Falling for June: A Novel (30 page)

Authors: Ryan Winfield

BOOK: Falling for June: A Novel

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She looked off out the window for a minute, biting her lip like she did. Then she went on.

“You wanna know something? When you started coming into Finnegans I was really attracted to you. But I didn’t think you were the kind of guy I could ever end up with long-term. That’s what was so funny when you told me you only dated girls
you didn’t like. Because I knew what you meant. I’d been hoping you’d ask me out so we could maybe have a little fling.”

“Wait a minute. So you’re saying I was the guy you didn’t really like that you wanted to go out with just for fun. Like I was getting played at my own game.”

She smiled. “I didn’t know you then. I just thought you were handsome and interesting. But then this whole thing with Mr. Hadley made me look at you differently. And it honestly made me think about my own life differently too. We both deserve the kind of love they had, Elliot. And I intend to wait for it.”

“And you don’t see that kind of love with me?”

“That’s the problem. I did start to see it with you. But it’s not possible to see it or you if you’re all the way in Miami.”

We fell silent then and kind of sat looking at each other. I could tell we were both wondering what to say next. There was this feeling like maybe if either of us said the wrong thing there might be tears. And it felt like we’d both already cried enough.

Georgie swung by and glanced at our untouched cocoas, and then at our faces. “Uh-oh,” he said, “this doesn’t look good.”

Then he crossed his arms and glared at me.

“If you do anything to hurt this young woman, Romeo, I’ll personally see to it that you never dine at Dilettante again.”

“He doesn’t care,” Estrella said. “He’s moving to Miami.”

“Miami? Of all the places. Don’t worry, honey, he’ll catch crabs on South Beach. Everyone does. The cocoas are on me.”

Then he floated off on his imaginary skates.

“You wanna know what’s funny?” Estrella said.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“We’re not really even breaking up since you never actually asked me out on an official date.”

“I didn’t?”

“No. I asked you to buy me a hot chocolate when you got
back from Echo Glen on your birthday, but you never did ask me out. Isn’t life a kick sometimes.”

She had a point there. Life could be a real kick.

I walked her home even though she said it would be easier if I didn’t. It was cold and clear. The frozen leaves crunched beneath our feet and we could see our breath.

“I wonder what the temperature is in Miami,” she said.

“Seventy-seven. I checked it this morning.”

She stopped and turned and threw her arms around me. For someone who claimed she didn’t like me that much, she sure held me tight. It felt really good. I rested my chin on the top of her head and looked at her gate and the walkway that led up to her door. I doubted I’d ever see it again and that kind of broke my heart.

She pulled away and looked up into my eyes.

“Do me a favor, will you, Elliot Champ?”

“You name it, Estrella Ackerman.”

“You make damn sure that whoever you end up with deserves you.”

She rose up and kissed me on the cheek. Then she turned and walked away from me, through the gate and up to her house. She had just put her key in the door when I laid my hand on her shoulder. She turned around and I saw that she was crying. I took her in my arms and hugged her tight. Then I took her face in my hands and looked into her eyes and kissed her. She was smiling when I finally pulled my lips away.

“You make damn sure he deserves you too.”

She bit her lip and nodded that she would.

I never would know if she stood to watch me go or not. I didn’t have the nerve to look back. I guess I knew that if I did I wouldn’t be able to keep walking.

T
HEY DON’T CALL
it the Sunshine State for nothing.

I had been there less than a week and already they were addressing me as the Yankee Screamer at the office. I made the mistake of asking what a Yankee Screamer was.

“You know, one of you Yankees who comes down here and gets so sunburned you scream when you’re touched.”

Then this joker laid his hand on the back of my neck and I damn near jumped out of my chair. I had to stop myself from punching him. Seems the guys in the foreclosure-counseling business are about the same on either coast. But they weren’t that bad, I guess. They invited me out for dinner and drinks after work.

Trouble was nobody in Miami eats dinner until ten, and drinking doesn’t start in earnest until around midnight. Who the hell can keep up that kind of schedule? I tried to ignore the ridiculous fist pumping and the strobes and the deafening techno blare, shouting over the noise to the bartender for a club soda. He charged me ten bucks and didn’t even give me my lousy lime. It sure wasn’t Finnegans.

The condo was nice, though, it really was. It had a big glass door and a balcony that looked over the pool. Of course, every time I looked down there I kept hearing Mr. Hadley’s words:
“
The sun is nothing but a weapon
,” he’d said. And as an official Yankee Screamer I could now attest to that.

Besides being lonely, the worst part about it all had to be Santa Claus. I was coming home late Saturday afternoon from buying groceries and there was old Kris Kringle himself, ringing his little bell for donations, it being officially the first week of December already. I gave him a couple of bucks, but I’ll be damned if he wasn’t wearing sunglasses and Bermuda trunks. That’s not right. And neither were the neon-pink lights strung on the palm tree in the building lobby.

