19. June
JUNE
Finally sitting alone in my Land Cruiser is both a blessing and a curse. Meredith, for all her moments of stress-induced insanity and self-sacrificing idealism, had been like a cool embrace to the inferno of my conflicting emotions and priorities.
Maybe “conflicting” isn’t the best word.
I think about this as all these feelings hit me at once in the quiet of my car.
Overwhelming might be a better fit. Either way, it feels stifling without my older sister’s tired smile and the reminder that I need to put myself first. A childish part of me just wants to drive back to the Shack and ask her to stay with me, to hold my hand and tell me everything will be okay.
But there’s another, much louder part that relishes the quiet alone. The space to feel everything, to think through it all, without being perceived.
It comes in waves—the grief, the terror, the guilt. All the things I should have done and seen. All the small building blocks of terrible things stacked so precariously that I shouldn’t be surprised that they all toppled down around us. Yet the tears come anyway.
Mom.
Dad.
Richard.
Sophie.
The Shack.
Ashton.
Where do I even start trying to deal with it all?
I probably shouldn’t be behind the wheel, and I know that.
But there’s something comforting about going through the motions; it means there’s less room in my mind to feel overwhelmed by everything.
The world beyond the windshield blurs, and the familiar streets of Nantucket shift into smudged colors and streaks of light.
Gradually, the thoughts pass through, one by one.
My mom has dementia, and that’s terrifying. Both because I know so little about it and because what I do know provides little comfort. How many months—years, even—have we shared the same forty-eight square miles of island while I was kept in the dark? How much time have I wasted without my mom?
My dad left behind a suicide note. An idea I never entertained—not even once—before Meredith showed me the letter that spelled it out in black and white.
Effectively creating a fissure in the foundation of the person I consider myself to be.
The person who built a life on the back of Aiden Holloway’s passionate ideals.
My stepdad, the man who has been the symbol of my discontent for so many years, was right all along.
He’s the only person who suspected the truth about my dad, the only one who was realistic and honest about the financial situation of the Shack.
The only person who has had my mother’s best interests at heart this entire time.
My little sister is an adult, struggling to shake our outdated ideas of who she is.
Since she arrived, all we’ve done is expect her to pick up the pieces Meredith and I have been so thoughtlessly leaving behind.
Out of all of us, she’s the only one who was sane and brave enough to put an end to all this before it got out of control.
And the Shack is nothing more than an empty mausoleum dedicated to a man we never truly knew.
A money pit we’re all too out of practice to manage effectively.
Trying to recreate the joy of past summers was always a fool’s errand—I should have known better than to get caught up in the nostalgia of it all.
When I pull into my driveway, I sit for a long moment, gripping the steering wheel, letting the engine tick down and the night air seep into the car. My whole body feels like a raw nerve, but at least the tears have stopped.
Before me, my single-story, two-bedroom house stands quietly, ten miles and twenty minutes from the beach house in Wauwinet.
The pale blue paneled walls could probably use a hose-down.
I mentally add it to my to-do list, along with calling Marlene Abrams’ kid to sort out her shifts at the gallery for the rest of the summer.
It’s not until I’m out of the car and crunching across the dry grass that I even realize there’s someone on the porch waiting for me.
“June?” Ashton.
The sight of him—rumpled and worried, jogging over to meet me—cracks something inside me all over again. A fresh wave of tears spills down my cheeks before I can stop it.
“I’m fine,” I choke out, which is such a lie he doesn’t even bother to acknowledge it.
“Come on, let’s get you inside.” His hand is already warm against my back as he steers me toward the house. He helps me through the front door, and I sigh as it clicks shut behind us, sealing out the night.
It’s only after Ashton starts flicking on the lights that I realize just how at home he is here.
There’s evidence of him everywhere—several distinctly male shoes clutter the floor by the door, there’s at least one Burberry jacket hanging on the rack, and I know there’s another on the back of the chair in the kitchen.
He navigates us through the living room as if he lives here, like I’m the guest. With a jolt, I realize how true that is.
He has a yacht and, apparently, a hotel room in Nantucket town, but we’ve barely been apart for a night since we got together, and we’ve never spent a night anywhere but here aside from that first night.
