Falling for June: A Novel (23 page)

“You know what,” David said, “I do feel alive.”

Then he noticed the two vials still in his hand, forgotten in all the excitement, and for reasons he would never quite understand—perhaps due to adrenaline, or even simple elation at living on the edge with the woman he loved—David peeled off his shirt as the others had done, popped the tops off the vials, and dumped the red dye over his bare chest. Then he scooped up an abandoned cape and began taunting the passing bulls with it, shouting at the top of his lungs as he had seen done in old movies, “
Olé! Olé
!
”

To his surprise this worked, and an energetic bull veered
toward him. He stepped aside with a wide flourish of the cape and let it pass—a middle-aged matador, born again in the
plaza de toros
of an ancient pueblo in Spain. The crowd cheered him on, their eyes glued to David as he stood shirtless in the ring, holding the cape. Never before had he truly stepped onto life’s stage, and here he was now in its very center.

He looked over at June. She was standing several paces away, watching him. Her eyes were wide with surprise and she was smiling with pride. And he knew in that moment that she loved him. Really, truly loved him, as he had already loved her from the moment of their first meeting on that roof. And he also knew that they were meant to share the rest of their time together as husband and wife, and that they would someday lie side by side in eternity, happy to have lived lives worth living, happy to have found love worth sharing.

They came together and kissed. And although the crowd was cheering them more wildly than ever and the mayhem was still swirling all around them, for the few moments their lips were locked the world contained only them. June opened her eyes and smiled. Not a guarded smile, but a true smile from the corners of her mouth to the very edges of her eyes. The doubt she had carried seemed to be gone without a trace, and David was sure he saw acceptance and hope now written on her face.

June glanced over his shoulder and her expression changed to one of concern. “Drop the cape,” she said. “Let’s go now.”

He began to protest, enjoying the moment too much to let it end, but then he followed her gaze over his shoulder and saw for himself the bull standing several feet away, blowing and stomping and preparing to charge.

The cape had hardly hit the ground and they were running at a mad dash for the fence, holding each other’s hands all the way. They were relieved when they squeezed through the partition into the safety of the alley.

“We pulled it off!” David said, hugging her.

June smiled up at him. “Yes. Yes, we did.”

Of course, no sooner had they cleared the arena exit than they were nabbed by waiting police and slapped with a pair of handcuffs each.

31

I
CAN’T BELIEVE YOU
went to Spain and fought real bulls in a real bullring with a real matador’s cape! You really are the man, Mr. Hadley, you know that?”

Mr. Hadley looked very tired, but he managed a grin.

“And then there’s June,” I said. “Skydiving into the ring like she did. What a wild pair you two were. So that’s how you got arrested then. And it explains June’s matador costume in your wedding photo too, I guess. But how did you go from being put in handcuffs to being married? I want to hear it all.”

Mr. Hadley sighed. “I could spend the entire afternoon boring you with details, but the short answer is June.”

“But how? What did she do?”

He started to answer but was seized by another coughing fit, as he had been several times during his story. He took a minute to catch his breath and then went on to explain:

“It turned out the hooded man we had met the night before—coming out of the bodega, you remember—was the
jefe de la policía
. He had a soft spot for the suffering of bulls himself, you see, although he would not publicly admit this. He had been there to warn Jose and company that they were to be arrested if they protested. This battle between them had been
ongoing for years, as you might have guessed. Hell, maybe it still is. I don’t know. Excuse me.”

He looked like he was going to cough but didn’t, pausing instead to sip his cold tea. Mine was long gone.

He continued: “Anyway, at first we were labeled
taurofobos
, or detractors of the festival, and were held overnight in the jail. They even threatened us with stronger charges. However, the investigation turned up a guilty bull handler who had released the bulls into the ring to punish the protesters. The funny thing was the crowd had loved the show. Many said it was the best festival in all their years attending. And somehow, June won over the chief while being interrogated, and the two of them hatched a plan to claim that the entire stunt hadn’t been a protest but an elaborately orchestrated proposal.

