June

by Miranda Beverly-Whittemore

  As for Clyde, he’d apparently left town on business; somewhere south, Lindie’d heard. He’d left behind his Olds for Thomas to chauffeur Diane and Jack during the day (and, apparently, Jack out to Idlewyld at night, although Lindie had decided the less she knew about the details of that arrangement, the better). Eben didn’t touch Clyde’s coffee cake, so Lindie took it out to Idlewyld and Jack and June washed it down with mouthfuls of warm coffee from his thermos.

  After the weekend, Eben announced he was going on a trip himself, down to Columbus. He’d be gone a few days. Of course Lindie thought of the lawyer he’d mentioned to Clyde. Lindie hoped her father knew what he was doing; she doubted Clyde would be pleased to hear of him digging into all that business. But she was just a child, so she watched Eben drive off without a word, then latched the windows and locked the doors until the small wooden house was tight as a bread box.

  It was stormy that third week of June. Thunder and lightning sent the crew running for cover on more than one occasion and had Electric grumbling about safety issues. By Wednesday the fifteenth, they’d only gotten a day of shooting in for the week, and the crew was in a mood to match the weather; especially concerning was whether they’d be able to keep to their production schedule, which had the film slated to wrap on the thirtieth. Promises had been made to the crew back in early May that everyone would be home to their families the Saturday before Independence Day.

  While the crew took cover in their slickers and rain boots, Ricky and Sam and the makeup girls debated whether the shoot was cursed, and listed the myriad setbacks that had dogged Erie Canal from the beginning: the food poisoning from a batch of bad shrimp while they were on the studio lot; losing the original location in upstate New York and waiting for a week in Los Angeles to get word on the new one; and an epic argument on the studio set between Diane and Jack that involved her beaning him with a prop head of cabbage. Lindie could tell the crew had plenty more to say about Diane, but Ricky made it clear he wouldn’t bad-mouth a star to her set pet, so Lindie made an offering with an exaggerated rendition of Diane’s line flubs, which had them all in stitches, and haunted Lindie the next day in the trailer, when Diane’s face lit up at the sight of her and Diane told her she was her favorite person in the whole state of Ohio.

  —

  Before Lindie knew it, it was Thursday the sixteenth. Eben was back from Columbus and had headed down to the Red Door Tavern for a night of cards. The rain had stopped but the clouds were still gathered over town like grazing sheep, making the midnight bike ride soggy and buggy. At Idlewyld, the bullfrogs and crickets were quiet compared to the whining thicket of mosquitoes. Lindie curled under a blanket on the damp mattress in the corner, struggling to keep her eyes open as Jack’s and June’s familiar voices lulled her to sleep. Their conversation had turned speculative; Lindie had hoped that, once they’d run out of facts to share, they’d get to the romance, but apparently she was wrong. Jack asked what June wanted more than anything in the world.

  “To have a place and time to paint. I suppose I have that in my room, but not really. My mother’s always there, ready to point out what I’ve done wrong. I know that sounds silly, since I’ll never paint more than those stupid still lifes. And, anyway, I know I won’t be painting much when, well, you know.” Lindie was surprised to hear June refer to Artie, however obliquely; he’d never been mentioned inside these four walls. June’s voice turned practical. “Soon I won’t have time to paint. I’ll have a family and a household.”

  “June.” Jack’s tone was sharp. “Tell me you aren’t going to marry that man.” But there was tenderness there, the kind men used with women when discussing love.

  “You don’t know him,” June replied softly, after a minute.

  “I know he isn’t here.”

  “His work takes him—”

  “I know he’s a damn fool to leave you behind.” Jack’s voice tightened.

  “He’s…” Her voice trailed off.

  Lindie inched up the mattress so she could watch them from a better angle. Now this, this was what she’d been hoping for: something unbridled. Jack was kneeling before June on the hard wooden floor. He had her hands in his. Their eyes were locked; there was nothing else in the world.

  “Is he like this?” he asked.

  A shy smile danced across June’s face. “Like what?”