I’m still processing this revelation as he pulls a heavy blanket from the hall closet and wraps it around my shoulders. He then goes into the kitchen for a moment, coming back with a glass of water that he hands to me silently.
I blink down at it, finding that my fingers are trembling so hard I have to be careful not to slosh it over the rim.
“Drink,” he says softly. “You’re freezing.”
I obey, sipping just enough to wet my dry mouth. Ashton sits beside me, close enough that his thigh brushes mine, but he doesn’t crowd me. He just waits.
And before I can stop myself, the words come pouring out.
I tell him everything.
I speak in fits and starts, my throat sore from trying to explain what doesn’t really have words. Sometimes I have to pause, press my hand to my mouth, and fight back the tears that threaten to overwhelm me.
Through it all, Ashton stays right there.
When my voice trembles, he grips my hand and gently rubs slow, grounding circles over my knuckles.
When I push the heels of my palms into my eyes, he pulls me close, tucking my head under his chin, his hands gliding over my back, slow and steady.
When I fall silent, he doesn’t push or try to fill the space.
Eventually, I notice my fingers clutching the front of his shirt, bunching it in tight little fists as if I might float away if I don’t hold on to him.
He doesn’t seem to mind. He simply shifts, pressing a kiss to the top of my head so softly that I almost don’t feel it.
By the time I finish, my voice feels raw from overuse, and there’s a wet patch on the front of Ashton’s shirt. Still, there’s a relief in not being alone with my thoughts anymore. We sit in silence for a moment, my heartbeat pounding so loudly I can hear it in my ears.
Finally, Ashton leans back just enough to look me in the eyes. “What do you want, June?” He says it like it’s the easiest question in the world.
I swallow, tasting salt, and fear, and guilt all tangled together. “Don’t ask me that. I only just stopped crying.”
“I think it’s important that you know.”
“I do know.”
“Then what’s the harm in telling me?” He’s so stubborn, which used to irritate me. It still irritates me. But…it’s so hard not to feel how much he cares when I’m bundled in his arms like this.
“I don’t know if it’s fair anymore,” I whisper. “Or if it’s even possible.”
He brushes a strand of hair out of my face, tucking it gently behind my ear. “Tell me anyway.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, allowing myself to be completely honest. “I want to spend whatever time my mom has left with my family. I want them all to stay here in Nantucket, and I want the Shack to be okay and…” A bubble of distress catches in my throat, and I realize how childish I sound.
“I don’t want to be alone again. I don’t want anyone to leave. ”
And suddenly I’m not just talking about my family.
I open my eyes when he cradles my chin with his hand. He knows. He knows what I mean because he’s looking down at me as if his heart is breaking, and I can’t let him say what I know he’s going to say because this time, it was supposed to work out. This time. Please. Please.
“I know it’s selfish. I know you have a life in New York and a million better things to do than get stuck here with me?—”
“June.” His voice cuts through the spiral, and my mouth slams shut.
This is it, the moment that tastes like cranberry pie.
And I want to kick myself because I’m not even sure I have any tears left.
“If you want me to stay…” he says. “Then I’ll stay.”
I blink at him, the words not quite computing. Because it almost sounded as if…
“What?”
Sincerity shines in his eyes as he regards me with so much warmth it feels like I’m sitting in front of a fire. “I’ll stay, June. In Nantucket. Regardless of what your sisters decide.”
The breath punches out of me like a blow. “Ashton, you don’t have to?—”
“I want to,” he says simply. “Sure, I might have to travel a bit for work, but I’d have to do that anyway. Nantucket is as good a place as any to come home to. And if this”—he gestures between us, his thumb brushing my knuckles— “is real, if we mean something, then we figure it out. Together.”
I stare at him, stunned to silence.
No one has ever offered me that before. No one has ever stayed. They always cut things off by the end of summer or ask me to go with them. As if the life I’ve built here means nothing.
But Ashton knew that. He knew I was scared of that happening.
And he offered me something else.
“You mean it,” I say, my voice small.
He smiles, and it’s the softest, truest thing I’ve ever seen. “I love you, June Holloway. Of course I mean it.”