Chapter Sixteen
Sixteen
A Pearl of Wisdom
from Renny Russo
“If nothing goes right, for Pete’s sake, turn left.”
Juliet
“Does it seem odd to you that you’re remembering things in a town called Forget-Me-Not?” Amy asked.
I wasn’t nearly as taken aback by her question as I should’ve been, because I’d been asking myself the same thing. Had I been led to Forget-Me-Not to help me remember? It was starting to feel like it was part of my healing.
Instead of telling that to Amy, however, I said, “I hadn’t really thought about it.”
It was nearly ten thirty, and I was curled up in my bed in the attic, the phone to my ear. Tallulah and I had finished the first part of the P&P miniseries and called it a night. So far, I wasn’t swayed that it was a better production but was going to keep an open mind.
“How’d the town even get the name?” Amy asked. “Wait. I’m searching online. Huh.”
The air conditioner rattled in the window. Somehow, tonight, the sound was comforting rather than annoying. “What?”
“All I can find is something about a Flour Festival. Ohhhh. There’re pictures. Cakes and cookies and pies, oh my. It’s like a dream come true! I might need to take a road trip. Especially since it might be the only way I’ll see my little sister this summer.”
I rolled my eyes and didn’t take her bait. “Save me a cream puff.”
“About that,” Amy said.
“What, cream puffs?”
She sighed. “Why haven’t you moved on to the next town yet? You usually only stay in a place for a day or two. This will be your third night there, and you haven’t even mentioned your next destination.”
“I like it here,” I said.
Pipes creaked, the sound of water being turned on somewhere in the house.
Probably Tallulah getting ready for bed.
Katy was supposed to be asleep by now, but I suspected she might be reading instead, because I’d seen a thin thread of light under her door when I passed by on my way upstairs.
I hoped that tomorrow we could find time to return to the library to check out the books she’d left behind.
I was feeling guilty at how we’d rushed out of there earlier.
All because an image of a lightning bolt on a children’s book had given me a panic attack, which was something else I hadn’t shared with my sister.
Mostly, because it was embarrassing. The cover art couldn’t have been more benign if it had tried.
“Juliet Nightingale! Have you met a man?”
“Not everything is about a man, Amy.”
She was a romantic at heart and was always trying to set me up with people she knew.
“Yeah, yeah. But have you?”
It was easy to call up a memory of Callum’s face. “I’ve met many men here. Did I tell you about Tenn? The man I’m living with? He’s super cute.”
I heard a small snort of laughter, but Amy didn’t drop the subject. “You’re purposely being evasive.”
“Am I?”
“You’re worse than the girls.”
The girls. Her twins. “How are they?”
“Good. Terrible. Depends on the hour. You remember that age.”
I winced, then waited.
“Oh no, Juliet. Shoot! I’m so sorry. I wasn’t even thinking.”
“It’s fine,” I said.
“It isn’t. It’s late. I’m tired. I’m a rotten sister.”
A beep sounded in my ear. I checked to see who was calling and felt my stomach knot. “I need to go, another call is coming in.”
“Wait! You can’t go until you tell me I’m not a rotten sister!”
I smiled. “You’re not. But I do have to go. It’s Mom who’s calling.”
“She’s calling? Why?”
“Amy.”
“Fine. Go. Text me after or I might die of curiosity.”
And she thought I was as bad as her girls?
“Bye!” I said and switched over to my mom. “Hello?”
“Juliet! I was starting to think you weren’t going to answer.”
“I was on the other line with Amy. Everything okay?”
“Oh, yes, yes. All is good. I just thought I’d check in with you. See if you’ve been remembering anything else. It’s so fantastic!”
“Only a little.” I drew myself up into a sitting position, then adjusted the quilt around me, making myself a nest.
“Even a little is a lot.”
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me.
“Your doctors will be thrilled. When’s your next appointment?”
“September.” I traced the design on one of the quilt squares. An eight-pointed star. Some of the points were done in a solid green fabric, the others in a colorful floral.
