I start to tell her about the storm, but she cuts me off to say that Leo wants to talk to me. He gets on, politely asks how I’m doing, and then scolds me for not answering Bea’s calls. “She was worried, you know?” he says, as though missing my daughter’s phone calls makes me the worst mother in the world.

“You know, there was a time when we weren’t reachable twenty-four hours a day, and somehow we all survived it.”

He sighs loudly into the phone. “Point taken, June, but you’re across the country missing important things, so the least you can do is try to be accessible.”

I want to tell him and his high horse to fuck off, but instead I concede and say I’ll try not to forget my phone again. I ask to speak to Madeline, but she’s out, so Leo and I hang up and I’m left with that familiar feeling of failure that always seems to linger after talking to him.

By the time I’ve finished dinner, the storm has mellowed slightly and I hear only a few low rumbles of thunder in the distance. I put on some music and make myself a fire to keep the damp away.

Opening one of Ezra’s beers, I plop down on the couch to stare at the fire. It’s cozy inside with the rain still coming down, but all I feel is lonely and depressed. Not to mention pathetic. I actually miss Ezra, and it’s only been a matter of hours. What is wrong with me? I’ve never been this foolish about a man before.

I imagine asking May that exact question and I can almost see her standing in front of me, ticking off the possible reasons on her fingers: You’re far away from your home and the girls, you’re still grieving about my death, you’ve just learned about Mom and her affair, he’s the most familiar thing around you right now, and he makes you feel safe.

I hold up my beer, pretending to “cheers” someone who isn’t there. “Right as always, May,” I say to the empty room.

Did my mother feel the same way about West? The question forces itself into my mind, and I no longer try to keep my thoughts around their affair at bay. I have to face them sometime. Ironically, sitting here as an adult, I can even understand why my mother fell in love with West.

He was handsome in a rugged, outdoorsy kind of way, with blond hair highlighted by the sun and blue eyes as clear as the lake. He was also everything my father was not. Calm, good with his hands, slow-moving, and kind, caring more about nature than money or material things.