My Forever June

Prologue

Sweat beaded on my face and neck as I whipped my head from side to side tossing and turning in my sleep. I was grief stricken, and I didn’t know why. I felt such an overwhelming sense of loss, but who, or what, was it that I had lost? Then I saw myself in a hospital waiting room. The double doors opened in slow motion as the doctor came through, his face glum as he pulled off his mask and cap. I felt anxiety well within me as he approached at an incredibly slow pace. Tears welled in my eyes as I gripped the chair with great intensity to the point of pain. I suddenly didn’t have the strength in my knees to stand to meet him. He stopped in front of me, and my eyes rose slowly to meet his gaze. He shook his head as compassion consumed his expression. I’m sorry, he was saying, but I couldn’t hear the rest, because the grief had invaded my soul and was at war with my senses. I shook my head in disbelief, still not comprehending what the doctor was saying. No, I whispered. No. I bolted straight up in my bed. No, no, no!!! I was screaming and couldn’t seem to stop.

I was hyperventilating as I tried to steady my heart-rate. It didn’t make sense. I didn’t even know the truth of what had happened in the dream, but I knew that I had just lost the most important thing in my life—something I would never have again—something irreplaceable. The loss was so intense I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. But it was just a dream, I repeated over and over to myself as I continued to struggle to breathe. I gripped the sheets tight in my fists as tears blinded my vision. It was just a dream. Stupid June, you didn’t lose anyone. It was just a meaningless dream, I continued to tell myself, but for some strange reason, I didn’t believe it...not one word of it.

Chapter One

June

Iknew, by the way my morning had been going that I should probably just stay inside my home and let the rest of the day pass in peace. But with only one more painting to go in order to fill my exhibit wall at Eden Blair’s Art Gallery, I had work to do.

I wanted my last painting to be of my favorite place on earth, the lovely shore of Oak Island, North Carolina. The warm sandy beach had always held the power to inspire me.

My day had started off as a bad one, with a phone call from my mother, which always ended in an argument. Today was no exception. My mom thought I should have stayed back home in Charlotte, North Carolina and always pressured me to come home. She didn’t approve of me packing up and heading to the beach. She thought it was a reckless decision. But I disagreed. I had always been a free spirit, who followed my heart in everything I did. If I had a bad feeling about anything, I usually turned in the opposite direction. This had saved me countless times. And so, I knew moving to the beach was part of my destiny somehow.

I had spent many summers as a child at Oak Island. My Aunt Tess owned a cozy cottage that set just off of the beach, and she had never married or had children. She and I were very close. Aunt Tess would drive to Charlotte, pick me up, and bring me back to the beach to spend the entire summer with her. That’s where I learned to paint. Aunt Tess was a popular local painter, and she taught me all she knew about her craft, the galleries, and how to work them. I owed a lot to her.

My relationship with Tess had always been a sore subject between my mother and me. It didn’t help when, a week after I graduated from college, I learned that my beloved Aunt Tess had passed away, leaving me the cozy cottage on the beach, along with a substantial amount of money. Without hesitation, I had packed up as many of my belongings as my mom would part with and headed for Oak Island to begin my future: a future without my jealous, controlling, and nagging mother.

I recall that day so vividly in my mind. My mom wouldn’t even come out of the house to see me off. My dad was sweet as he helped me pack my luggage into the trunk of my little car. He was a big man, with a sweet and gentle spirit. In all my 22 years I had never heard him raise his voice...not once.

His eyes were moist, and he took hold of my hand as he spoke. I will miss you so much, my June bug. I know things have been hard for you here, and I’m very sorry for that. Your mother loves you very much, even if she has a hard time showing it. I hope you know that.

I nodded, my eyes also filling with hot tears. I know, Daddy.

This is a good move for you. I know it in my spirit. Now, go and spread your wings and fly like the beautiful butterfly you are. I love you.

I remember shedding many tears as I watched him disappear in my rear-view mirror.

My first painting in my new home was not a beach scene or a sunset, but a beautiful butterfly painted in all my favorite pastel colors; yellow, pink, blue, lavender, and green. It gave me inspiration then and continues to do so today.

So back to my awful morning. To make it even worse, after the phone call from my mom had ended, in my clumsiness, I spilled my scalding coffee all over my favorite purple blouse. When I went in search of another one, I realized I hadn’t done my laundry, and thus most of my clothes were overflowing from the dirty clothes hamper. I settled for a bright blue tank top layered over a chocolate brown one. It was too casual for my early meeting with Eden at the gallery, so I added some of my chunky beads and a brown, long flowing skirt and cowboy boots. I pulled my long dark locks up into a messy but elegant bun, added big hoop earrings, some pink lipstick and headed for the door.

I ran into my neighbor, Chase, on my way to my car. He lived in the cottage next door. It wasn’t a surprise really because we bumped into each other at the same time every Monday morning while heading for our cars. He had a crush on me and asked me out every time. And every time my reply would be the same ‘Not today I’m afraid’. He would smile and say, Maybe next time then. This was the routine, and I hated it. Not because I didn’t like him, but because I did, just not in that way. I actually wanted to like Chase. He was a nice guy and not too bad to look at either. His short, blonde hair was neat and swept to the left. He dressed clean and sharp, but there were no sparks on my part. I didn’t know how he afforded to live in the beach cottage when he only worked behind the counter of the Flavors Galore Coffee Shop in the nearby Wilmington. But that was none of my business. Again, I turned him down nicely as I climbed into my VW Jetta, yelling back to him that I was sorry but I was in a hurry. He waved, and I was off.

Chapter Two

June

After my meeting with Eden, the owner of the art gallery and my dear friend, I went home briefly to collect my easel, canvass, and paints. I traded out my skirt for blue-jean shorts, stuck two paintbrushes into my bun, and headed out my front door. I took off my boots and stepped from the porch of my two-bedroom cottage. I sighed the moment I felt the sand between my blue sparkling toenail-painted toes. As I strolled toward my favorite spot, I observed the runners, stroller-pushing moms, and seashell seekers, as I waited for my inspiration to reveal itself. I knew I would know it when I saw it. I always did my paintings this way. When I laid eyes on the image I was supposed to paint, I felt it in my core, as if I was born to paint it. I always followed that feeling.

It was a short walk from my cozy cottage to my favorite spot on top of the dune where I had a great view of the pier. I loved to people watch and pick up my inspiration.

I had painted the pier before, many times actually, but this particular angle caught my eye. The sun was shining along the water and there was a shipping boat anchored just beyond the pier. Something about the scene struck me, and I stopped where I was on the beach and set up my easel. Within minutes, my paint brush was busy stroking the late summer scene before me.

Look out! I heard someone call. I glanced up and spotted three bicycles with teenage riders barreling toward me.

No! I yelled, waving my hands in the air to warn them away, but it was too