“Do you think you should check in before then?” Mom asked. “Considering this new development?”
I was shaking my head. “It’s nothing that can’t wait.”
“Mm,” she hummed.
I knew that mm. It was the tone of disagreement.
“When do you plan to return home?” she asked, her impatience starting to seep out in a staccato cadence.
Home.
My mind lingered on the word for a moment, thinking it didn’t feel quite right.
Home was a place where you always belonged, and the house in Michigan didn’t feel that way anymore. I felt out of place there now.
“Not sure yet,” I said. “I’m playing it by ear.”
“I see. And when does school start?”
I tugged the quilt even higher, tucking it around my chin. It smelled faintly of lavender, was super soft, lightweight, and nearly worn through in places. Right now all I wanted to do was burrow in its coziness and pretend I never had to go back to Michigan. “August eighteenth for staff.”
“Not that school, Juliet.”
She was talking about grad school. When I applied for the program, I had no doubts about doing so, because I’d always wanted to be just like her. Even at an early age, according to my family.
Then lightning struck.
Tragedy struck.
And I started questioning everything.
Mostly myself.
Sometime during the last few months, I’d started to feel uncomfortable following in her footsteps. Not about nursing. I loved nursing. But about research. It just didn’t feel right, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it.
“Online classes start at the end of August.” I absently picked up one of the feathers from the growing pile on the nightstand.
“Don’t you think it might be good to come home soon? To prepare?”
Gently, I blew on the feather, and it gracefully floated through the dusty attic air, drifting down onto the quilt.
“Let me rephrase that,” she said. “You should come home. It’s time, Juliet.”
Clearly her patience had run out, but I still heard the undercurrent of love in her voice. It was always there. A constant thrum that ran like a mighty river beneath her expectations.
Waffling, I picked up another feather, ran my thumb along its barbs.
I understood she was worried about me and that was the driving force behind this call.
I really did. Any other time in my life, I’d have bent to her will.
I was tempted now. It would be so easy to let her sway me.
Steer me. But the main reason I’d taken this trip was to figure out who I was without my family’s influence.
“No. Not yet,” I said, the words sticking in my throat. I wasn’t used to being contrary. But there was no way I was going home sooner than I absolutely had to.
I had healing to do.
“What do you mean, no?”
Suddenly I had a vision of her tracking me down and giving me The Look. The one that made me feel like my heart was in a vise and she held the crank.
“Miss Edie, the woman who usually watches Mary Joy, had a family emergency and will be out of town for a while, so I offered to take care of Mary Joy until Miss Edie returns.”
“Who is Mary Joy?”
My mother’s voice wavered with weariness. As if I was testing her very last nerve. “She’s the seven-month-old baby girl who lives in the house where I’m staying.”
I imagined Mom rubbing the spot between her eyebrows with the pad of her thumb—the telltale action that she was at the end of her rope. “You took a job babysitting?”
“There’s nothing wrong with babysitting.”
“I didn’t say there was. But you’re a nurse, Juliet. Don’t you think you’re overqualified?”
“I think,” I said, “I was in the right place at the right time to help someone who really needs it.”
“I admire your generous and giving nature, Juliet, but you do not always have to offer to help people.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed the spot between them. Like mother, like daughter. Finally, I said, “Be that as it may, I did offer. I start tomorrow.”
“Surely they can find someone else.”
“They don’t have to. They have me until I need to go back to work.”
“Juliet,” she said.
I really didn’t want to continue this conversation, so I knocked loudly on the nightstand. “Sorry, Mom, I have to go, someone’s at my bedroom door. I’ll check in soon.”
“But, Juliet…”
“Love you, bye!” I said quickly, then hung up and put my phone on Do Not Disturb.
Then I dropped back against the pillows, let out a sigh, and started smiling.
I didn’t have to leave Forget-Me-Not until August 17—a little more than three weeks from now.
Suddenly that felt like all the time in the world.
And a little bit like salvation.