Some were like that. Sometimes the better the time the night before, the worse the morning after. Payment. Maggie woke up, clawing for air. She felt Juliet close to her, as though she’d been with her in her sleep. She couldn’t remember her dream, but she felt like she’d been falling. The sensation stayed with her, a feeling of panic, terror. She grabbed on to her bed. She cried out her daughter’s name. “Oh, Juliet.” Maggie closed her eyes, tried to pull herself together. She thought of the 77th psalm, which had been such a comfort to her in the terrible days after her daughter’s death. “In the day of my trouble I sought the Lord.” She had to get out of bed. It was Sunday morning. She had to teach. That was a blessing. She’d learned the only way to feel better was to be out, to be with people, and church helped. Being in that beautiful building, surrounded by kind people and bolstered by the presence of something larger than herself, that helped. If she could but get there.
