Page 50 of Off the Beaten Path

I follow the line of her finger to the cabinet she’s pointing to and find a sixty-four ounce wide-mouth canning jar interspersed with others of varying sizes.

“Perfect,” I say, carefully pulling it from the cabinet and turning to fill it in the farmhouse sink. Everything about Holden’s house is nicer than mine, although the decor isn’t what I would have chosen. That is, except for the sunshine yellow wall in the living room.

Nodding in that direction, I ask, “Did your dad paint the wall that color?”

June turns to look at the living room, noticing the wall I’m referring to, and a grin splits across her face. “Me and Daddy did it together. I wanted it to look like your house.”

Her words hit me square in the chest, and surprise spreads through me in increments, leaving no square inch untouched. “My house?”

“Like your yellow wall,” June says, as if this should be obvious. “It’s my favorite.”

“How do you know it’s yellow?” I ask, shutting off the tap. I put the flowers in the jar, arranging them until I’m happy with the way they’re positioned.

“Oh!” June says, and points to the window above the sink. “You can see into your house through that window. Sometimes Daddy will shake his head while he’s washing dishes when he sees you dancing in your living room. But I like your decorations. They’re so colorful.”

I turn, glancing out the window above the sink, and sure enough, Holden left this information out when he told me about being able to see into my house. I imagine during the day or at night, when my blinds are open, they have a clear shot of all my lonely shenanigans. For some reason, though, the thought doesn’t rankle like I expect it to. It almost fills me up, making me warm all over, like laying out in the sunshine on the first warm day of spring, knowing that while I’ve been all alone in my house and June and Holden have been alone over here, we’ve had each other in some way, making each other laugh even if we weren’t actually together.

Tears prick at the backs of my eyes as I move away from the window, catching sight of the clock on the stove. It’s late. Later than I assume June usually stays up. Blinking back the unexpected tears, I say, “How about we get ready for bed?”

June surprises me by not putting up a fight. Instead, she just jumps down from her stool and heads for the hallway. I follow after her, and she leads me into her bedroom. It’s an explosion of light green and pastel yellow and blushing pink and soft lavender. It feels like stepping into one of the wildflower meadows at Misty Grove in spring.

“Do you need help with anything?” I ask as she pulls open her drawer, a mess of pajamas stuffed haphazardly inside. My eyes snag on the wild mess of her hair. “Want me to brush your hair for you?”

June’s gaze meets mine in the mirror. “No, I don’t like brushing my hair.”

A smile curves my lips, because I can’t count the number of times I said the same thing as a kid. “Not even when you shower or take a bath?”

She shakes her head. “Sometimes, but not usually.”

“What stuff does your daddy put in your hair after you shower or take a bath?”

June’s nose crinkles. “He doesn’t put anything in it.”

“Ah,” I say, finding the root of the problem. “Well, what would you say if I gave you some stuff to use in the shower and after you get out that will keep your hair from getting so tangled? Could I brush it out for you then?”

Skepticism is written on every smooth line of June’s face, but eventually she shrugs. “Okay.”

“You go brush your teeth, and I’ll run over to my house and get it, okay?” I ask, and June nods, looking a little more excited.

My phone buzzes with another message from Holden as I let myself into my cottage.

user6872:Everything going okay? We’re still not moving.

After grabbing the hair products from my bathroom and stuffing them in a plastic grocery bag, I text him back.

LikeStrawberryWine:Everything is great here. June told me about how you can see into my living room. Guess I should stop walking through there naked…

I send the message before I can think better of it, before I can remember he’s sitting in a car with his mom and sister, who are notorious for trying to set him up, but I can’t bring myself to care. Really, I just hope it will make his lips twitch in that little half smile, the one I see in my dreams when I’m tangled up in my bedsheets, praying I don’t wake up just yet.

user6872:Wouldn’t that be a shame.

I smile to myself as I make my way back over to Holden’s, plastic bag of hair products in hand. When I open the front door, June is standing on a barstool that she must have dragged across the kitchen, trying to reach into one of the upper cabinets. She stares at me, eyes wide, before her mouth splits in a mischievous grin.

“What are you doing, June Bug?” I ask, closing the door behind me. From here, I can see the neon orange jack-o’-lantern bucket inside the cabinet, presumably full of old Halloween candy.

“Daddy lets me have candy before bed,” she says sweetly, her little hand inching closer to the bucket.

I nod, humming in the back of my throat, pressing my lips together to keep from smiling. “Is that why you waited until I left to get some?”

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