My new lease-to-own condo had a fancy gas fireplace—although I can’t imagine why—and I sat that night on my rented sofa and looked up at June’s painting of Echo Glen, which I had hung above it. It was about the only thing in the place that I owned, and I was beginning to think maybe it was the only thing there I wanted to own.

I realized while sitting there that maybe you just have to achieve some dreams in order to be free of their grip. How many nights had I sat looking out that rain-streaked trailer window telling myself that everything would be okay if I could only manage to escape? I think what that boy really wanted was to escape the sadness that he had tried his best to cover up with pages torn from glossy real estate magazines.

I took out my trusty old condo clipping and held it up. Here I was; the boy had escaped Belfair at last. I flipped the switch to turn the fireplace on, tossed it in, and sat back to watch that tattered old dream burn.

There was a dusting of snow on downtown Seattle, and white lights wrapped the sidewalk trees. I pulled my coat tight and walked down my old familiar street.

The place was almost empty when I walked in. I had no
way of knowing if she’d be there or not, but she was, standing behind the bar with her eyes on the door as if she’d been there expecting me the entire time. But if she had been expecting me, you’d never have known it from the way her face lit up with surprise. We locked eyes and neither of us could contain our smiles. I took a seat at the bar.

“What’ll you have, handsome?” she asked, still beaming but with a mischievous glint in her eye now.

“Club soda with lime and a menu, please.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” she said. “I recognize that order. Didn’t you used to come in here before?”

“Why yes, I did,” I said.

She nodded, squinting at me. “I know you. You’re that guy who moved to Miami.”

“Well, here I am back.”

“Didn’t you buy a place there?”

“As it turns out I got a great deal on a run-down old ranch house around here, next to a cemetery I own. And they tell me it should close in time for Christmas.”

“Hmm . . . ,” she said, twirling her hair on her finger now. “So, that’s why you came back then.”

I shook my head. “I came back because I thought maybe I’d officially ask a certain someone out on a date.”

“Officially? Oh . . . sounds serious.”

“It’s very serious indeed.”

“Assuming this certain girl was to say yes, what would this official date look like?”

“I don’t know,” I said, meeting her smiling eyes with my own. “How do you feel about hang gliding?”

Epilogue

T
HERE IS NEARLY
a foot of fresh snow on the trail now, and the crystalline pine branches tinkle overhead like wind chimes as I pass. The creek is frozen. A narrow swath of unobstructed twilit sky illuminates the glen. Icicles hang from the trickling falls. The scene is so pristine and sacred—the leafless oak tree, the hill blanketed by untouched snow—that I just can’t bring myself to take another step and disturb it. From where I stand I can just make out the two headstones, side by side, so close together they nearly touch.

I’m proud to be the caretaker of this private little cemetery. I’m even prouder to be the caretaker of the love story that rests here. I don’t know if I’ll be buried here or not. Let’s hope that day is still a very long ways off. But I can tell you this much for sure: if you shout a wish in Echo Glen, that wish comes true.

It’s almost fully dark now, just enough light reflecting off the snow to make my way. I stop just short of the bridge, on the far side of the creek. A curl of white smoke rises from the chimney. The lights are on. The house is warm. Mr. Hadley’s rooster stands at the bay window. I see Estrella beyond it in the living room, trimming our Christmas tree.

I think sometimes life lines up to give you exactly what it is you really need, and on my thirty-third birthday that’s exactly
what happened to me. My father had done the best he could. But he had left me with a lot of fear and some bad advice about love. And then a very special man came along and taught me otherwise. I can’t put it any better than he put it, so here is what he said:

“
Find yourself someone worthy of your love, and love her with all you’ve got. It’s the only thing that’s worth a damn in this life.
”

And you know what? He was right.

Acknowledgments

It was at a café in New Orleans that my editor, Sarah Cantin, asked me what my next book would be about and when she might be able to expect it. All I could tell her at the time was I was working on something special and would be heading off to Spain to jump out of airplanes in pursuit of inspiration. I could sense her concern even though she was kind enough to try to hide it. I would like to thank Sarah now for her gentle encouragement, her insightful editing, and her patient reassurance. Some literary journeys seem far too personal and precious to ever share, but Sarah’s deep and immediate love for these characters, along with her enthusiasm for their story, made letting this manuscript go to print just a little easier.

I also need to thank a very special friend who limped into my life at a low time, lifted me up, dusted me off, and taught me how to live again. We made a vow to never harm each other and we broke the vow only once. I did not know it until I had finished writing, but this love story was my way of finally saying good-bye. But then as James M. Barrie so touchingly wrote in
Peter Pan
, “Never say good-bye because good-bye means going away and going away means forgetting.” And I will never forget, dear friend. The smudge-faced boy you loved will be forever sitting beside you on that lakeside bench, watching the sun go down on Neverland.

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