Note: This chapter goes slightly back in time to cover more of Wednesday.


"Something in the way he said this gave me the feeling that the dynamic was moving on, perhaps down the block, where it would serve some other confused family."

-- Miranda July, "No One Belongs Here More Than You: Stories"


Juliet twists the water out of her hair and wraps a towel around her bathing suit. Late fall in Miami still means 77 degrees today -- ugh, 77, another one of those numbers that just seems to come up everywhere -- and that's still enough for pool weather.

She settles down on the lounge chair, watching Julian and Jonah splashing around with dive sticks. The glass door slides open; she turns expecting to see Rachel back from the grocery store, or James up from his nap (she was ready to tease him about jet lag), but there was Brian, still dressed in his casual not-quite-a-workday attire. Brian was a tax attorney and generally stayed at the office long hours. Rachel had given him a hard time about working today, the day before Thanksgiving, and he'd promised to make it a half-day ("No one else is even going in, are they?" she'd challenged him) and of course it was near 4 p.m. now.

"Hey," he said, plopping down on the lounge chair next to Juliet.

"Hey yourself."

"Hi, Dad!" Julian bellowed from the pool, and Brian saluted him. Juliet couldn't suppress a grin. Although Rachel and Brian had been together for years, their wedding wasn't until January. But the kid was already calling him Dad. Back before Juliet had begun her experiments on Rachel, they'd had roughly, oh, a million conversations on the hypotheticals, should those experiments actually work. Neither of them had been blind to the fact that Juliet eventually could have ended up raising a niece or nephew alone. And now here was this happy, healthy, normal kid with two parents, and an aunt and uncle and cousin (and even a step-cousin, albeit one he hadn't met, back in Oregon). All that family, where instead there had been the potential for nothing. If that isn't the meaning of Thanksgiving, she doesn't know what is.

"How's the water?" Brian is asking her.

"Perfect." Amazing that there was a time when she sat here in an old sweatshirt, not talking, refusing to eat. It all seems like a bad dream by now. (At least until the next headache.)

He walks over to the pool, skims a hand over the glassy surface. The boys rope him into tossing their dive sticks for awhile. Juliet notices a manila folder Brian had left on his lounge chair. Bringing work even to the backyard pool? Rachel is not going to like this one bit.

After awhile he returns to the chair, water droplets splattered over his khakis and button-down shirt. He picks up the envelope before he sits, facing her, holding the envelope awkwardly in both hands, his knees propped on his elbows. "Um..." he says.

Oh boy, this can't be good. She watches him guardedly.

"Rachel told me not to do this, so she's probably going to kill me, but bear in mind I'm just trying to help you, OK?"

"OK," she says cautiously.

"I'm not sure if you know this, but Mittelos Bioscience dropped off the radar completely after you disappeared. You know that Newsweek story on them, and your disappearance?"

She nods.

"Well, once those reporters started sniffing around, that was it, they were gone. But I've done a bit of digging."

Juliet's stomach does a little flip, although she's not sure why, or what this is leading up to. Or maybe she is.

"Did you know that Mittelos actually paid taxes?"

Her face twists in surprise. "You're kidding."

"Trust me, we were surprised, too. Well, all the names and addresses lead to dead ends, of course. But you know what Deep Throat said in the leadup to Watergate, right?"

Hey, she hadn't spent three years reading magazines in the '70s for nothing, right? "Follow the money."

"Exactly. So what I was able to find out is that somewhere in late 2002, early 2003, they transferred their assets into another company, Liemstal."

"Sounds like a piece of IKEA furniture."

He laughs. "Weird name, sure, but here's where it gets even weirder. My assistant found evidence of this same company -- supposedly with the same people at the helm, same names, anyway -- back in the 1980s. So she did more digging, found them in the '50s, too. Apparently back then, a company by this name recruited a whole bunch of archers who'd been in the running to compete in the 1952 Olympics. Recruited... as in, they disappeared, too."

Yeah, of course they did. She makes sure the grade-A poker face is in place, but doesn't say anything. This really is her best weapon: Silence makes people nervous. So they keep talking, revealing more than they'd planned, giving her time to discover their weak spots.

Brian doesn't quite fall for it, though. "Why is it you don't look surprised?"

"Just trying to absorb the information."

"Well, they're obviously using fake names, to have the same people supposedly running the company through all these decades. Unless they're incredibly old."

