and it was dark now. Juno pulled her shoulders away from the wall, tilting her head back in an attempt at a stretch. She could hear the noises of boys in the living room. They were playing video games, and every few seconds there would be a burst of gunfire followed by cheering and donkey-like guffaws. You should just stand up, walk out like it’s nothing, she told herself. You’d probably get away with it.
But the truth was she couldn’t stand up, not without help. She should have known; she’d felt the shift in her body, her mind loosening and her joints tightening. Her disease was predictable, and she always knew when a bad spell was coming. You knew. You just didn’t want to acknowledge it. The pain was stiff and sharp. She slid her butt down lower to ease the ache that had spread from her pelvis to her hips and slid down onto her knees.
Juno’s mind was clear partly because of the pain; it hadn’t gotten overbearing yet. But, it would, oh it would. She was so thirsty; had she ever been as thirsty as this in her life? She didn’t think so. She found herself fantasizing about the Crouches’ medicine cabinet. She hadn’t opened it, but she imagined there was at least a bottle of Tylenol. She needed a pill, something that would knock the grinding from her joints. She shifted again, sweat breaking out on her face. They would sleep eventually, and that’s when she’d sneak out.
The closet was roughly five feet by seven feet and carpeted. It was cream-colored and newly installed—she could see the flecks of rug the contractors had left behind when they cut it to size. She picked up a curl of carpet and rolled it between her fingers. She shimmied even lower until she was lying on her side, her knees curled up to her chest. The golf bag was to her back now, and Juno could see underneath the closet door to the faint light of the entryway. She could see the boys’ sneakers lined up as well as a pair of muddy cleats and flats that she presumed belonged to Winnie. She thought to check the pockets of the golf bag—maybe Nigel kept a bottle of Advil in there—but it hurt less to lie still; even the tiniest movement jarred the pain. She was still for so long that she fell asleep again.
The next time Juno woke she knew where she was right away. The smell of the carpet, fresh carpet—she still had the thread in her hand, the little curl. The light in the entryway was off, the closet filled with deep darkness. She moved her leg first, testing the stiffness. It was bad, but not as bad as it could be. She rolled onto her belly, huffing with the effort, and then slowly rose to her knees, keeping her head lowered in case she got light-headed. You learned tricks like that when you couldn’t afford the medication. Tricks to survive, tricks to make things easier, but never tricks to make the pain go away—that, only the pills could do.
She could stand. She took a minute to regain her balance and reached for the doorknob. The door was a well-oiled thing and didn’t make a sound as she opened it. Her heart would wake everyone up; Juno could hear it ringing like a bell in her ears. She stepped into the foyer, keeping her eyes on the door to the living room. If someone came through, she’d be able to see them first, but there would be nowhere to hide. Relax, she told herself, the boys are sleeping, Winnie and Nigel are sleeping. But she had no concept of time; she could have been in that closet for two days for all she knew. She’d passed out for large chunks of time before, often not in the most desirable of places.
She took steps toward the front door, the wood floors creaking under her feet as she went. And there it was. She hadn’t noticed it, and why would she have? None of this was supposed to have happened. There above the light switch was a little keypad. Juno took a step toward it; maybe they didn’t put it on tonight on account of the boys being in the house. But there above the number pad was a red light, and the words below it read: ARMED.
Her eyes moved to the door. If she bolted, she could probably get