiting to catch his breath or maybe saying some kind of prayer, but Mr. Hadley paused at the base of the hill and bowed his head for a moment. When he did finally start up, I followed behind, holding the umbrella and preparing myself to catch him in case he slipped. But I had nothing to worry about because the surefooted old dodger mounted the hill like a goat. I came up beside him and stood looking down at the leaf-covered mound. I knew
what it was, of course, even before he knelt to brush away the fallen leaves.

The humble stone was inscribed with these words:

HERE RESTS

JUNE LOUISE M
C
LEOD-HADLEY

MARCH 3, 1933–OCTOBER 10, 2010

HER SPIRIT HAVING RETURNED HOME, “JUST BEYOND THE SECOND STAR TO THE RIGHT AND STRAIGHT ON TILL MORNING.”

It was a simple headstone with a simple message that was not lost on me after having heard her story. But still, she hadn’t passed until 2010, which meant there was a lot of story left to hear. Mr. Hadley was kneeling beside the grave with his hand on the stone and his head bowed, and I stood quietly by, holding the umbrella but not wanting to disturb him. He eventually went to rise but wobbled on one knee and fell over and sat beside the grave. My initial instinct was to help him up, but then I didn’t want him to feel embarrassed, so I sat down beside him on the wet ground and propped the umbrella up between us.

“I was just about to sit down for a rest myself,” I said.

He smiled, obviously aware that I was full of shit. Then he put his hand on my arm as if to thank me. The rain pelted the umbrella above our heads and the waterfall poured down into the pool. It was kind of nice and kind of sad.

“Isn’t it a beautiful sound?” he said.

“The waterfall or the rain?”

“Both,” he said. “All of it.”

“It’s nice,” I said. “Although I prefer the sun to the rain.”

“That’s right,” he said. “Mr. Miami. I’d almost forgotten. But sunshine doesn’t have any history. You know where it comes from, anyway. Not so with the rain.”

“Sure you do. Rain comes from a raincloud.”

“Yes, but how did it get there?”

“How did it get there? Well, I’m no meteorologist or anything, but I did take basic environmental studies. I think it’s called the hydrologic cycle. It evaporates from the oceans. Because of the sun, I might add.”

He nodded. “Fair point, about the sun.” Then he wagged a finger. “But you said yourself it’s a cycle. That means each of those drops could have come from anywhere, you see.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Follow one drop with me. Come on. Try it. There. That big one that just hit. See it?”

“I see a bunch of them.”

“Exactly,” he said, raising his eyebrows like a proud professor. “A bunch of drops raining down onto an untouched glen, dripping off our umbrella, joining others in a clear mountain creek, swelling the rivers, and finally pouring into the sea to join all the other drops waiting there in that vast pool of experience, each molecule with a story of its own.”

“You’re saying each raindrop has a story.”

“It’s possible, isn’t it? Each person sure does. And just think of the places and the people each raindrop might have touched. There. That one. Maybe it quenched Joan of Arc’s thirst while she carried her banner in Orléans. Or that one. A sacred drop, perhaps. Could it have landed like a prayer on the upturned face of our Man on the cross? Another, humbler drop. This one watered a field of poppies in Spain. This one fell on my sweet, sweet June on our wedding day. I watched it drip down her cheek. I tasted it on her lip when we finally kissed after saying ‘I do.’ No, it’s not just a cycle, young man. It’s an echo, I tell you.”

“Is that why June named this Echo Glen?”

“Yes,” he said. “Our lives echo. Love echoes. And that wish I yelled all those years ago echoes, right here, along with our love
story that unfolded when it came true—the love story that lies beside the waterfall with my dearly departed June.”

I looked over at the stone beside us, and for a moment it almost seemed as if there were three of us sitting on that hill together, watching the waterfall and the rain.

“I know you told me not to say I was sorry,” I said, “but I am sorry about your wife’s passing. I would have loved to have had the chance to meet her.”

He patted my arm. “She would have loved to have met you too.” He was quiet for a while. Then he said, “She wasn’t sad, you know. Not in the end. She died with a smile on her face. She couldn’t say it, but I think she knew she was going home. And she knew I’d be joining her there soon.”

Somehow a falling leaf had gotten past our umbrella and was clinging to Mr. Hadley’s damp hair, and as he mentioned his someday joining her, his position next to his buried wife with leaves already landing atop him was not lost on me.

“Does it make you sad to think about it?” I asked. “Dying, I mean.”

As soon as I’d said it, I realized how inappropriate it seemed. But I guess I just never felt comfortable asking my own dad this kind of stuff, and I was curious. Plus, I really had grown to like Mr. Hadley, and the idea of his dying made me really sad for some reason. But he didn’t seem offended. He just thought for a minute, then looked directly at me as he spoke:

“I don’t know if this answers your question—and I’ve never much cared for unsolicited advice, so forgive me this one time for offering it—but I’ll tell you this, young Elliot: one lifetime is enough when you spend it in love. Yes, it’s this old man’s opinion that a life lived for love is a life well spent.”

I’ve never been a big believer in signs and all that junk, and after everything that’s happened I’m still not, to tell you the truth, but I’m not exaggerating even a little when I tell you now
that as soon as Mr. Hadley uttered that sentence—well, the rain suddenly stopped and the sun dropped below the clouds, and an absolutely beautiful rainbow from the mist began rising above the falls. If it wasn’t a sign, it sure was impeccable timing. And it was a big bonus to finally set that huge umbrella down for a bit.

“Hey, Mr. Hadley,” I said after a while. “Can I tell you something?” He looked at me and nodded, so I went on: “This has been both the strangest and the best birthday ever, and I’m glad it was me who got your letter.”

“Well, don’t speak too soon,” he said. “You haven’t heard my proposal yet.”

“I’d like to hear the rest of your story, actually.”

He looked a little surprised. “You would?”

“Yes. Like what was going on with June? And how did you two save Echo Glen? And you mentioned something earlier about being arrested in Spain. I’m really curious.”

“I knew you’d fall for her,” he said. “Everyone falls for June. Maybe we should head back, get inside, dry off, and then I’ll tell you the rest. I’m afraid this wet moss has either soaked straight through my pants or I’ve had an accident sitting here. Give an old man a hand up, will you?”