Page 4 of What You Never Knew

“Thanks, Deepak Chopra. Now leave the papers on my dresser and please get out.”

He stayed sitting at the end of the bed. I felt him shifting, most likely running his hands through his thick blond hair, admiring himself in the mirror across from the bed. He was a good-looking man, even in his forties, and he knew it. Always had.

“There’s some pretty big reveal in this paperwork, June.” He tapped what must have been the envelope against my leg.

I wondered what that was even supposed to mean—big reveal. I ignored him. He got bored easily, and I was sure I could wait him out. But my bladder did feel quite full. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten up to pee.

“Jim said it’s going to take some time for probate but everything is outlined here.” He rustled the papers like they were some bone and I was a dog who would come out of hiding for it. “May left you everything. The only stipulation is that you put her stocks into an account for the girls’ education.”

I pulled the sheet taut against my face to answer him—despite myself. “I already know all of that, Leo. I know about every bloody penny and investment May had. There’s no big reveal there.”

He gave a smug little chuckle, and I began to untangle my leg from the sheet so I could actually kick him.

“Sure, but did you know that your mother actually had a will and in it left something to May?”

I sucked a breath in and held it there like a hostage. I’d completely forgotten about the appointment May had had with our mother’s lawyer. The one right before the accident. I’d never found out what it was about.

“Weird, though,” Leo continued, “that she didn’t leave it to you as well.” Nothing about it felt weird, which in itself was weird, but that pretty much summed up my relationship with my mother. She was unpredictable, and in no way had she ever played fair between me and my sister.

“Just please leave the paperwork and go,” I begged. I couldn’t deal with the grief of May and being reminded of how inconsistent my mother could be, right up to the end.

I finally felt the bed shift as Leo stood, but I could see through the thin white sheet that he was still staring down at me. “Avril Island is on the list of May’s assets. It was willed to her by your mother.”

The mention of my family cottage made the sheets around me suddenly turn to the brownish-green water that had surrounded the island. I could smell its earthy scent; feel the cold of its depths, the warmth at its surface. Before drowning in the sensation, I pulled the sheet away from my face.

Leo couldn’t help but smile; he’d finally gotten what he’d come for, the big reveal. “Your mother never sold Avril Island, June.” He held up the envelope, which contained that shocking truth. “And now it’s yours.”

MAY

I don’t know where we are. It looks like a cheap motel room, but I wasn’t around for the arrival. June is curled up on the bed, still in her clothes and on top of the multicolored polyester comforter. The TV is on with no volume, bathing the room in a depressing blue light and keeping true solitude at bay.

I’m not sure why June would choose to stay in a place like this. There are burn holes in the carpet, a lacquered, stuffed fish mounted on the wall, and bed linens that can’t be bleached. Money isn’t a problem for June, so it must be for some other reason.

There’s a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the desk, and from the deep, raspy snores coming out of June, I know she’s the one who drank it. She’s a drunk snorer.

I want so badly to wake her up, make fun of her for being such a cliché—cheap motel, bottle of whiskey, passed-out drunk. I’d make her laugh, forget everything that’s hurting. That’s what we did for each other, take the hurt away, but now I’m the reason she’s hurting and it was never supposed to be like that.

There are some important-looking papers on the bedside table. All I have to do is focus on that part of the room and suddenly I’m there, beside the bed, looking at things from a whole new perspective. Not a bad party trick.

A copy of my will sits under a cloudy glass from the bathroom that still holds a sip or two of straight whiskey. I know I’m dead, but the sight of my own will is not easy to see.

It’s evidence that the world is moving on. That everything I’ve accumulated in life will be legally scattered about, sold, donated, hopefully at least some things treasured. My only mark on the world will be a passed-on vase or dining room table. Makes all the careful collecting I did seem pointless. The large sums I spent to have items shipped home from my travels, the hours I spent choosing just the right dining chairs—all meaningless.

I shift my focus to June to get my mind off the will. Am I allowed to use those expressions when I’m really only atmosphere now? Get my mind off, my heart skipped a beat, can’t believe my eyes … There should be an instruction manual for this kind of thing—being dead.

June is still lying motionless with drunken sleep. Her skin shines with a film of sweat. I can imagine the itch of the polyester comforter against the warm skin of her cheek, the uncomfortable cling of her jeans against her legs and her T-shirt against her sweaty back. I’d open a window if I could, or turn on the air conditioner, which would chug loudly in a place like this.

Even in this drunk, sweaty state, June is beautiful. She takes after our mother, tall and thin, straight black hair, her face round, her lips full. I took after our father, shorter, rounder, with wavy blond hair and brown eyes, pleasant to look at but in no way striking like my sister.

June’s never really seemed to understand how truly beautiful she is. Maybe that’s why I never resented it. If anything, I’m proud of her attractiveness—happy that I didn’t carry the burden of my mother’s good genes like she does. Blending in came more easily to me than standing out. I used to wish I could be invisible. Especially when I had a camera in my hands. Now that I am, all I want is to be seen and heard.

The memory of a night not long after June and Leo separated reveals itself. June was at my condo. She’d moved just around the corner from me, so we were always at each other’s places. Hers when the girls were at home, mine when they weren’t. It was right before our mother’s cancer diagnosis and my move back home to take care of her.

We were drinking wine, as we often did. A bold red with hints of dark chocolate and cherries. I remember because I’d give almost anything to be able to drink that wine right now, in this afterlife or whatever the hell it is.

June had had a bit too much, as had become her habit after the separation. Her lips wore a crust of purple; her cheeks were flushed from the tannins. I was at the kitchen island making a plate of cheese and crackers as she orbited the room, sliding across the slippery wood floors in her gray wool socks.

She’s always had a hard time sitting still and would do rounds of the living room looking at the photos on the walls as though she’d never seen them before.