“I found this out when the chief came to release me from my cell, saying that he himself would be marrying us that very evening, the final day of the festival. June kept the matador costume on to keep up the illusion. She never did tell me how she had convinced the chief to let us go. Although I couldn’t help but notice as he administered our vows that he was wearing my gold-plated Seiko.”

“What about the bulls, though? And Jose and the others?”

“The others were set free as well. The bulls were not so lucky. The bullfight went ahead as planned while we were in jail. In fact, at our reception the next evening they served bull stew. But what can you do? It was their culture, not ours. For that one night we let it go. Dancing instead, drinking and singing with the throngs of people who came to celebrate the end of the festival and our wedding.”

His gaze drifted off for a moment, as if he were lost in the past, reliving the memory.

“June was glad to read in later years that many places had
moved to outlaw bullfighting altogether, including Barcelona. I’m not sure where things stand in Aranda de Duero. You win such wars yards at a time, not miles. But right now I’m afraid I’m very tired, young man. I need rest. Would you mind terribly if we called it a day?”

Even though I had been hoping to hear more, he did look tired. His face was pale and his posture slumped.

“Of course,” I replied. “I’ll leave you to it. You’ve been more than generous with your time already.”

I rose and took up his loan file, which he had returned to me, pausing before heading to the door.

“Mr. Hadley,” I said, “I’m going to get your quitclaim signed and your short plat filed if I have to personally camp outside the bank manager’s office to make it happen. We’ll make sure June gets to rest in Echo Glen forever.”

He was still sitting in his chair, looking up at me, and tears welled up in his eyes and he gently nodded his head. When he spoke, his voice was choked with emotion.

“You’re a good man, Elliot Champ. A good man.”

Then he tried to rise from his chair but was unable to on his own. I reached out my hand and pulled him to his feet, helping to steady him on his cane. He followed me to the door, moving very slowly. I lingered to look at the paintings, keeping his pace so as not to make him feel like he was lagging behind.

When I stepped out onto the porch, I noticed that the truck and tractor were gone. Only a slight mound of fresh earth stood out against the trees at the edge of the field.

“I hope to have some info for you as early as next week,” I said. “Should I call first or just stop by?”

“Come anytime,” he said. “Except for Tuesday afternoons when the van picks me up for the clinic. Otherwise I’m here.”

“Okay.” I hesitated. “You sure you’re all right, though? I mean, do you need anything?”

He waved my offer away. “I’m fine. Don’t you worry about this old man. A lovely home health care worker comes by to check on me three times a week. Even delivers my organic groceries.” He glanced around, then added in a conspiratorial tone bordering on a whisper, “She doesn’t know, but I order the RC Cola and MoonPies from Amazon.”

“They sell those things online?” I asked.

He managed a chuckle, lifting a brow. “What don’t they sell online?”

“I hadn’t figured you for a computer man.”

“I’m not,” he replied. “I have Internet TV. I shop during commercials.”

By Wednesday I was the most popular man in the office. First, because I had two twenty-four-packs of double-decker chocolate MoonPies on the shelf behind my desk. Second, because I was handing out leads left and right since my head just wasn’t in the foreclosure business. In fact, my mind was everywhere but, moving instead between Spain, Echo Glen, and even Seattle in 1986.

Every time I walked outside the office building I’d look up and see the Columbia Center hovering high above the city, the very rooftop where David and June had first met. I almost began to doubt parts of his story, but a quick trip to the public library turned up the articles on the Barefoot BASE Jumper. It felt kind of good to be the only person other than Mr. Hadley who truly knew her identity. As if I were somehow connected to that story and that era, even though I was only four years old and drinking wine from a bottle in Belfair at the time.

I had made some progress on getting the servicer to sign off on Mr. Hadley’s quitclaim deed. Anything that would speed up getting the delinquent loan off their books was good for the big
banks, still scrambling to improve their balance sheets so they could loan and loan again. That afternoon I was at my desk killing time—lost in the YouTube rat hole, watching BASE jumpers and bullfighters—when the call came in. The bank had agreed to the terms and had signed off on the deal. They were sending the paperwork over by courier for me to have Mr. Hadley sign.

