Falling for June: A Novel Page 21

  Eventually, David and June collected their packs and strapped them on, each of them taking up a bicycle, mounting their seat, and thanking the boys in Spanish before they pedaled away together. David glanced once over his shoulder, expecting to see the boys still standing there watching from the road. But all he saw was a distant glimpse of flailing elbows and churning legs as they ran the other direction toward home. He looked over at June, pedaling a steady pace beside him. His heart swelled with happiness. They’d made it this far; they’d make it through, no matter what. They had love. And love was enough.

  He looked ahead at the empty road and enjoyed the warm sun on his neck and the cool breeze against his face.

  “I haven’t forgotten that you still have my watch in your pocket,” he said. “I want it back.”

  “No way,” she replied. “You were ready to just give it away, so it’s mine now.”

  “And what exactly are you going to do with a men’s Seiko Automatic Chronograph?”

  “I plan to pawn it to help raise money for Echo Glen.”

  David let them pedal for another minute or two in silence before he looked over at her again and said, “Why don’t we pawn it for wedding rings of our own instead, since I already used the proceeds from my mother’s house to pay off the mortgage on Echo Glen.”

  “You did not.”

  “I did.”

  He half expected her to argue with him over it, but tears welled up in her eyes again and she met his gaze long enough to smile a silent thanks. Then, as if to keep her from crying again, she stood up from her bicycle seat and took off ahead of him, pedaling fiercely and shouting back over her shoulder, “Last one to Aranda de Duero has to buy the wine.”

  27

  YOU CAN’T STOP there.”

  “I need to rest, young man. It’s nearly nine and I begin to fall apart around then. You don’t want to see it, trust me.”

  He used his cane to hoist himself up from the table, taking away my empty plate.

  “But you haven’t told me about the wedding yet. And what about that matador costume? How does that figure in? And being arrested. Come on, I want to hear the rest of the story.”

  “I’ll tell you the rest when you come back.”

  “You want me to come back?”

  The idea of returning made me happy. I was really growing fond of Mr. Hadley, and it occurred to me that if he wanted me to come back it was possible he was also taking a liking to me.

  “You’ll have to come back to collect your money,” he said.

  Uh-oh, I thought; now things were going to get real. I had honestly forgotten why I was there to begin with. It seemed more like visiting an old friend by now than a pre-foreclosure counseling visit. I couldn’t even remember where I had left his file. In the living room? On the couch? The barn maybe? I knew I hadn’t taken it up to Echo Glen in the rain.

  “Maybe we should call it a night,” I suggested, rising from the table. “And since you’re tired you can wait to tell me your proposal until I come back. How’s that sound?”

  “Sit down, please,” he said. “I’d like to tell you now, while you’re here. It won’t take long.”

  He opened a drawer beside the phone and removed a thick manila envelope. Then he carried it over and laid it down on the table in front of me. “Take a look in there.”

  I sighed, reminding myself that this was, after all, my job. If he wanted to talk about his foreclosure, I’d have to let him. I opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of papers, quickly looking them over. There was a map of the property with new boundary lines drawn at the southeast corner, and an application to separate off a tiny sliver of land.

  “I’m not sure I get what all this is about,” I said.

  “This is what I need you to help me with.”

  “But what is it, exactly?”

  “It’s a short-plat survey to spin off the piece of property where June is buried. Just the northeast corner of Echo Glen.”

  “I see that, but why?”

  “The bank is foreclosing—as you well know, since it’s the reason you’re here—and there’s nothing much I can do about that. I’m embarrassed about it, for sure. But maybe you can understand that mortgage brokers were calling and sending letters all the time at the height of the market, offering easy loans and nearly free money, or so it seemed.”

  “I know,” I said. “I was just getting into the business then. I wanted to help people buy houses, not foreclose on them.”

  “Well, I knew at the time that it was too good to be true, me being an accountant and all. I never would have done it, except June was getting worse by then and there were new experimental treatments that our insurance wouldn’t cover. I took out the loan, despite her protests, and we spent the money on bills here, and on sending her to Portland for treatments. I was able to buy her a better wheelchair and build the ramp.”

  “Did they work?”

  “The treatments? They helped some. But you know how things turned out. And now I’ve accepted that the property is lost, and I’m ready to leave here. But there’s a problem.”

  He looked up at the painting of Echo Glen on the wall and sighed before going on.

  “I buried June up there in Echo Glen, as was her wish, but I did it without the proper paperwork. Apparently Washington State only lets you inter someone on private property if the property is designated as a cemetery.”

  “That’s what this form is about?”

  He nodded. “I need to make this happen, Elliot. I need to ensure that June can rest in peace forever where she lies.”

  “So, that’s why you told me the story.”

  “That’s why I wrote that letter and invited you, or Mr. Spitzer, I thought, out here for this chat. And yes, it’s why I told you our story. You needed to know how important it is to June and to me that she stay buried here.”

