Chapter 38 Junie
Junie
On the drive home from the shop, Georgia mentioned Eddie a few times—digging for an answer to what was bothering her—and Junie
didn’t deny or confirm the assumption that they had a tiff of some kind.
Now Junie lies on her bed with a paperback romance novel trying to get through this page without her mind wandering. She doesn’t
want to miss any of the story, but her life is just so loud. And distracting. Puds stirs on the floor beside her, and the
sound pulls her out of the story again. She remembers when she used to think she had problems. Like a competing salon. Or
an acne flare. Even Mama dying, though it was certainly a massive, life-defining problem, seems easier in this moment. At
least then Junie had no hand in it. She wasn’t the one who was the physical ticking time bomb.
And then there are the results of the genetic testing.
Eddie hasn’t pushed the discussion. He probably knows it’s up to Junie in the end and she’ll do as she pleases, as she always does.
Plus, this morning’s appointment was emotional enough, admitting that chemo was happening and then actually scheduling the first appointment on her way out. It was a lot.
Even if she was weary before, she knows she’s overdue to share her diagnosis. She’s only doing herself harm by holding her
people at bay, not letting them flood her with their affection and acts of love. But that’s something that can be addressed;
a remedy can be attempted. I’m going to do chemo. The science is so strong. Research is robust. There is a chance I might be ok. For herself and for them all. It has never been more painful to be bound up with these women she adores than now, when she
can’t help but threaten to shatter their collective.
But because of the test that was misunderstood, the opportunity to avoid this whole miserable muck is gone. Georgia will be
racked with guilt, and that might just be the thing, fiercer than any cancer, that stops Junie’s heart. She can’t promise
she wouldn’t rather die than set this on her sister.
More painful than all of it is this moment in front of her when she can no longer deny the truth: She must tell Georgia and
tell her everything. She cannot joke or play or garden her way out of this one; Georgia deserves the full truth.
Out in the living room, sounds drift in that’ve become familiar, having Georgia here. Her shoes kicked off. Her purse dropped
onto the entryway table with the rattle of her keys. Her flop onto the sofa. It’s an advantage to having a tiny old house,
an organic intimacy with the people you love most.
When footsteps approach her door, Junie leaps to turn off her lamp. She might’ve accepted telling Georgia, but that doesn’t
mean it’ll be this very moment. She rolls over onto her side and pretends to be asleep. The door clicks open and the light
from the hall fills the space made by the cracked door and shines on her eyelids. A soft thump of Puds’s tail as he meets
Georgia at the door, then sneaks out of the opening to the rest of the house. The bed sinks with the weight of Georgia as
she sits gently beside Junie, who pretends to stir.
Georgia runs a gentle palm over Junie’s forehead and whispers, “It’s ok, Junie Bug. I’ve got you. Everything’s ok. Back to sleep, love.”
Georgia stands and tiptoes out, shutting the door with a muted click.