The Many Lives of June Crandall

by Suzanne Whitfield Vince

  Fury rose up inside June after she hung up the phone. She reached for the photo of her father and launched it against the wall. The frame and glass shattered, but the photo lay unharmed. She grabbed it and ripped it into tiny pieces. Then she emptied every picture frame in the house and did the same. Finally, she flipped open the lid to the trashcan and tossed the remnants into it. If she could, she would douse the can with lighter fluid and flick a match.

  She sat on the sofa and stared at the empty picture frames, her leg jiggling. Did she owe him a chance to explain? Did she owe it to herself to confront him with the evil he'd done? Or was it just cleaner and easier to cut him out of her life?

  She paced frantically, and when she could stand the indecision no more, she grabbed her car keys and stormed out the front door. She needed to hear him admit what he'd done.

  The elevator opened to her father's penthouse apartment, and she nearly collided with Bernie. "Where is he?" June asked the woman she''d loved for almost forty years.

  "Uh, he's in the study. But I'll warn you, he's not feeling well and is very cranky."

  "He hasn't seen cranky yet."

  June pushed past Bernie and made her way to the study. She barged in and crossed to where her father sat, letting the full weight of her body fall into one of the guest chairs in front of the desk.

  Edward sat behind the massive desk in an oversized, burgundy leather chair, looking small and frail. The dark wood paneling on the walls gave the room the look of a stage set. Edward may have left Hollywood years before, but Hollywood had obviously never left him.

  He looked at her, obviously confused, but unperturbed by her obvious attempt to get his attention. "Hello, darling. Did we have a date tonight?"

  "No, we didn't. But there is something that I want to talk to you about, and I didn't want to do it over the phone."

  "Oh? Sounds serious," he said, a slight look of amusement on his face.

  She reached into her handbag and pulled out the book she'd been given as a birthday present just the week before. The book that had changed everything for her. The book that had brought her Grace. She laid it on his desk. "It is.""

  He fingered the book and looked up at her, all trace of amusement gone. "What the hell is this?"

  "It's a book, Father. You'd find it interesting. It's based on a true story about a girl who grew up in an orphanage. Terrible things happened to her over the years, and she has these dreams about someone named June Crandall. In every dream, June is there to love her and protect her, and she eventually becomes convinced that June is her mother."

  She watched her father's face as she spoke. Nothing more than mild interest. She went on. "When she turns eighteen, she sets out to find her birth mother, and when she gets her birth certificate she is crushed to learn that her mother''s name is not June Crandall. Can you guess what her mother's name was?"

  "I have not a clue, my dear, nor do I really care. Now, if you will excuse me, I am not feeling well."

  "Her mother's name was Elena Borgese."

  Edward's eyes narrowed and his face turned an ominous shade of gray. "Is this some kind of a joke?"

  "No, Father. This is no joke. Would you like to know how the story ends?"

  "No! Now please leave me alone." He stood and pointed to the door.

  She was out of her seat, leaning across the desk, right in his face. "Sit down, Father! You're going to hear how this story ends if I have to tie you down!"

  "How dare you speak to me like that!" But he sat down anyway. Beads of perspiration dotted on his forehead and he rubbed his left arm.

  "Well, it turns out that after every dream she had, she drew a sketch of June Crandall. Her face was etched permanently in the girl's mind. One day--and this part isn''t in the book, it might be the sequel--the girl is doing a book signing, for the book you have in front of you, and guess who shows up? Yep, the real June Crandall. And the girl recognizes her from her dreams. But how could that be? The real June Crandall's baby died at birth. There is no way this girl could be her long-lost daughter, right?"

  She stared daggers at her father. "Right?!"

  Edward clutched his chest and gasped. At first June thought he was pretending but when he slumped over the desk, fear ripped through her. She ran to her father and felt his pulse. It was erratic, and he was non-responsive. She picked up the phone and dialed 911.

  Grace finally slipped into bed at just after three o'clock in the morning. She laid her head on her pillow and gazed at her husband. He was looking back at her, a smile on his face. "Hi, you," he said.

  "Hi yourself." She leaned closer and kissed him, then rested her head on his shoulder. Tears spilled down her cheeks and onto his chest.

  He looked down at her, pulled her close. "Hey, what's wrong?"

  She buried her head further into him and cried.

  "The nurse came through, huh?"

  Grace nodded. "It was worse than I imagined." She proceeded to tell him everything she had learned, and when she was finished, she could see Antonio's jaw clench.

  "I hate him," she said. "But I don't want to hate him. I don''t want to carry that around with me for the rest of my life. I need to find a way to forgive him. But I don't even know where to begin."

  "Have you told your mom yet?"

  "Parts of it. She deserved to know her father was responsible for what happened, but I'm not sure I want to tell her the rest."

  "She deserves the whole truth, Grace. Just like you did. What she does with it is her business."

  Grace thought about it and decided he was right. Her mother deserved the truth. The whole, ugly truth. She still hated Edward but she felt better after telling Antonio about it. She turned to face away from him, and pulled him close behind her. She dozed off just as the phone rang. Antonio answered it, then nudged her awake.