  He lifted June’s hand then, slowly, carefully, until it was an inch from his lips. He turned her arm, exposing her soft wrist. He rubbed his thumb there, his eyes closing at the softness of her skin. He opened them again, and met her gaze. Then bent to kiss her inner wrist. Once. Twice. Three times.

  A dreamy bliss overtook June as Jack’s lips pressed her flesh. She lost all composure; even her hair seemed to loosen. Lindie believed she could hear June’s heart hammering until she realized it was her own.

  Jack was the one who ended it. With visible restraint, he lowered June’s hand. “You’re young,” he said. “You think this might be what happens every time. But I promise you, this”—and his voice swelled with emotion—“this is extraordinary. To be such friends, already.”

  June withdrew her hands and folded them into her lap. The possibility dissipated the second she said, “I gave my word.” Jack sat back onto his heels.

  They watched each other for a long time, only their breath tangling. Jack wanted to touch June again, and she wanted it too, Lindie could see that. But June had an aggravating willpower beyond Lindie’s understanding. Why not forget stupid old Artie when you had the most famous man in the world sitting before you, offering himself up?

  But June told Jack it was best for them to stop meeting like this. “Don’t you think so?” she asked, her voice masking a swell of tears. How could June say one thing and so obviously feel the opposite? Lindie wanted to fling herself up and insist, demand, that June stop lying to herself, that Jack not let her ruin everything. But nosing in would only make it worse, so Lindie lay there, listening, instead.

  Jack begged June to come back the next night. He promised he’d respect her wishes and try to never speak like that again, to never touch her that way, even though it seemed impossible to promise such things when what he felt was so undeniable. June replied that it was time to wake Lindie.

  On the bicycle, June reached her hands around Lindie’s waist. The night had quieted with the promise of dawn. Jack stayed inside. Lindie called out good-bye. Then Jack was running toward them, his dark form desperate in the night.

  “Please,” he begged. Lindie could hardly bear the ache in his voice. “Please come back tomorrow.”

  “I shouldn’t,” June said. “You know it. I don’t know what I was thinking, Jack.” Her voice trembled as she said his name.

  “Don’t do this,” he said.

  “I’m doing what’s right.”

  “Sunday, then. Come back Sunday. Promise? You won’t regret it. I’ll be good.”

  June’s arms clutched around Lindie. She told Lindie to go.

  “She’ll be here,” Lindie said. “I promise.”

  —

  “He loves you,” Lindie said, after a mile on the open road.

  “Men only want one thing,” June replied angrily. So that was it? She was afraid of how Jack had touched her? He hadn’t even touched Lindie and she could feel his lips shimmering on her skin. Wasn’t that the whole point of this—to feel that powerful urge?

  Lindie braked. She turned to look at June. Her friend’s features were murky in the thick night. “Artie’s not a saint just because he doesn’t seem to want it. And Jack’s not the devil because he does. You want it. You want him. You want him so bad it hurts.”

  “And what would you know about it?” June sniffed. Lindie inhaled the damp, dewy sourness of June’s armpits. The girl’s lashes curved against the swell of her full cheeks. Her lips were bee-stung, her nose small and precious as a shell.

  Lindie couldn’t bring herself to answer. All she could manage was to pedal June into the last of the night.
>
  June was different on Sunday night, which was midnight black and moonless. She clambered onto the back of Lindie’s Schwinn. She wore saddle shoes and a simple cotton dress; no pretty frock. But it hadn’t been very hard to convince her to come, even if June hadn’t been exactly friendly about it.

  When they got to Idlewyld, lit up with its now-familiar kerosene glow, June set her shoulders and took a long breath, stepping onto the porch with her jaw tight.

  As soon as they stepped inside, it was obvious that the place had been transformed. First of all, it was clean—no clouds of dust to set them coughing, no spiderwebs hanging from above. An Oriental rug lay on the floor, and the broken windows had been covered with plywood so the breeze no longer whistled in. But that was just the beginning. The broken furniture had been replaced by a new armchair, a sturdy, wide table, and a giant easel. And there were canvases and tubes of oil paint, paintbrushes, watercolors, reams of paper, and colored pencils. And books. Books stacked everywhere. Heavy, expensive, colorful art books. Chagall and Picasso and Monet and van Gogh, and, of course, Pollock.

