“Hand me that photo there, April,” Stan said, taking it in his hands and displaying it to everyone. “This picture is of my son when he was playing fullback his sophomore year in high school. West Bend players had to play on both offense and defense, real Iron Man football. Cade was the fullback and a linebacker."
“Dad used to love to brag on me,” Cade said.
Crunch laughed. “I want to see the bad prom photos.”
“Were you a cheerleader, June?” April asked.
I laughed, choking on my wine. “God, no,” I said.
“June wasn’t the cheerleader type,” Cade said, looking at me. “She was more into all the alternative stuff. Grunge type. Moody.”
“I was not moody,” I protested.
“Really?” Cade asked. “As I remember it, you wore black for most of sophomore year.”
“I remember you didn’t seem to mind it too much back then,” I said.
He held up his hands. “I didn’t mind it at all. Your mom was the one who told you she wouldn't buy you any more clothes unless they were neon.”
I laughed. “She was so upset about the black nail polish all the time.”
“You were good for Cade, though,” Stan said. I could see Cade squirm uncomfortably in his chair. “Even if you wore black all the time.”
“Is your family around here, June?” April asked.
Everything got quiet, and it was like all the air was sucked out of the room. Stan and Cade exchanged knowing looks.
“Did I say something wrong?” April asked. "Sorry. I have a tendency to poke my nose in places it doesn't belong."
“You’re fine,” I said. “It’s not some big secret.”
“June, we don’t need to talk about it,” Stan started, and I interrupted him.
“Really, it’s fine, Mr. Austin,” I said. “It was years ago.” April looked embarrassed, and I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable. One thing I hated about coming back home was that it was like stepping back in time. People assumed I felt the same as if it had just happened yesterday. They assumed I was a child.
“It was years ago,” Stan said. “But it was my responsibility.”
“No, Mr. Austin, it wasn’t,” I said. “And April, it’s fine, really. You’re not overstepping anything.” April looked confused, while Stan sat across from me, studying his cup of coffee. I only realized then how much guilt he carried with him for my family’s deaths, and it made me feel sad. I wondered if Cade was carrying the same burden.
Cade cleared his throat and looked up at me. “June,” he started.
“No,” I said. “There’s nothing wrong with asking about it, and I want to clear the air. April, when I was seventeen, my parents died. They were killed in an accident, by a drunk driver. The driver," I said, leaning forward as I looked at Mr. Austin, "was one of the ranch hands who worked here, for Mr. Austin. My sister and him had a thing going on, that Mr. Austin didn't know anything about." I emphasized the words, trying to make it clear to Stan that he wasn't at fault.
"Anyway, my sister went out to a party with him, and my parents went out looking for her. It was bad luck, what happened. And my sister felt guilty. She killed herself later."
I watched Cade and Stan, neither of whom would look at me. "No one was responsible for what happened, except the ranch hand, and he’s dead. My sister was running wild back then, and even if anyone had known, she wouldn’t have listened to anyone. It was just how she was.”
“I’m sorry,” April said.
“Thank you,” I said. “But it wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t anyone else's, including Mr. Austin or Cade’s."
April averted her gaze. It was shit like this that made telling this story difficult. People heard it, and it was such a tragedy that they wouldn't look me in the eye because because they were so uncomfortable. I hated that more than anything.
"Everything about what happened was senseless," I said. "But it's even more senseless if you all are still taking responsibility for it."
I looked directly at Cade. I knew he blamed himself. It was the kind of man he was, always accepting responsibility for others. It was part of his nature.
“It’s good of you to say that, June,” Stan said. “But -"
“No,” I said. “There are no ‘buts’. This was never your fault. It wasn’t Cade’s. And it wasn’t mine."
The room was silent, and the air felt thick. I wasn’t sure what else to say. There had been so much that had been unspoken, for so long.
It was late when I finally left Stan’s house, and I’d walked a few feet across the pasture when I heard the screen door slam, and footsteps behind me.
“June,” Cade called, jogging up behind me. “I’ll walk you home.”
“It’s a hundred yards away. I don't need an escort," I said. I couldn't help but add, "Certainly not one who thinks he's going to come over and I'm going to beg him to screw me."
Cade took my forearm, and I turned to look up at him, surprised by his touch. "June," he said.
"What?" I forced myself not to think about the heat that ran through my body where he touched me.
"What you said tonight, about your sister, your parents -”
"I don't want your dad to blame himself." Or you to blame yourself.