My Juliet Read Free Page B

white bucks with them. Even his socks were white.”
    â€œHe drowned in Lake Pontchartrain. Fell out of a boat.”
    â€œFell
, did you say?”
    â€œYes, fell and drowned.”
    â€œFell and drowned,” repeats Miss Marcelle, in a way to suggest that she herself isn’t quite sure about the facts connected to the incident.
    Sonny admires Miss Marcelle’s carefully made-up face and hairdo, and how she always seems to dress even though she has no plan to leave the house. She is lovely for a woman her age, which Sonny puts at about sixty-five. When he lets himself, as he does now, he can see past the paint and the wrinkles and find the face of Juliet. And he understands that this, and not companionship, is the real reason why he continues to visit the mansion.
    â€œMiss Marcelle?” he seems to hear himself ask this day. “Miss Marcelle, do you think Julie loved me? If she loved me,” and he still can’t believe he’s hearing it, “how could she leave like she did? How could she do it, Miss Marcelle?”
    Sonny has barely spoken when he realizes that, looped or not, he’s made a terrible mistake. Miss Marcelle shifts in her chair. “Sonny, you’ve had too much to drink.”
    â€œPlease, Miss Marcelle, I’m tired of the mystery.”
    â€œBut not tired enough, obviously, to let it go. For your own good you need to do that.”
    â€œI can’t. I’ve tried and it’s no use. She told me she would come back and haunt me. She’s doing it. She might still be alive somewhere but I’m living with the ghost.”
    â€œYour ghost is not well. Juliet today is a deeply troubled girl. At the risk of disillusioning you more let me just say that she’s not the person you keep in your heart. Sonny, you’re a fine young man and you need to forget about Juliet. Meet someone who shares your values and wants what you want and raise a family together. Start a life, in other words.”
    â€œI’ve got a life. I’m an artist and I date plenty and I even got engaged once. That’s having a life.”
    Sonny reaches for the bottle but, finding it empty, settles on a cookie. He finishes it before saying anything more. “You like Oreos after they’ve been in the freezer, Miss Marcelle?”
    â€œYes, they’re good frozen.”
    â€œI think I’ll freeze some Funyons and try them that way.”
    â€œSonny, I think I’ll have Anna Huey drive you home now. You can come for your truck later.” Sonny stands. As he starts to leave the room Miss Marcelle says, “Don’t come back again, Sonny. Don’t ever come back. You won’t find what you need in this house.”

    Her mother runs off screaming, and Juliet picks up one of the many greeting cards displayed in the parlor. It shows her name and so, too, does the next one she inspects.
Juliet
, they both say in a clean, composed script, not at all similar to her copperplate.
    All told there must be a hundred such cards in the room, most of them standard-issue Hallmark with sentimental inscriptions and pictures of flowers, birds and unicorns.
    â€œAnna Huey, what are these cards?”
    Anna Huey, who for some reason has always gone by her full married name, places a hand on Juliet’s shoulder and attempts to guide her out of the room. “Sugar, why don’t you surprise us all and be a dear for a change. If you can’t be a dear at least lower your voice.”
    â€œI’ll show you a dear,” Juliet shouts.
    â€œSugar, I don’t want your mother any more riled than she already is.”
    Juliet swings her arm and knocks Anna Huey’s hand away. “What are these cards, I said. And why is my name in them?”
    â€œSweetie? Please don’t get—”
    â€œI demand to know who sent them. Tell me.”
    â€œAnthony,” comes the whispered reply.
    Disgust darkens Juliet’s expression as she