  In the middle of it all stood Jack, grinning. June couldn’t help herself—she gasped in delighted wonder, then turned, slowly, through the space, lifting each new object with her delicate fingers. She opened the slim Pollock monograph, eyes drinking in the photographs of the splattered paintings. Then closed it again as though she couldn’t bear its pull. She stepped back, one step, and said to Lindie, “Please wait outside.”

  There was no point arguing. Lindie took one look at Jack before slinking out. He offered a grim smile.

  Of course she eavesdropped. Plywood could do its best to cover a window, but sound leaked out, and there were plenty of cracks to peek through around the edges. Lindie planted her Keds in the milkweed and peered in.

  “How did you do all this so quickly?” June was asking.

  “Think of me as Santy Claus.” Jack was clearly pleased with himself, if careful as he spoke.

  “No one can know about our meetings, Jack. I hope you haven’t broken my confidence.”

  “I told you,” he replied, “this time with you is sacred. I wouldn’t endanger it for the world.”

  “I’m sure Diane would disagree.” June crossed her arms. Was that jealousy?

  “Diane is none of your concern.”

  “Isn’t she? She sleeps in the house right beside yours, and sometimes in your bed.”

  “June, I assure you she’s been nowhere near my bed since I met you.”

  “But she’s been in your bed before.”

  Jack didn’t reply.

  “It doesn’t matter,” June said crisply, as though he was the one who’d brought Diane up. “It doesn’t matter who you take to bed or who you love because I’m getting married in three weeks.”

  “He isn’t even here,” Jack replied impatiently. “But let’s say he does come back. Do you really want to marry a man who’d abandon you until just before your wedding day? You don’t have to marry me, but please marry someone who can’t stand to be apart from you. Please marry a man who aches to hold you, who sees only your face when he closes his eyes.”

  “And you’re that man?” June’s voice was bold.

  Jack was quiet for a moment. Then: “I’d like to be.”

  “It’s impossible.” June’s jaw tightened. “It’s impossible for you to do things like this.” She gestured toward the room’s transformation. “This is too much. It isn’t even my house. Someone will discover it. We’ll get found out.”

  “So let them find out.” He had her now, hands on her shoulders. “Marry me, June. Marry me and come away and live the life you never imagined.”

  “It’s too fast,” June said, her voice suddenly thin. “It’s too much. Don’t you see? I’m not ready. I had everything worked out.” She started to weep.

  “Oh, June. June June June.” She let him pull her in against his chest. He soothed her, and Lindie leaned her face against the house and imagined he was comforting her too, that she could feel his heartbeat through the warm fabric of his shirt.

  June’s tears abated. Jack took her face into his hands. “June June June,” he cooed. “I forget how young you are. This place has been your whole world. It’s not fair to assume you’re ready to leave it, not yet.” He kissed the tip of her nose. She blinked up at him as he pulled away. He seemed in control now, which Lindie liked. He’d speak reason. “I made it this way because you deserve to paint whatever you want. Not because I think you owe me something or even because I’ve grown to love you.”

  June gasped.

  “Paint the sky. Paint the night. Paint yourself. Just paint, please. I can’t bear to think of you stopping.” Jack let her go then, and stepped back and away. His heavy step carried him across the room. At the door, he stopped. “Every artist has the right to her privacy. So I won’t come back unless you invite me. But I won’t say I’m sorry for getting in your way. Maybe someday you’ll agree with me.”

  He opened the front door. Lindie darted away from her eavesdropping spot, toward the first oak that lined the drive. Soon, she heard the crunch of Jack’s soles, the rocks skittering, and the sound of his voice, quiet: “She’s a hard nut to crack, Rabbit Legs.”

  “I know,” Lindie said, but she couldn’t tell if he heard.

  —

  Lindie found June in the middle of the small room, arms crossed, brow furrowed.

  “You’re not going to give him a chance?” She couldn’t help herself; she couldn’t believe, that after all that, June was just going to let Jack go.

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

  “He’s a movie star, June. He wants to marry you. For all we know, Artie’s lying in a ditch somewhere.”