Yeah, or unless they're time travelers and immortals. A sudden laugh threatens to erupt, and she has to work hard to deny the impulse to start giggling. Her lips twitch once, twice, and then she gets the mask back. "So what do you expect me to do with this information?" she asks him. "Sue them?"

Brian shakes his head. "That's entirely up to you. I just thought maybe you'd like to know." He extends the envelope to her.

She looks at it for a moment, trying to decide if she even wants to take it, and decides she doesn't, she's out of this, she's done, she's retired -- but for some reason her hand is reaching for it, and she feels the cool, rough texture of the dark yellow envelope against her fingers. Decision made.


James doesn't stir when she returns to the guest room, and she's pulling down the straps of her bathing suit, getting ready to take a shower, when she realizes that although his eyes closed, they're not quite shut all the way. And also, sleeping people don't tend to be smirking like that.

"You know you're allowed to look, right?"

He opens his eyes the rest of the way. "Just wanted to see what sorta show I could get if I kept up the con."

"Oh, really?" She falls onto the bed and gives him a huge hug, soaking him through his clothes.

He howls in protest. "What'd you do, go swimmin' at the North Pole?"

"Yep, pretty much." She squeezes him one last time, making sure to wipe her wet hair across his T-shirt before releasing him.

He pinches her gently in an interesting place. "You know this means I'm gonna reek of chlorine unless I take a shower, now, too, don't you?"

She can't hold back a grin, and she's already sliding the straps of her bathing suit the rest of the way down. "Huh. Now why hadn't I even thought of that?"

"Y'know, I'd be happy to help you with that suit," he said, trying to sound innocent and failing horribly at it. He pulls her underneath him, dragging the wet fabric off her, inch by inch, kissing each bit of skin as he reveals it. Juliet lets out a happy sigh, gasping a little as he scrapes his teeth over her ribs.

He slides a hand under the back of her neck, drops his head down for a long kiss. When they break apart, panting slightly, she says, "So, about that shower..."

"Just shut up already."

She happily complies.


Juliet closes her eyes as the music washes over her. It's all perfect as long as she never thinks of listening to these notes on CD in her little yellow house two doors down from Ben. But those memories are vanquished when she opens her eyes again and slides her eyes over to her sister. Opera was so not Rachel, but she'd started going along with it eventually anyway. Rachel was always the badass sister, not interested in dorky things like chemistry or classical music. Nah, Rachel was the one with too many boyfriends, the one who sneaked out at least two nights a week in 10th grade, went AWOL on Christmas one year.

And yet, it was the shy, quiet, geeky sister who ended up tromping through the jungle killing people. Sometimes life just didn't make any sense, did it?

"You're different, you know," Rachel had told her during her visit back in August.

"Different how?"

"Come on, don't try to tell me you're still the same person you were when you left."

"Rachel, it's been twelve years. You're not the same person you were when I left, either."

"You know what I mean, though. You don't take any shit from anyone anymore."

"And you say that like it's a bad thing?"

"Nah, it was just a lot easier to get you to do what I wanted before." Rachel arched an eyebrow. If eyebrow arching was a sport, the Carlson sisters could have medaled in it, no doubt.

"I'm still the same person. I just grew up a little. And I straighten my hair more often now." And I've killed more people that I can count on two hands. She shrugs. "Big deal."

"Tell me something."

"What?"

"I don't know, anything. Tell me something you haven't before."

About a million options flew through her head, none of them good. "I don't know," she said hesitantly.

"See, but that's the old Juliet talking. You do know. Come on, just anything."

"One day Jonah saw me kill a chicken."

Rachel's face twists. "Jesus, Juliet!"

"Well, seriously, what did you want me to tell you?"

Her sister considered this. "I don't know. I guess... I mean... I don't know, I guess."

"Sometimes it's better just not knowing things. Trust me."

Now Juliet thinks back on that whole little theory of hers. Better to not know? Really. It was. After all, that was why she and James had driven Miles to the airport two weeks ago and James had slapped him on the back, and Juliet had just waved at Miles, smiling politely, ignoring how relieved the guy looked when she didn't step any closer.

But La Traviata: James had asked her what the title meant when they were on the plane.

"Fallen Woman," she told him without thinking.

"Huh." He paused awkwardly.