  "Your mother's on the phone. She's at the hospital. It's Edward.""

  She grabbed the phone. "Mom, are you okay? What happened?"

  June explained that she'd gone to see Edward the night before and that he'd had a heart attack when she confronted him. Grace asked what hospital he'd been taken to and told her she'd be there as soon as she could. Not for Edward, but for her mother.

  She dragged her weary body out of bed and into the shower. She turned the water as hot as she could stand it, then turned the dial to cold, which woke her up in a hurry. She pulled her long hair into a ponytail and slipped into her favorite jeans and a sweater. After kissing her husband goodbye, she left the apartment and stepped into the cool, spring morning.

  She found her mother in the surgical waiting room. They held each other without saying a word, and then sat down and waited. Grace pulled coffee and cannoli out of the bag she'd brought.

  "How is he?" she asked.

  June gratefully accepted one of the coffees. "It's been touch-and-go since he came in. They finally got him stabilized enough to operate, but his heart is pretty badly damaged. They need to do a quadruple bypass. How are you, sweetheart? How was your trip home? Did you get some rest?"" She reached for her daughter's hand.

  I'm sad, angry, and full of hate, Mother, thanks for asking. And oh, by the way, I hope your bastard father dies on the table. "I'm fine, okay, and yes, to answer your questions in order," she said and they both laughed. They laughed until they cried, all the while ignoring the irritated looks of the other people in the waiting room.

  The truth was, the past couple of days had been beyond stressful for both of them.

  "So, tell me about your visit to Edward. Did he admit what he did?"

  "No, he didn't have the chance to, but I could tell from his reaction that it was true."

  "By 'reaction,' do you mean the heart attack?" It wasn''t meant to be funny, but the women laughed again. By the time they finished their hysterics, the entire waiting room had cleared out.

  "Well, don't feel too badly, Mother. I think I might have caused the evil Dr. McIntyre to have another stroke." They laughed so hard they nearly fell out of their cha
irs, and a nurse finally came in and asked them to keep the noise down.

  "Let's blow this joint," June said. "Let''s take our cannoli and go find a park bench somewhere."

  Grace put the cannoli in the bag and they left the waiting room, ignoring the sneers of the other visitors who were trickling back in.

  A lovely garden area was just outside the hospital with a fountain and benches for visitors. They sat down and ate their cannoli, and Grace told her about her visit with Nancy. She told her everything, and her mother's eyes were vacant as she stared into the distance. And then she shifted her gaze back to Grace.

  "I'm sorry you had to hear that. You were just an innocent child, created in love, and you deserved so much more than what you got. I should have demanded to see you after they told me you died. I asked, but they told me they had already taken you......away." Tears pooled in June's eyes. "I'm so sorry. I should have insisted."

  "Please, I couldn't bear it if you blamed yourself for what happened," Grace said. "You were, what, seventeen? You're no more responsible than I am."

  June nodded and Grace reached for her hand. "How are you feeling about all of this, Mom? About your father?"

  June shrugged. "When I went to see him the other night, when I knew for sure that he was responsible for what happened, I was ready to walk out of his life forever. And if he hadn't had a heart attack, I would've done just that." This time there was no laughter at the mention of Edward's heart attack. "But sitting here in the hospital, waiting to find out if he''ll live or die, I realize that, no matter what he's done, I still love him. God help me, I wish I didn't, but I do."

  "It sounds kind of like forgiveness." Grace was amazed that anyone could forgive so easily, and not sure whether she envied or resented her mother for it.

  "Oh, no, it's not. I just don't know how to reconcile what he's done with how I feel about him. What he did was terrible, unforgivable. But how do you just stop loving the one person who has always been there for you? I've needed him in the worst way possible, more than once and if it weren't for him, I might never have gotten myself out of bed after you died...I mean, after I thought you died."

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  1978

  After the loss of her baby, June spent the better part of the next month in bed, sleeping and grieving. She'd learned that her baby had been a girl, and that news brought a fresh wave of grief. She couldn't stop herself from imagining what her life would have been like--should have been like--if her little girl had survived.

  She fantasized about doing with her daughter all of the things she had done with her own mother. She imagined the love they would share and it filled her up, at least until reality set back in. And when it did, she would pull the covers over her head and the tears would come again.

  One morning, after more than a month had gone by, her father marched into her room, threw open the curtains, and yanked off the covers. "Okay, my dear, enough is enough. Get up and get dressed. We're going out for a walk."

  June reached for the covers, having no intention of getting out of bed, but before she could grab them, her father snatched them away. "Do I have to pick you up and dress you myself?"

  "But Father, I don't want–"

  "This isn't about what you want, June. I'm your father and I know what's best for you. Now get up or I swear I will get you up myself."

  June sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. Her father towered over her, hands on hips. He was not going to back down, so she stood up and padded into the bathroom.

  "You have five minutes before I come in after you," he said.

  She glared at him and shut the bathroom door behind her. For emphasis, she snapped the lock. She emerged almost fifteen minutes later in a pair of baggy sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt, a ponytail sticking out behind a Dodgers baseball cap, and a large pair of sunglasses covering most of her face. Her feet were tucked into a pair of rain boots.

