two weeks are up.
She's only staying for two weeks. And for two weeks, all that Juliet has done is plot and plan her new life off island in 1974. A part of her wonders if she should go to Miami, but she dismisses that quickly. The family that's there isn't hers; not now. Her sister, she realizes, is a memory. Juliet decides on LA instead, where maybe she can blend in with the hippie crowd and figure out how to start over again. But when day fourteen starts, she stays in bed, one arm thrown over her stomach as she stares at the ceiling.
She's not leaving.
Once she's up she carefully avoids James, already not wanting to admit that he was right. That she has nothing. Because she does have something, it's just thirty years in the future. She must look like she's not up for conversation because he doesn't try to talk to her, and she leaves the house with no idea where she's going. The next time she stops she's in the same spot she was two weeks ago, and she sits again on the dock, heavily this time, and puts her face in her hands. Once the tears start they don't stop; she needs this.
She's not leaving.
Once she's up she carefully avoids James, already not wanting to admit that he was right. That she has nothing. Because she does have something, it's just thirty years in the future. She must look like she's not up for conversation because he doesn't try to talk to her, and she leaves the house with no idea where she's going. The next time she stops she's in the same spot she was two weeks ago, and she sits again on the dock, heavily this time, and puts her face in her hands. Once the tears start they don't stop; she needs this.