June, Reimagined (7)

What happened next felt as if June were out of her body. Behind Hamish came someone else. The man rushed to June’s side, a familiar object in hand.

“I need to unbutton your jeans. It’s more effective that way,” he said in a Scottish accent that was, thank God, understandable. June noticed the man’s shirt, which clung wetly to his chest: Knockmoral Fire and Rescue Service.

“It’s a bit early in our relationship, don’t you think?” June said, though the swelling in her mouth muffled the words. “We just met.”

“A comedian. Should you really be joking at a time like this?” He unbuttoned June’s jeans and pulled them down just enough so that her outer thigh was exposed.

“A nut that bears a striking resemblance to testicles is about to kill me,” June joked again. “Now is a good time to laugh.”

“You’re not going to die,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“Because I won’t let you. There’s only one thing I hate more than death.” He pressed the EpiPen hard on June’s leg, activating the auto-injector and sending epinephrine into her system.

“What’s that?” June asked.

“Paperwork.” He brushed his hands together, satisfied. “The ambulance is just ’round the corner,” he said to Hamish.

“Good. I’ll follow in my car.”

The man nodded. “I’ll let Sophie know what happened.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Lennox Gordon,” Hamish said. “I owe you.”

“No, you don’t, Hamish. You know that.”

Lennox lifted June out of the seat, gently pulling her pants back to their rightful position, and set her back down. The café doors opened then, two men came in with a gurney, and June was loaded into the back of the ambulance.

“I’ll bring your bags!” Hamish yelled as the doors closed.

On a positive note, June didn’t have to wait in the rain for the next bus out of Knockmoral.



June had not considered free medical care when she had bought her ticket to Scotland. Ushered to the closest hospital in Bonar Bridge, she saw a nurse and a doctor, who cleared her of any further issues and released her with a prescription for a new EpiPen and instructions to keep it on hand at all times. There was no payment. Just help for someone who desperately needed it.

In the waiting room, Hamish slouched in a chair, June’s belongings next to him. He sat upright at the sight of her.

“You’re alright.” Spared from death, June barely managed a nod as Hamish rubbed a hand over his face, smooshing his wrinkles and making the bags under his eyes more pronounced. “This is all my fault. I’m too distracted and tired. Why the hell did I convince Sophie to have a third bairn? I thought we were young enough for this. We’re not young! I’m a middle-aged Big Friendly Giant with a scraggly beard and a Peter Pan complex!”

June sat next to Hamish, exhausted. “You want to compare poor choices with a person prone to anaphylactic reactions who just ate a peanut-infested biscuit while attempting to get a job she can’t have in a country where she doesn’t live?” She patted Hamish’s knee. “I win.”

“I should have told you about the peanuts.”

“And I should have . . .” June’s head fell to her hands. “I should have done a lot of things differently.”

In the past month, June had come to appreciate a clean death. When Josh died, two hundred miles from home in an apartment in Marion, Ohio, he had left behind more questions than answers. June grew to envy people whose loved ones left the world in an organized manner, politely. With wills in place. Orderly desks and closets. Financial planners and email accounts with easy passwords. A life mapped out precisely so the people left behind didn’t have to wonder about important matters like whether to cremate or bury the body and what songs to play at the funeral. June’s parents had argued over these decisions, each invoking a son that the other didn’t know, as a defense.

“Josh would want ‘Amazing Grace,’” Nancy had said.

“No, Nan, you want ‘Amazing Grace,’” Phil countered. “Josh would want something by the Beatles.”

June knew Josh would hate both. “How about ‘Another One Bites the Dust’ by Queen?” she had offered. Her suggestion had been met with tears from her mom and a reprimand from her dad, which sent June retreating to her room in anger. She had meant it honestly. She could hear Josh’s boisterous laugh in her head, congratulating her on the idea.

A sad funeral isn’t new! Make ’em laugh, June, that way they’ll remember me. And for Christ’s sake, no crying.

In the end, the Merriweathers had played “I’ll Be Seeing You.” The standing-room-only congregation wept loudly, gasping for air, a few grievers wailing. June sat in the pew fuming, dressed head to toe in black, another of her mother’s instructions, supposedly in Josh’s name. Josh hated to see people cry.

Hamish put his arm around June. “Cheer up, lass. The day wasn’t a complete disaster. At least I didn’t have to explain a dead body in the café to my wife.”

Not dying was only baseline living. June hadn’t accomplished anything. She was still jobless and homeless, with a dwindling bank account and an ever-growing fear that she might not be cut out for this, whatever this was.