  June’s lip curled. “You can go.”

  “Don’t end it like this. You love Jack. You should be with him.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.” June was mad now, mad enough to sound mean, Lindie realized in a satisfying wave of fury.

  “I’m only trying to help.”

  “Why do you care so much about helping me? I’m the only one who should care who I marry. It’s my business, not yours.”

  “I care because you’re my friend, June.” Lindie was seized with regret. She didn’t want to fight. She only wanted June to be happy.

  “You care because you have no life.” June’s mouth had formed a cruel line. She held up her fist and ticked her fingers off, one by one. “No mother. One friend. You dress like a farmhand. And people are going to start calling you ‘sir’ if you keep this up.”

  Sticky tears bloomed in Lindie’s eyes.

  “Go ahead, cry,” June said, coldly crossing her arms. “At least I have a future planned out. I don’t even know what yours looks like.”

  Lindie tore her way outside, through the scratching branches. She found the cold metal of her Schwinn and pedaled off. June would have five lonely miles to walk before sunrise. She deserved it.

  —

  Lindie hardly slept those few remaining hours of darkness. When her alarm clock blurted its shrill instruction, she tried to ignore the heavy weight on her chest and completed her first morning ritual: checking Uncle Lem’s from the window. She was surprised to discover Clyde Danvers’s Chevrolet Bel Air—the car he drove himself—just pulling up out front.

  In the blooming dawn, Lindie watched a tall man emerge from the passenger seat. He unfolded his arms and legs like one might an umbrella, then turned and took in the grand home. He removed his fedora at the sight just as Clyde clambered from behind the wheel. Clyde clapped the other man’s shoulder and pressed him toward Uncle Lem’s. The tall man dropped his head, like a captured prisoner in some western on the big screen at the Majestic.

  Lindie’s heart sank. Artie Danvers was back in town.

  Two Oaks had forgotten how petty and selfish humans are. Perhaps the balm to its decrepitude was not as easy as it had once believed, simply securing people to inhabit it. Under Cassie’s watch, a hole had br
oken through the roof, a hole that hadn’t been there before. Tate had damaged one of the master bedroom’s door hinges when she slammed it. And Hank’s solvents had turned from efficient to offensive; Two Oaks didn’t especially want to be rid of the layer of grime on the dining room table, practically all that was left of June and Lemon and Adelbert.

  It wasn’t that Two Oaks wanted them out. It only wanted the humans to care about the state of its need. The festering gash atop its roof might be an opportunity. Perhaps it could utilize that emergency—and others like it—to demonstrate its true state of crisis, and galvanize the humans, and win repair.

  Tate and Elda’s vicious argument was met, then, with a jostling of the termites from the base of Two Oaks’s foundation. When Cassie locked herself into the office with the stack of bills and forced herself, finally, to look at them—thus releasing great swaths of anxiety into the floor and walls and ceiling—the house responded with rusty water, unbidden, from the taps. And the phone call Tate received midafternoon, which kept Nick shut into Tate’s bedroom for hours as she wrung her hands and begged him to fix it, resulted in an epic toilet backup that even Hank’s industrious plunging couldn’t repair.

  They reconvened for roasted salmon and asparagus, but ate at arm’s length at the mahogany table, barely making small talk from their separate corners. After dinner, Tate didn’t give any of her father’s boxes a glance, instead calling Nick to her. Nick cast Cassie a disappointed glance but followed Tate nonetheless. Cassie remembered how powerful she’d felt in the upstairs hall, commanding them to do her bidding, and wondered what had gone wrong in the intervening hours. Elda yawned theatrically. Hank started clearing.

  The plumber came after dark. Cassie couldn’t imagine what that cost; she was letting Tate pay. Tate and Elda hid in their respective rooms, but Cassie had the feeling that even had they been twirling through the foyer in ball gowns, the man wouldn’t have noticed; he didn’t seem a popular culture type. He emerged from the upstairs bathroom with a grim prognosis. “I fixed it best I could, but these are old pipes. You’re going to need an overhaul.” Hank paid him in cash. Cassie felt relieved Nick was locked in with Tate; she knew he’d remind her about the roof.