  “Okay, I’m with you,” I said. “What can I do?”

  He reached and sifted through the paperwork. “I need you to get your bank to sign off on this.”

  I looked it over. “A quitclaim deed?”

  “Yes, releasing their interest in the portion that will become the cemetery. Then I need it filed with the county. In return, I’ll agree not to fight the foreclosure and I can be out of the house as soon as two or three weeks.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “That’s not important right now. Will you help me?”

  “Well, our company only contracts with the bank, and this is a bit of an unorthodox settlement for us to make. Usually we just offer a cash incentive for people to leave.”

  “I’m not looking for any money,” he said. “In fact, hold on just a moment . . .” He reached into his robe pocket and produced his notebook and glasses. “Let’s see,” he said, putting the glasses on and opening the notebook, “you said you needed about twenty grand to have enough for your Miami condo down payment, is that right?”

  “Yes, that’s right. Right around that much.”

  “Well, how about you do the legwork to get this paperwork signed and filed, and I’ll pay you twenty-five thousand dollars for your trouble. That’s your down payment plus a little something extra. Sound fair?”

  It sounded more than fair. It sounded downright generous.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Hadley, but as tempting as it is there’s no way I can take your money. It would be a conflict for me.”

  He frowned, looking at me over his reading glasses. “Are you sure? It’s a lot of money.”

  “Yes, it is. And you should use it to settle into a new place. There’s no need to offer me any money for my help. I’m happy to do it for free. And besides, it’s my job.”

  His frown lifted into a hopeful smile. “So, you’ll do it then?”

  “I’ll sure try. I can’t guarantee anything, but it’s a tiny part of a big parcel you’
re asking them to split off. Plus, I’m seeing a way that I might be able to pitch it as a positive.”

  “How would you do that?” he asked.

  “I’m guessing that once I make the bank aware that there’s someone buried on the property they might have some issues when it comes time to sell. The only thing banks hate more than losses are liabilities. But if the burial spot is spun off into a separate parcel then there’s nothing to disclose.”

  Mr. Hadley grinned. “I like the way you think, young man. Bravo! I knew you were right for the job the moment I opened the door this morning and saw you.”

  I smiled, happy to have made him proud, but also relieved that his proposal was actually something I could try to help with. I think he felt relieved too, because he leaned back and sighed.

  “You’re sure you won’t take the money?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well,” he said, “it’s a big favor you’re doing me and I’ll really be in your debt if you pull it off. I’m in your debt just for trying. You’re a good man, Elliot. June would have liked you.”

  I got the feeling that this was his way of telling me that he liked me, and it made me blush a little. “Thanks, Mr. Hadley. I really like you too.”

  I thought he might correct me again and tell me to call him David, but he didn’t. He just sat there in his crimson robe and smiled at me. There was an awkward moment between us, neither seeming to quite know what to say to wrap up such a long and personal day spent together. He looked beat, as if the day had taken a lot out of him. Realizing how late it was, I figured I should bail and let him get some rest.

  “Oh shoot,” I said, looking at my phone. “It’s gotten late. You think I could use your restroom again before I go?”

  “Of course,” he said. “You know where it is.”

  When I returned to the kitchen from the bathroom, he was stirring the contents of a plastic bucket with a spoon.

  “I put the papers back in the envelope for you there,” he said, nodding toward the table. “I was hoping you could take this warm mash to Rosie on your way out. She needs her pain medication, but I’m too tired.”

  “Do I need to feed it to her?”

  “Just set it in front of her, she’ll know what to do.”

  He followed me to the door. After I had put on my shoes and jacket, he handed me the bucket.

  “I know you say you won’t take the money, but I’d like to thank you somehow, Elliot.”

  “It’s no problem,” I said. “I’m happy to help. It’s my job.”

  “No,” he replied, “not just for that. I’d like to thank you for listening. It meant a lot to me to tell our story to someone.”

  I wasn’t sure why, but I was suddenly overwhelmed by a desire to hug him good-bye. But then I had the bucket of mash in one hand and the envelope in the other—and besides, men don’t really hug. Not like women do, anyway.

  “It was my pleasure, Mr. Hadley. Getting to listen to your story is more than thanks enough. It’s been a great day.”

  I moved toward the door, and he opened it for me. I was halfway to the barn when I heard him call after me.

  “Happy birthday, Elliot.”

  I turned around and looked at him, standing in the open doorway. I had forgotten all about my birthday.

  “Thanks,” I called back. “Now shut the door before you let all the heat out.”

  He laughed. “You sound a lot like June.”

  “I take that as a compliment,” I said, smiling.

  He nodded. “As you should. Good night, my friend. Please drive safely. Deer around these parts like to jump out at you for fun, I swear. And thanks for feeding Rosie. This old head needs to hit the pillow. Good night!”

  He waved one last time before shutting the door.

