Juliet probably expects me to say something like we have to be one hundred percent honest with each other or that she’s required to divulge all her deepest, darkest secrets to me.

But building a friendship isn’t the same as making a deal with the devil.

“Rule number one: feel free to tell me to shut up whenever you feel it’s necessary.”

Silence stretches between us, and I look over again to find Juliet now staring at me, a glimmer of hope in her sweet, dark eyes.

“Zoey?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind shutting up?”

“Not in the slightest.”

We spend the next half hour drinking beer and throwing rocks. The only sounds are the tiny splashes in the water, crickets chirping, branches rustling in the wind, and my big, lazy dog snoring.

And I ignore the sensation of eyes watching me.

16

ZOEY

Around noon, I finally stop sobbing.

There wasn’t just one thing that set me off. A bunch of little things did.

Stubbing my toe on a rock. Missing my family. Thoughts of Minnie. Dropping Juliet off because our friend date was done.

But the real culprit was beer.

I knew, even as I was cracking open my fifth can of Coors, that I was making an unhealthy choice. When I’d first started on my antidepressants, I was lucky enough to discover that one drink had no noticeable effect on my mental health. But there’s a threshold, and when I pass it, I roll dice with misery.

Now, after spending a night getting to know Juliet, I know she wouldn’t have judged me or made me feel bad about needing to stay sober. But at the start of our little camping trip, she’d shown up with a cooler full of beer, proudly declaring we were going to get wasted in the wilderness.

The idea sounded so fun. I convinced myself the repercussions weren’t as bad as I remembered.

Mistake.

I barely made it halfway home when the wretchedness crashed over me. Not the true darkness that arrives slowly and drags me under the surface. This is a malfunction with my meds and hopefully short-lived.

I parked on the side of the road as the tears fell in rivers. Eventually, I calmed long enough to drive again, but only made it as far as the front porch before I collapsed on a rocking chair and wallowed in my unexplainable sadness.

Well, there is an explanation, just not a satisfying one. My brain sometimes decides to be unhappy without cause.

When the misery subsides, I’m left with itchy eyes, a sore throat, and an aching head. All of these lend a sharp edge to my voice as I search for my dog.

“Bruce!” The screen door opens with a creak as I move to the back porch, calling out for the furry brute. “Bruce! Dinnertime!”