she would live by them.
That night Lucy scrubbed her face and applied the three different facial creams she had bought at the spa. She slipped on the soft, new warm pajamas and put a set of fresh linens on the bed. Juliet lay her head on the pillow and dug deep into the magical world of Mary Stewart’s Camelot. With heavy eyelids she listened to the sound of the rain pattering down on the rooftop while she luxuriated in the feats of King Arthur’s noble knights.
For the first time in a long time, Juliet looked back with pleasure at the day she had had, and she looked forward to the day to come.
The monster loomed grotesque as its shadow grew longer and larger. Flaming eyes and a forked tongue slithered out of a rotted skull and reached for Juliet. Loud screams of pain rang out and split the fetid air as each lash of the monster’s tongue burned and branded her. Cries of pulsing terror shattered through the darkness, as Juliet’s hands began to web and shimmer with thousands of crusty, chartreuse scales. Her tongue swelled in a mouth filled with sharply growing fangs. Juliet’s back arched hideously. The pleas of thousands pulsed all around her. She could not reach them; she could not save them. Juliet had become the monster.
Juliet’s eyes flew open, her hands fisted in her hair, her heart pounded inside her chest.
It took a moment for her to release the terror, to gather her wits, and to see through the darkness.
Juliet knew from experience that these nightmares not only took her mind places she did not want to go, but they took her body there, too. Juliet literally walked through her nightmares. She was wide awake now, but it would take several long seconds before her brain successfully transmitted that message to the rest of her body. It would take several long seconds before Juliet could move. So, she lay still behind a chair in the darkest corner of the bedroom. Knees to chest, shivering cold, and soaked in her own urine.
Using the arm of the chair for support, Juliet pulled herself up and then waited for the floor to stop spinning. She rubbed the sore spot on her scalp. Then with a small apology to Rafael, Juliet dumped the clump of hair that she held in her fist into the trash can. She stripped off her new, pee soaked pajamas. She mournfully wrapped the garments into a loose ball. She put them in the sink and filled the basin with hot soapy water.
Then Juliet put her hands to her face and cried.
After a full few minutes of torrential tears, Juliet tried to pull herself together. She tried to think of something positive that would counteract the disappointed way in which her perfect day had ended.
Think. Think. Think.
Think of something positive…the refrain danced elusively through her brain.
Juliet thought and thought and thought.
Well, she hadn’t puked this time.
Definitely a positive
Not vomiting was big.
Because that chunky bile was so much harder to clean up than pee.
And it would have been difficult to get all those bits of vomit out of the spaces between the wide, pine, floor planks.
There was that.
Layla Dumont took a sip from the cold bottle of hard apple cider, and eyed Juliet critically from across the table. They had just finished picking apples, and now they sat at a picnic table with a peck of Gala, Macintosh and Honeycrisp sitting resplendent in a wooden basket between them.
Juliet still marveled at how naturally a relationship between herself and Layla had formed. The budding friendship had been organic. It had swept in like the autumn wind when neither of them was looking.
“P.J. called Reggie last week and asked about you.” Layla told Juliet. “And then Reggie asked me.”
“Yeah, I know. P.J. said as much when I was in the market the other day. He asked about my NFL hat. Figured I was a Patriots fan because I lived in Boston. Do you know if Reggie told him anything else?”
“Reggie doesn’t know anything else.”
“So, that whole do-over conversation…?” Juliet asked somewhat hesitantly. The apple orchard suddenly droned with the hum of a thousand insects, while a bumblebee hovered over the basket of apples, its stinger ready to strike.
“What do-over conversation?” Layla swatted at the bee. Then added meaningfully. “I don’t remember any do-over conversation. And if I did it would be privileged information. Telling would be a violation of Girl…”
“…Code.” Juliet nodded with relief.
“Exactly.” Layla raised her hand