Page 47 of I’m Not Yours

“That’s a pretty song,” Leoni murmured the next morning. She turned the radio up.

I listened with half an ear. I hadn’t slept all night, my mind whirling. My divorce would be official soon. I could go to Reece if I had the guts. Would he still want me? Had I ruined things forever? Had he found someone else?

I heard the country singer croon about holding the hand of the woman he loved, in front of a bonfire at the beach, neither teenagers anymore, but they had wisdom and grace, and knew enough to know their love was enough to sail them around the moon.

Leoni’s mouth gaped. “Didn’t you have bonfires with Reece?”

My mouth gaped, too. “Nah, it’s not about me.”

“Check it out, June.”

I darted to my computer with Leoni and Estelle breathing down my neck and clicked on the singer’s website.

“Look, look,” Leoni said. She pointed to a song and I clicked on it.

“Bonfire Beaches” written by Reece O’Brien. She scrolled down. “Look, June.” Two other songs, written by Reece O’Brien.

We read the lyrics.

One was about a woman who sewed wedding dresses she would never wear, in blues and pinks and greens, she lived over a mountain in a house by the sea.

The other was about a runaway woman by the name of June, who ran as fast as she could away from love. He chased her, he could never catch up.

“You need to get your butt to eastern Oregon and hunt down that rancher singer,” Estelle said. “You’ve found yourself, haven’t you, and without using a slew of philosophical mumbo-jumbo junk words, you know June.”

I did. I knew June again. And I knew that Reece was right for me. We were an us .

“I wouldn’t turn down love, June,” Leoni said. “This is the right kind of love from the right kind of man.” She got teary and sniffled. “You’ve been so miserable since he left.”

“It’s like working with a jar full of depression, with two pinches of misery thrown in,” Estelle said. “Socked in the gut, hit in the groin.”

“Love, love, love,” Leoni said. “Oh, it’s all about love. Go get it, June. It’s here. Don’t lose it.”

I ran for my suitcase.

The drive to eastern Oregon, from the beach, was going to be a long one. I drove for two hours, through the winding mountains, back onto a flat road, towering pine trees on either side, small towns . . . then I received a call and pulled off to the side of the road to answer it. I am so glad I did.

“June.”

Oh, how that voice tingled me all over. “Reece.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m . . .” Oh, how embarrassing. But still. I had nothing to lose. My pride would shortly be in shreds.

“I’m driving to your place in eastern Oregon. I thought I’d try a little rodeoing.” I heard him laugh. “What? What’s so funny?” I felt a fog, a black and clingy fog, start to lift from my heart.

“You’re going to my home in eastern Oregon?”

“Yes, Reece. I have to talk to you, to apologize, I am so sorry.”

“Babe, I understand, I do.”

“You do?”

“Yes. June,” he said. “Come on home.”

“What?”

“Come on home. I’m already at your beach house.”

We met near the tide pools where we’d met the first time, when he’d yanked my tumbling body out of the wet claws of the ocean.

This was my favorite part of the beach. It was almost always deserted.

The white-gold light was different here, as if it was specially made for only this corner of the Earth.

The rays flowed down from the sun in columns.

They sparkled, they shimmered, they glowed.

I had spent a lot of time crying in that corner of the beach, a lot of time thinking, reflecting.

Sometimes I brought my sketchbook, my colored pencils, my pens, and I wrote and I thought.

Today, though, I brought none of it. He was waiting when I arrived, standing tall, and smiling, the orange-and-red sunset framing him, his smile broad and welcoming.

When he held out his arms, I flew straight on in.

“I love you, Reece.”

“I love you, June. From the first day I met you until forever, I will love you.”

He laughed, and I laughed, our laughter floating around the waves, over the rocks, up to the sky where the sun was a dollop of gold and the sky was shooting flames of purple.

“Look at that cloud, June.”

I tilted my head up. “Oh, my gosh,” I breathed.

“It’s a butterfly,” Reece said.

Yep. It was. A cloud shaped like a butterfly.

I figured it was a sign to kiss that man silly. So I did.