“How are you this morning, Lucy?”
“That’s a complicated question, Doctor.”
“Asueli tells me that you were up all night pacing in your room.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready for this.” She told him honestly. “I’m scared.”
“You are ready, Lucy. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Dr. Finkle patted her hand. “I’m sure of it.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“Legitimate question.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “Maybe it will help you to know that your therapists, your counselor, all of us who have been treating you for months discuss your case on a weekly basis. Your release has not happened before this because we didn’t feel you were ready. This is not cautious optimism we are practicing here, it’s a well thought out, and a medically sound diagnosis.” He treated her to his million dollar smile, which oddly enough, was not without sincerity. “Now, we can’t all be wrong, Lucy, can we?”
Lucy gave this some thought. She ran a light finger on the long scars on each of her wrists and reflected on how far she had come. She was not the same woman who had married Kenny Brewster, but therapy had helped her to realize that she would never be that bright eyed naïve young woman again, and that was okay. Because in place of that starry-eyed girl was a survivor.
So, Lucy gave him a small smile. “Thank you for everything, Dr. Finkle.”
“You’ll do fine, you really will. Just put one foot in front of the other and carry on.” And there was that smile again.
“Now, let’s get down to business! Special Agent Maddox will be here shortly to verify things but, in the meantime, you and I are going to go over the file just like we talked about. How about we go into the small conference room, have a cup of strong, hot coffee and go over everything with a fine tooth comb. We can write down any questions or concerns you have so we will have them ready for the agent when he arrives.”
Once seated the good doctor opened up the file folder and scanned the first document. He stared at Lucy with a twinkle in his eye and a puzzled look on his face.
Your new name is …Juliet Wang?”
“They said I could pick anything.”
Dr. Finkle’s eyes passed over Lucy’s decidedly Caucasian looks. “Interesting choice.”
“Wang happens to be the most popular last name in the world.” Lucy lifted her nose in the air because really, she had put a lot of time and research into picking out her new surname. “Do you see that as a problem?”
“Wang is an established Asian name, and you look nothing like someone of Asian descent. I just think it might result in some speculation that you may not be comfortable with.”
Since the last thing Juliet wanted was speculation, she decided to go with her second choice. “Okay, let’s make it Jones then.”
Dr. Finkle nodded and made a notation.
“And your first name… Juliet?”
“Do you have a problem with that too, Doctor Finkle?” Lucy raised an eyebrow.
“No, I’m just curious. Is there a rationale for the name Juliet, as well?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. Juliet Capulet happens to be one of the most misunderstood characters in history.” Lucy told him. “Shakespearean scholars never give her enough credit as a woman in her own right. At the onset of the Shakespearean Tragedy, she appears to be quite naïve, timid and subservient to the wishes of others. However, as the story progresses Juliet’s strength of purpose, courage, resolve, wit and independence become evident.”
Fascinated, Dr. Finkle leaned back in his chair and studied his patient. “And what about Romeo, where does he fit into the equation?”
“In the end it was Romeo’s cowardice and lack of character that did Juliet in.” Lucy responded. “I have always wondered what would have become of Juliet if she had simply stepped over Romeo’s cold, dead body and kept on walking.”
P.J. McCabe sat back in the Adirondack chair and lit up a smoke. He had been waiting almost forty five minutes for someone to show up. It was either going to be the landlord, Layla Dumont, or the prospective tenant. Both of them were late as hell.
P.J figured he could bet good money on the fact that the new tenant was probably a female.
Every one of them had that same annoying quality. No regard for time. Less regard for the poor bastards who were waiting on them.
Damn women.
And his friend’s wife was one of the worst offenders that P.J. had ever come across.
Layla Dumont was as flighty as hell, always running late, always forgetting stuff and forever losing shit. If it weren’t for her husband, Reggie, who had the patience of a goddamn saint, P.J. figured Layla would be living under a bridge somewhere.
Serious space cadet.
But she had a big heart and a warm, welcoming way about her. She and Reggie had been among the first people that P.J. had met when he moved to Port Harbor. Reggie had been P.J.’s realtor. When Reggie had shown up for their appointment sporting a Harley, that had pretty much sealed the deal for P.J. The two rough and ready men had liked each other instantly. It hadn’t taken long before a strong friendship had formed. They rode together at least a couple of
