“This day had to come, June. You couldn’t have pretended forever that Elwood was still alive.”
“I know. It’s just…I feel like it’s all slipping away from me now. My home, my work, my life. I feel like I am losing everything.”
Melanie gripped the wheel a little harder. “Forgive me for saying so, but I think it’s cruel that Elwood hasn’t left you a thing in his will. I’m sorry if that’s hard to hear. But honestly, June. How could he have left you nothing?”
June shrugged. “He paid me to be his assistant and caregiver after Frank died. I have most of that in savings still. I didn’t have a lot of expenses. He knew that.”
Melanie cast a glance toward June. “I’m not talking about what you have in your own bank account. I’m talking about what he had in his. And that house? Your home? To give it to strangers? You’re family. I get that he felt bad about what happened to Ruthie, butstill. You say he knew you had most of your earnings in your savings but he also knew that’s all you had. Your own husband left you nothing. Isn’t that right? Frank left you nothing?”
June startled as if struck.
“Okay. I’m sorry,” Melanie said quickly. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just trying to…” Her voice trailed off. Elwood had been a good friend to her, and a wise one, but she was becoming increasingly perplexed about this side of him. This side he never showed to anyone. The side he kept hidden from everyone. This side that she now found so self-focused and unkind.
“I’m just trying to understand why…” Melanie couldn’t ask the question; it seemed far too harsh.
“Why I loved him anyway?” June said.
“Yes.”
June was quiet for a moment as both of them stared at the road ahead, a stretch of asphalt and white dividing lines that stretched far into the horizon. “It was a million little things, I guess,” June finally said. “Or…or maybe for no reason at all. It was the same with Frank. I can’t list reasons why I loved either one of them. I don’t think true love is like that.”
“Of course it is. Those reasons are how we know it’s love.”
June shook her head slowly. “No, I don’t think so. Reasons might explain why you’re attracted to someone or enjoy being with them or why you like them. But love is…it’s deeper than that. Higher. Elwood had fallen in love with Ruthie just because she was Ruthie. And if he’d married her, those boys would have been his stepsons. He would have been their stepfather. He would have helped raise them. Loved them. Of course he’d want to provide for them. You understand that, don’t you?”
Melanie let June’s words sink in. They explained a lot. Still…
“His love for Ruthie didn’t mean he couldn’t love you, too, as the widow of his brother,” Melanie said. “He could’ve provided for you, too, June. You actuallywerehis family.”
June let out a long breath. “Maybe a healthy person would have seen how to do both. He wasn’t, though, was he? He wasn’t a healthy person. That’s probably my fault. Maybe I should have insisted he try other doctors. Other treatments. But those were things he didn’t want to do. If I had insisted, I think he would’ve asked me to leave, and that’s something I didn’t want to do.”
They were quiet then, and Melanie turned on the radio for Christmas music, but there were only news updates of the inferno to the west.
27
Though she had been to Palm Springs often in the past, the stark beauty of its treeless foothills as golden brown as toasted bread and the larger snowcapped mountains that towered above still took June’s breath away each time. The little city itself was an oasis of hotels and mansions and palm trees situated like a shining gem on an immense swath of tawny-hued velvet that seemed to reach forever in all directions.
Elwood’s hideaway was at the farthest edge of Old Las Palmas, a neighborhood set against the base of the San Jacinto Mountains and home to dozens of Hollywood elite who’d wanted, like Elwood had, a haven far from the rat race.
Kirk Douglas had a place a mile away from Elwood’s bungalow; so did Cary Grant, and Judy Garland, and others. The movie stars’ homes were immense and gated, and Melanie now drove past several of these as they motored toward Elwood’s place, a little two-bedroom house on an acre of land that was far smaller than the estates they’d driven past, and nowhere near as posh.
But the tile-roofed, white stucco bungalow tucked away behind a stand of acacia trees was exactly what Elwood had wanted.
Elwood hadn’t been here since before the accident. After it, June and Frank went only a couple times to check on the place. Once Frank died, only Max and the occasional old friend of Elwood’s would ask to use it. June had wanted to come following Frank’s passing but she never felt good about leaving Elwood for very long. And especially not for that purpose. Just the mention of Palm Springs could send Elwood into a somber mood that could last for days.
Now, again, she was impressed by the desert’s odd grandeur. But then the circular drive of Elwood’s place came into view. It was filled with cars and her heart began to beat faster.
One was Max’s, two belonged to local Palm Springs police, and two more to Riverside County law enforcement. Three other vehicles parked off to the side June did not recognize.
Uniformed officers looked up as they approached, as did several people in plain clothes—neighbors, perhaps. Max was there, too, watching them pull in. His suit clothes were dusty and dirty; he’d no doubt been out in the brush behind the house looking for Elwood. All of these people probably had been. They’d probably come in anticipating June’s arrival to find out from her what had transpired between her and Elwood the day before. What had he said? What had he done? How did he seem when she left him?
As Melanie pulled in behind the parked cars, she turned to June. “You ready?”
“I just want this part to be over,” June whispered.
Melanie cut the engine and they got out.
Max hurried over, taking June into a quick hug before guiding her toward a pair of Palm Springs policemen. One of the officers had a clipboard with Elwood’s handwritten note attached.