  I stood for a moment in the drive, just listening to the quiet and feeling the cool air against my cheeks. The clouds had cleared and the stars were out. I couldn’t remember a time when they had looked so close, perhaps because I was far away from all the light pollution in the city. I made myself a promise to get out in nature more. Go camping or something when the weather warmed up in the spring. Or maybe I’d be in Miami by then. I wondered if you could see the same stars from there.

  The barn was dark and it took me a minute to find the light switch. When I did, only a single dim bulb blinked on at the far end of the barn, near Rosie’s stall. It seemed like ages ago already that Mr. Hadley and I had come out here in the rain to deliver warm apples after our own lunch. When I reached the stall, Rosie was fast asleep on her side. I set the bucket of mash down beside her head and turned to leave. I was exiting the stall when I stopped and turned back, sensing that something was wrong.

  I knocked on the door for a full five minutes before finally giving up. Not a single light was on in the house, leading me to think that Mr. Hadley must have already turned in and gone to sleep. Who knows, maybe he took his hearing aids out. I decided I’d call in the morning to let him know.

  The car was cold, so I sat for a minute to warm it up. But the truth was I didn’t want to leave. I finally put the car in Drive and pulled away, the sweep of my headlights illuminating the property that I had seen for the first time just that morning but would never see the same way again. It’s funny how things look different once you know their history.

  I saw the wheelchair ramp built over the porch. I saw the barn where Rosie lay, her spirit now running in the fields of whatever dreams a blind horse has of heaven. I saw the old barn where David and the others had bunked for stunt camp, above which Sebastian had temporarily lived with his bullhorn and his Steve McQueen poster. I saw the old fire pit, nearly hidden now behind the tall grass—the fire pit where David and June had first shared lemon ice cream while being harassed by hippies; the fire pit where they had later flirted with one another when stunt camp was through. At least I assumed it was the same fire pit, but it didn’t really matter, I guess, because all of it faded into blackness as my headlights passed by and I pulled away and left the Center of the Universe behind.

  You sure could say it had been an interesting day. But it had been much more than that, really. It had been a sad but uplifting experience. An honor to hear Mr. Hadley’s story, in a way. And above all else, it had been one hell of a birthday.

  28

  I MAKE IT A personal policy to never go to Finnegans on Friday nights—too many amateurs; too much drinking—but this was one night I made an exception. I just couldn’t go home to my apartment. Not after the day I had just had, followed by the lonely drive into the city from Echo Glen.

  “Hiya, handsome.”

  As soon as I heard her voice I knew it was exactly what I needed to hear. And it was probably why I had come too.

  “Hi, Estrella. How are you? Busy in here tonight.”

  “That’s Friday for you,” she said. “What’ll ya have? It’s on me, since it’s technically still your birthday.”

  I glanced at the clock: eleven fifteen p.m.

  “You don’t happen to have any RC Cola, do you?”

  She shook her head.

  “I didn’t think so,” I said. “How about a club soda with lime.”

  “Getting wild tonight as usual I see,” she joked, taking down a glass and scooping it full of ice. “You hungry?”

  “No thanks. Say, you ever had a MoonPie?”

  “What’s a MoonPie?”

  She handed me my drink, and I handed her the Polaroid that Mr. Hadley had taken of me blowing out my candles. She smiled, looking at the photo. “I haven’t seen a Polaroid photo in ages. You look happy here, but that’s a funny little cake.”

  “They’re popular down south, I think.”

  “Polaroids?”

  “No, MoonPies.”

  “I thought you said you were from around here.”

  “I am. I grew up in Belfair, u
nfortunately.”

  “Oh, come on,” she said. “Belfair’s not that bad.”

  “Not that bad,” I said. “What do you know about Belfair?”

  “We lived in Bremerton through my sophomore year of high school. My dad was in the navy.”

  “Okay, but it rains all the time and you know it.”

  “Yes, but that’s why it’s so green.” Then she smirked, adding, “Of course, you won’t have to worry about that once you move to Miami.”

  “Florida gets rain,” I said, shrugging.

  She laughed. “In the form of hurricanes.”

  What does everyone have against Florida? I wondered. “You sound like a client I spent all day with.”

  She handed me back the Polaroid. “Well, you have wise clients then.”

  “I’ll miss this place more than the rain anyway,” I mumbled.

  Someone called from down the bar, distracting her. She held up a finger, then turned back to me. “What’s that now?”

  “Nothing. You’ve got customers.”

  “It’s all right. They can wait.”

  “I just said I’ll miss this place when I move to Miami.”

  “Miss Finnegans? Really?”

  “Not Finnegans so much. But, you know, seeing you.”

  “I said I’ll be right there,” she called down the bar. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Come again?”

  And this was why I didn’t come in on Fridays.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I’ll just watch TV.”

  “That infomercial for a silly home paraffin wax kit’s been running all night again. I can’t find the remote.”