Chapter 17 - June Refused to Become a Rumor
The next attack arrived wearing my concern for June.
An anonymous account posted that a retired art teacher had attached herself to an elderly business owner while his family worried about his judgment.
It included a photograph taken outside her house.
June showed it to me before I heard from anyone else.
“I've reported the account,” she said. “I saved the post and the messages. Now I'm making tea.”
I stared at the photograph.
The angle suggested someone had stood near her mailbox.
“Stay at my house tonight.”
“Do you want company, or are you deciding where I'll live?”
That stopped me.
I put the phone down.
“Both impulses may be present.”
“I appreciate the first.”
We discussed practical steps. She contacted the appropriate people about the unwanted attention, told a neighbor, and documented anything further. Elise received the material because it might connect to the pressure surrounding the land claim.
Then June made tea.
She asked whether I wanted honey, waited for my answer, and passed the jar. The small courtesy steadied me. Someone had made a public story out of our private life; she was keeping the ordinary parts within reach.
I remained angry enough to stir an empty cup.
“This is because of me.”
“This is because someone chose to behave badly.”
“I could have kept us private.”
“We had dinner, Walter. We went fishing. I haven't been hiding in your attic.”
I almost smiled.
She sat opposite me.
“When my husband died, people behaved as if my life had become a public memorial. When Ruth died, they probably did it to you too.”
I nodded.
“Grief doesn't give strangers ownership of what comes afterward.”
That evening, she attended her scheduled library art workshop. I offered to drive. She accepted the ride and informed me that I would be carrying supplies.
Inside, twelve adults waited beside jars of brushes.
One woman looked uncomfortable.
“I saw something online,” she began.
June placed a stack of paper on the table.
“Then you saw something unkind and inaccurate. If you're worried about me, ask me. Tonight we're painting trees.”
The woman nodded.
The room moved on.
I carried the water buckets and learned more about dignity than I had at several expensive meetings.
Afterward, June showed me a painting she had started years earlier: two empty chairs beside a lake.
“I couldn't finish it after David died.”
Her husband's name hung between us without making me feel displaced.
“Will you now?”
“I think there may need to be people in it.”
I touched the edge of the frame.
“You don't have to prove anything by staying with me through this.”
She looked almost offended.
“I'm staying because I like you. Don't make that sound less interesting than it is.”
I laughed, finally.
On the drive home, she took my hand at a stoplight.
“I won't let them turn us into an embarrassment.”
The next morning, Sayer's attorney denied any connection to the posts. Elise made no accusation she couldn't support. The anonymous account disappeared. Its consequences didn't disappear as neatly.
June received two more messages. We saved them.
At Finch, Marcus asked whether I wanted staff told anything.
“Only that personal harassment isn't company gossip.”
He nodded.
By lunchtime, the workshop photograph June had shared herself was circulating locally: twelve paintings of increasingly improbable trees, one man holding a mop, everyone smiling.
Her caption read: Good class. Poor janitor. Excellent company.
Nell printed it for my refrigerator.
That evening, I found June painting at her kitchen table.
The two chairs now held people.
One figure had my unfortunate fishing hat.
“You made me handsome,” I said.
“Art permits interpretation.”
I stood behind her and kissed the top of her head.
For the first time since the envelope arrived, I imagined a future larger than defeating somebody.
Then Vic called.
A severe storm was moving toward the county. Two of our largest sites lay beside a creek already running high.
May you like
I looked at June.
She set down her brush and reached for my coat. Outside, the first rain tapped the glass. Whatever our enemies had planned for tomorrow, the weather had brought work that couldn't wait for anyone's permission to matter.