"They mean, you know, sinful or whatever," she replied, equally awkwardly. "Not... not actually... falling."

"No, I mean... yeah, I know." They looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes, not saying what they were thinking.

Miles wanted to spare them by not saying anything; they wanted to spare Miles from having to tell them. And she wanted to spare her sister from knowing the worst parts -- even the somewhat believable (non-supernatural, non-time traveling) parts. She wanted to spare her sister from knowing how that introverted, innocent sister managed to pull a trigger over and over without even batting an eye.

And maybe she wanted to spare herself, too. Spare herself from having to face her sister's judgment. At her worst moments, Juliet still tells herself she's not a good person and she deserved whatever she got. But some days, lately, she's been catching herself thinking maybe she's been through enough after all, and she just deserves to have a quiet, normal life like the rest of them. It isn't such a bad thought to have.

Liemstal? Who cares? Why should she even worry about that?


After the show, Juliet and Rachel stop in at a bar, the music still ringing in their heads. They're giddy with the rare night of freedom, no men, no kids. "I don't know about you, Jules, but some days I feel about a hundred years old," Rachel says as she sips her wine.

Try getting your mind around the fact that Calvin Coolidge isn't in the White House anymore. "Yeah, me too."

"Oh, did I tell you? I finally got all our RSVPs in..." and Rachel's off and talking about her wedding. Juliet would never have pictured Rachel having a big wedding, to be honest, but Brian had a huge, extended Irish-Catholic family and they were going all-out. The wedding planning usually made Juliet's eyes glaze over, but even she had to admit she was looking forward to returning to Miami in January and see her big sister walk down the aisle.

That would probably be one of the only times Juliet was glad they had literally no extended family of their own. No one would be there to ask too many questions about where the hell she'd been.

Meanwhile, telling Rachel about her courthouse wedding had been a little bit... challenging. "So, do anything fun this weekend?" Rachel asked her over the phone the Monday afterward.

It was the perfect "in" -- except why did Juliet suddenly feel so tongue-tied? "Well, I... well, I..." Finally she just said it all in a rush. "I got married on Friday, does that count?"

"You WHAT?"

"I got married on Friday. Does that count as fun?"

"You're actually... serious?"

"Yeah. Last I checked." Juliet showily inspected her left hand; even though Rachel was on the phone and couldn't actually see her, the gesture just seemed appropriate.

"You got married? You didn't invite me?" Rachel sounded genuinely hurt. And angry, of course.

"Rach, we just went to the courthouse."

"I assume you didn't just get up that morning and decide to stop by on your way out for coffee," she said snippily. "How long were you planning on this?"

Her sister was right; she should have told her beforehand. "A couple of weeks," she admitted.

"You suck, you know that? I'm really upset you didn't tell me!"

"Well, I'm telling you now."

Rachel sighed. "I'm still not married and now my baby sister has beaten me to the altar twice."

"I'm really sorry about that. We thought about waiting, 'til after January, but it's not like anyone else in our massive family will notice. We just wanted to get it done. I'm really sorry for not telling you beforehand, Rachel."

Rachel sighs. "Did you at least not wear jeans?"

"We did not wear jeans."

"OK, I'm feeling a little better. Uh... Did I say congratulations yet?"

Juliet knew that if she'd pulled something like this in the old days -- not that she ever would have, but just hypothetically -- Rachel would have stopped speaking to her for at least a week. But the advantage of disappearing and being held against her will for a dozen years meant that she had a lot more leeway than usual. That was one on the plus side, at least.


On the morning of Thanksgiving, they're awoken by a pitiful whine outside their bedroom door. "Mamaaaa?"

James groans and forces himself from the bed, pulling on his clothes. Juliet's only aware of a painful scratchiness in the back of her throat and starts to burrow under her pillow. "One sec, little guy," James calls toward the door. "Psst," he hisses, poking her in the ribs. "Get dressed."

"Ungh," she groans, but manages to find her tank top, undies and PJ pants from the floor. Her entire head is throbbing and she's undeniably stuffed up, but she dresses as quickly as possible before flopping back down onto the bed.

James goes to unlock the door and Jonah is standing there holding his pillow, looking about as pathetic as Juliet feels. "My throat hurts," he whimpers.