I went into Finnegans that night hoping to see Estrella. I wanted to fill her in on the rest of David and June’s story, and I guess I also wanted to get her advice too. It felt good to be helping Mr. Hadley protect June’s burial place and all, but the deal with the bank called for him to sign a deed in lieu of foreclosure and vacate the property within thirty days. Where would he go?

“It’s not your problem,” a little voice kept saying in the back of my mind. “Just get the deal over with and move on.”

But that didn’t seem right either. Unfortunately, Estrella wasn’t there to help me sort through the noise. It was her night off. I realized I didn’t have her number, which seemed strange. Why hadn’t I asked for it? I considered going to see if she was at home, making it as far as driving to her neighborhood before deciding that an unannounced pop-by seemed a little forward. I stopped into Dilettante for Viennese cocoa instead. Maybe I had even secretly hoped I’d bump into her there, but I didn’t. I guess some nights you’re just meant to be alone.

I’ll admit that it did briefly occur to me that perhaps I should spend less time working and more time meeting people. But what’s the point of making friends if you’re moving away soon? Well then, I thought, downing my cocoa and looking at the booths filled with people, maybe you’ll make more friends in Miami anyway.

“Now, you’re sure you want to sign this?”

It was the third time I had asked him.

He looked at me over his reading glasses and nodded. “You got everything I asked, and I thank you for it.”

“You haven’t told me yet where you’ll be moving.”

“Maybe I’ll move in with you,” he said, winking. Then he finished signing the agreement.

Neither of us spoke. We just watched the steam rise off of our untouched tea. I think we both sensed that today was a day for business and not a day for stories. There was a kind of finality in the air. Eventually, he reached for his cane and stood himself up from the table. He was moving much better today. He looked rested. He walked over and leaned his cane against the wall. Then he reached and took down June’s painting of Echo Glen.

“I want you to have this,” he said.

“There’s no way. I couldn’t.”

“You seemed to really like it, and it would mean a lot to me knowing that someone looks fondly at it from time to time. It would have meant a lot to June too.”

“But what about you?”

“Oh, I’ve got the real thing to look at.”

“Yeah, but you won’t in three weeks. I’m planning to help you move, by the way. And don’t even try to tell me no. It’s part of the service I provide my clients at no charge.”

“Is that right?” he asked, smiling.

“That’s right.”

He looked around the kitchen for a moment, as if quickly inventorying his things, or perhaps preparing himself to say good-bye. His face was serious when he looked back to me.

“I might just take you up on that,” he said.

Then he held out the painting, and I stood to take it from him, lifting it up and looking at it in the light coming through the kitchen window. It really was a gorgeous watercolor. I carried it with me to the door. Standing there in the foyer prepar
ing to say good-bye again, it was hard to believe I had knocked on his door less than a week before.

I don’t know what came over me, but I set his file down on the floor and leaned the painting carefully against the wall. Then I hugged him. I knew at the time it was a silly thing to do, but he didn’t seem to mind. He even hugged me back.

After I had the painting stowed carefully in the backseat of my car, I looked back to see him still standing in the doorway.

“I’ll record the short plat with the county and bring the docs out to you so we can apply for that cemetery license,” I said. “Until then try not to eat too many MoonPies.”

“It’s impossible to eat too many MoonPies,” he replied.

I shook my head, disagreeing. “I’ve been scarfing them all week. They taste like heaven but they’re hell on your guts.”

He laughed. “That’s why you need the Smooth Move.”

“You call me if you need anything, okay? Anything at all. Even if you want some help negotiating a lease or looking at properties or something. My car here gets good mileage and I love just driving people around.”

He smiled, nodding that he would. Then he held up his hand in farewell. He was still standing there, leaning on his cane and watching from the doorway as I pulled away.