Dead Past

academic settings are perfect for people who are a little strange.”
    Diane grinned. She agreed. “I think there is a little strangeness in all of us. I like to go caving. Most people find that very strange, especially the guy I date.”
    “I’ve heard about your caving. I confess, I can’t imagine going caving.”
    “Most people can’t. But I find caves to be absolutely beautiful mysterious worlds.”
    “The geology curator also explores caves, doesn’t he?” she said.
    “Yes. He’s one of my caving partners. The caving club meets here in the museum once a month, if you’d ever like to drop in. You aren’t obligated to go caving. You could talk to the group about fossil seashells. We usually have some kind of educational program at the meetings.”
    Diane talked a long time about the caves she’d explored. She told Juliet about Mike’s—the curator of the geology collection—extremophiles research. Their conversation was awkward and a little strained and certainly one-sided, but Diane felt it was probably normal for Juliet.
    “They have terrific chocolate cake here,” said Diane.
    The waitress came and Diane ordered a piece. So did Juliet.
    “I like chocolate,” said Juliet. “The chocolate shaped shells in the gift basket were wonderful. I was going to buy some more but then I found out that Andie made them herself.”
    Diane didn’t mention the gift basket event—and Juliet’s screaming terror over a mermaid doll. Some things were better left unmentioned. But she was curious.
    “I know Darcy Kincaid a little,” said Juliet. “She’s working on another exhibit for the shells. She thinks the fossil shell exhibit can stand some improving. I hope she’s going to be all right.”
    “So do I,” said Diane.
    “Do you know how she’s doing?”
    “The doctors don’t know anything yet. Maybe tomorrow.”
    “Darcy has lots of plans—graduate school, getting her boyfriend to propose. I’ve met him, too. He’s a charming guy,” she said.
    The way she said charming, Diane wondered if she meant just the opposite. But there was nothing in her clear blue eyes that suggested that she meant anything other than what she said.
    Dessert came—a moist triple layer chocolate cake with chunks of chocolate chips and iced with fudge frosting. Juliet raised her brow after she took her first bite.
    “This is delicious.”
    The waitress refilled their coffee. As Juliet raised the cup to her lips, the sleeve of her sweater slipped up enough for Diane to notice several scars on her arm. She wondered if Juliet was a cutter. At the end of dessert, Diane took a card out of her purse.
    “I don’t intend to interfere in your business, and this is the only time I’ll mention it. I have a friend. Her name is Laura Hillard and she is a psychiatrist. If you ever want to talk to her, even if it is just to learn coping strategies to deal with people like Whitney Lester, give her a call. She won’t report to me, and I won’t ask you if you called her. This is just for your information if you need it.” Diane put the card on the table and pushed it forward.
    Juliet picked up the card and turned it over in her hand. She stared at it for a long time before she spoke.
    “I’ve been having dreams again,” she said, still staring at the card. “They stopped for several years and now they’ve started again. That’s why I couldn’t cope with Ms. Lester tonight.” She looked up at Diane. “I don’t remember much about my early childhood. I only know what I’ve been told and what I looked up in the newspapers. I was kidnapped when I was seven and left for dead in a culvert. I think all my problems stem from that—even if I don’t remember it.” She put the card in her purse.
    Diane was stunned. It was several moments before she could speak. “Juliet,” she said finally, “I don’t know what to say. Was your kidnapper caught?”
    Juliet shook her head. “No.”
    “You only saw a therapist in college? Not sooner?”
    “Since I couldn’t remember, my parents didn’t want the memories dredged up. They thought it best if the experience remained buried. My mother died a year later and my father remarried. My father and my grandmother told me I had nightmares because I felt guilty for being disobedient and ‘got myself snatched,’ as my grandmother used to say. She told me that if I was obedient, the dreams would stop. My stepmother thought the cure was summer camp. A benign cure, but I was never