"Mine too, buddy, come over here," Juliet croaks. James scoops him up and plops Jonah in the bed next to Juliet, who lays the back of her hand across his forehead. "No fever, but I'd say we're sick. Does your head hurt you?"

Jonah nods. "And my throat feels all hurty."

James is watching them, his head bouncing back and forth like he's watching a tennis match. "What do you think it is?" he asks anxiously, leaning forward, one knee on the bed.

"Why don't you lie down with me?" Juliet says to Jonah, who curls up next to her, looking miserable, with his head on her stomach. She looks up at James. "I think it's a cold, James. We must have gotten it on the plane, all that recycled air. Incubation period seems about right."

"I feel OK, though," he says, worried.

"Of course you do." She sees his confusion. "Don't worry. I'm actually amazed it's taken this long, but I've sort of been expecting this to happen."

"You have? Why?"

"Because, think about it, James. No one ever got sick on the island. Hurt, yes, but not sick. Jonah's never been exposed to anything his entire life. I haven't been exposed to anything for twelve years. We're probably going to catch every single cold that crosses our paths this winter." She snakes a hand out to the end table, pulls a tissue from the box. She holds it under Jonah's nose. "Blow."

"Crap. So what should I do?"

"Well... Could you go out and find us some cold medicine?"

"Yeah." He springs into action, tying on his shoes.

"Do they still make those tissues with the lotion in them?" She knows she sounds pathetic, but her first cold in a dozen years is sort of making her feel that way. This sucks. How do people deal with these two or three times a year?

"Yeah. They even make 'em antibacterial, now."

"Ooh, yeah, get those."

He stands. "Anythin' else? Little J?"

"Popsicles," Jonah whimpers.

"Good idea," Juliet says approvingly.

"You know Rachel's gonna say you did this on purpose to get out of cookin' today."

"I was just thinking that myself."

After he leaves, she snuggles down under the covers with Jonah, turning her head so she can no longer see the manilla envelope on the top of the dresser. "This is kinda nice, isn't it, buddy?"

"No, we're sick," he whines.

"Yeah, that part isn't any good, is it?"

"Nope."

But she can't help a half-smile. They're sick, but James is taking care of them. And she and Jonah used to sleep together like this every night on the island. She'd known, back then, that the time was coming when she would have had to track down another bed, or a cot, or something, that he was getting too big for this. But it wasn't uncommon in that time for children to sleep with their parents, and it was nice. She always knew he was safe, was protected.

(She hopes in whatever time, whatever place he is as an adult, he's still safe and protected. That's not too much to ask for, is it?)


"Ugh, I don't understand how you can do that."

"What?" James asks, stepping back from the counter.

Juliet shuffles into the kitchen in late morning, still in her PJs and flip-flops. "Microwave old coffee. That's disgusting. It completely changes the taste." She pulls a tissue from her pocket and blows her nose.

"Eh, it's fine. And when'd you get to be such a purist, anyway?" He crosses his arms over his chest.

"I don't know, maybe once I started drinking coffee made with water that didn't come from a creek." She arches an eyebrow and he swats at her ass as she walks past, only to turn her head when she notices Rachel standing in the doorway. She never makes jokes about the island to Rachel; Rachel would start wondering why Juliet could even joke about it at all.

It's Thanksgiving, Rachel, please don't start, she thinks. But her sister just grins. Thank you, thank you. "Creek water coffee, huh? Don't think I've ever seen that one on the Starbucks menu," and she steps further into the kitchen, opening the fridge.

Juliet sags in relief as Rachel starts hauling out sweet potatoes, and she turns her attention back to James. "Seriously, I was just about to make some coffee anyway, seeing as you didn't bring me any this morning."

"Sorry, your majesty, I was too busy trackin' down those tissues with the lotion in them."

"Ooh, but those tissues are soooo awesome."

Rachel interjects then. "OK, sorry to interrupt your creepy flirting, but Jules, you're not touching anything in my kitchen. I'm not letting you contaminate our Thanksgiving dinner with your crappy-immune-system germs." Rachel reaches back into the fridge and retrieves a can of coffee grounds, holds them out to James. "James, quit your yapping and make my sister some coffee."

Juliet smiles triumphantly and sits down at the table.

"Y'know," James grumbles as he dragged out the coffeemaker, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say you two just conned me."

Rachel smirks. "And how do you know we didn't?"


All in all, it turns out to be a pretty good Thanksgiving.