  She was quite the contrast from her father, who was wearing a pair of gray dress slacks, a light blue buttoned-down shirt, and a pair of loafers--his usual Sunday morning attire.

  "Let's go," he said.

  She trudged after him and climbed into her father's Mercedes. Before he pulled out of the driveway, he put the top down. "A little fresh air will do you good."

  She glared at him and pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her baseball cap. They drove in silence to the beach, where they used to go as a family. The same beach she had taken Will to. He got out of the car and she stayed put. He marched over to her side and yanked the door open.

  "Get out."

  Like a robot, she obeyed.

  They walked on the beach for almost an hour, and when they turned around, her father put his arm around her. She stopped walking and started to cry. He pulled her into his arms and held her until her tears subsided. He pulled her ball cap and sunglasses off and looked into her eyes.

  "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I understand how hard this has been. But I can't stand by and watch you suffer any longer. Life goes on, and so must you.""

  Their eyes met and she nodded. She knew he was right, she just didn't have the strength or the will to get herself out of bed. She was grateful that he had pushed her to get up. The salty ocean breeze felt like a long-lost friend, and she felt a tiny flicker of light inside her.

  This became their daily routine, and June could feel herself coming more alive with each new day. After a couple of weeks, her father suggested that the two of them go to New York for a little vacation, to visit her Aunt Meredith. And while they were there, they could take a little tour of the campus at Columbia.

  "It's time to start thinking of your future, sweetheart, and the change of scenery will be good for you."

  June liked the idea of getting away for a while. She hadn't seen her Aunt Merrie in years. She'd always had a very close relationship with her, and she looked forward to spending time with her.

  They flew out three days later. Aunt Merrie met them at the airport and immediately threw her arms around June. "Edward told me everything, dear heart." As they walked arm in arm to the baggage claim area, June felt a sense of peace and a small twinge of happiness for the first time in a long time.

  The three of them spent a week together sightseeing and shopping, and on the last day of their trip they went to Columbia University campus, where Meredith had been a professor of psychology there for many years, but was now retired. She gave them the grand tour, and introduced them to the dean of admissions, and some of the other faculty. June had one more year of high school left, but it never hurt to make contacts with the right people.

  When they returned to Meredith's apartment the day before she and her father were scheduled to leave, June asked whether she could stay with her aunt a little longer. Both Edward and Meredith loved the idea. Edward flew home the next day, leaving his daughter in good hands.

  June and Meredith spent the rest of the summer getting to know each other again. June knew Meredith had lost her husband a couple years before, but she hadn't known that Meredith had also lost a son to leukemia at the age of eight, before June was born. It was still painful to talk about, Meredith explained, but she thought that sharing the story with June might help her to understand that she was not alone.

  Staying with her aunt was just what June needed that summer. When she was sad, Meredith allowed her time alone to process her grief. When June wanted to talk, she would emerge from her room and the two of them would order pizza and talk late into the night. June felt her soul beginning to heal by the end of the summer, and while she was a little anxious about going home and facing the kids at school, she thought she was ready.

  2004

  "When I returned from that trip, I felt alive again," June told Grace. "I set my sights on New York and spent the next year studying hard. When I wasn''t studying, I was working with children in one capacity or another. In retrospect, I'm not sure that was the best thing for me, but it was the best way I knew to honor you. I think it helped my h
ealing process by being able to give some of the love I had in my heart to children who needed it.""

  "And apparently, you gave some of it to me," Grace said.

  June nodded and took Grace's hand. "When I graduated, I went to study at Columbia. I came home every summer to see my father and I continued my volunteer work. But once I was in graduate school, I stopped coming home. My father and I stayed in touch, talking at least once a week, but it wasn't until about five years ago that we really came to depend on each other."

  "What happened then?" Grace asked.

  "I had an accident. A very bad one. And if it weren't for my father, I might have been confined to a wheelchair for the rest of my life..."

  1999

  It was the last day of classes before the summer break. June stopped at her favorite bakery, Mama C's on Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village, a few blocks from the apartment she'd bought several years earlier. It wasn''t exactly close to the university, but she loved the hustle and bustle of living in the Village. It made her feel alive.

  She had tried other bakeries around the neighborhood, but once she tried Mama's, it immediately became her Friday ritual. She placed her order and took a seat near the window to people-watch. She had a bird's-eye view of the intersection at Bleecker and Christopher Streets, where the populace bustling by was at its endlessly fascinating best.

  She savored the cannoli and sipped her latte, and when she finished, she reached for her purse to pull out the correct change for the bus. When she looked up, she saw a man standing across the street, waiting to cross.

  It was Will.

  She blinked a few times to clear her vision, but it didn't change. She was sure of it.

  She ran out of the bakery and across the street, calling his name. She never saw the taxi flying through the red light.

  The next thing she knew, he was standing over her. She tried calling his name, but all she could manage was a strange, gurgling sound. She tried to reach for his hand but she couldn't move. She tried to use telepathic powers to speak to him. Will! It's me, June! I still love you, Will! But he didn't hear her.