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Dandelion Moon, Chapter 1

She came to herself-whoever she was-running in panic, gasping for breath, tripping over tombstones and stumbling into holes through a dark cemetery.

Where was she?

Smoke drifted past her from the darkness between flashes of light that outlined a stand of trees ahead of her. A red haze rose through those trees.

Why was she running? Was she being chased? She ran faster, harder, glancing over her shoulder to see if someone was behind her, but there was nothing. No one.

Another flash and explosion made her cry out. She stumbled to a stop, hugged herself, held her breath. Stars of red and green shimmered in the sky and filtered to the ground.

She closed her eyes, weak with relief. Not a war zone. Fireworks.

Calm down. Take a deep breath. Another.

Heart still practically in A-fib, she heard disembodied shouts and laughter. Whistles and applause filtered through the forest. What day was this?

Independence Day celebration? No. Too cold. This wasn't July.

Confusion cascaded over her fear, mingled, settled in the pit of her stomach. What year was it? How could she not know?

An explosion and whistle brought her eyes wide open again, and more lights formed a brilliant white star that spread across the sky, accompanied by a flute playing O Holy Night.

She recognized the star. But she felt no sense of familiarity when she looked down at her own hands. Amnesia from a fugue state could do that to a person. How did she know that?

Another explosion and screech unnerved her, but for a moment she was able to stand still, force herself to think instead of simply react. Fugue state. Yes.

Why was she here in this cemetery at Christmastime? The harder she tried to remember the more she trembled. Something black and deadly hovered in her mind, dammed by a thick barrier she could not force herself to penetrate.

She turned and looked behind her again, and this time she saw a line of cars parked along the cemetery drive. A red Mustang lurked amongst the others. She shuddered, as if a menace waited for her from inside the windows of that car.

Why did that thought terrify her? What if someone was chasing her? Had she been drugged? Injured?

She reached up and palpated her skull and neck, her shoulders and face. No injury there.

Another explosion made her cringe. She tried to breathe more slowly, evenly.

Something about this section of the cemetery held her here. But why? She stepped sideways and stumbled against a black marble tombstone. A tingle raced up her arm. She snatched her hand away, and for a flicker of a second the lights in the sky illumined the name etched in shadow. Dustin Grooms.

She caught her breath and held it, scrambled away from the stone, eyes wide, afraid to turn from it. That name…why did it affect her?

She continued to back away, then swung around and glanced at other stones. Something about this setting felt familiar all of a sudden. The aroma of spent explosives hovered in the air with the resultant smoke and fog. Trapped. She felt trapped. Where could she go? She certainly couldn't force herself to take a step toward the forest and the explosions beyond.

Monuments around her seemed to inch closer. She shut her eyes, whimpering, hugging herself. Had to keep her sanity-or what she had left of it. The smoke thickened. A headache intensified its steady rhythm behind her eyes as it mingled with the frustration, the confusion.

This won't last. I'm not losing my mind.

The words did nothing to comfort her. Why was that knowledge so instinctive, as if she'd used the same reassurance in times past?

More cheers and louder laughter drifted up the hill-and yet, how could she know the forest was on a hillside? She didn't move to see more; for a moment she felt as if her body was telling her not to try. Her body? Or something in her mind?

The finale filled the night with loud bursts of sound and eye-stabbing colors. A streak of pain etched itself down the back of her head. Tension curled in her stomach like heat from one of those firecrackers. She covered her ears and closed her eyes against the cacophony of the show. Her legs weakened. She dropped beside a tombstone on the cold ground and sobbed.

Joy Gilbert climbed the steep road from the park, trying to keep up with her mother, who had obviously been working out. "You did it."

"Did what?"

Joy paused to breathe. "First of all you came to the fireworks display, an actual community social. Then you stayed for the whole thing. I think I even heard you greet Wilma Rush as we left."

"Notice she ignored me." Mom's voice had regained some of the musical lilt that she'd lost last year.

"She ignores everyone. Good ol' Wilma, always there with a nasty attitude and a knife for someone's back, yet you greeted her anyway."

"It's biblical," Mom said. "You know, kindness to your enemies, hot coals on their heads."

Joy chuckled as she was expected to. "How long has it been since you participated in a town gathering? Town hall meetings? Social meetings? Parties? You're doing better. Admit it."

"Not doing better, just doing it now."

Joy could almost feel her mother shuddering beside her, and she smiled. "I know it's got to be hard to get back out into the world and face old friends and-"

"And enemies?" Mom shrugged. "It's hard enough to search for a decent church and face the gossips at the grocery store every week."

"Every town has its gossips. For that matter so does every church."

"Don't remind me."

"What you need is selective hearing loss. You did great work when you were on the town council. Nobody could distract you from your goals and you made Juliet a better place to live."

With a gentle smile at Joy, Mom shook her head. "In case you don't recall, most of the town council consisted of men, and back in the day…well…"

"Are you implying the men only listened to you because you were easy on the eyes? Come on. They could see your wisdom past the pleasing exterior."

"I never intentionally 'worked it' to get what I wanted, believe me."

"I know. Who can help being beautiful?" Joy chuckled. "But you've grown in wisdom-"

"And girth, and age."

"You've lost fifty pounds."

"Doesn't matter. I'm no longer part of the town meetings and don't want to be. That part of my life is over."

Joy knew her mother had never enjoyed the limelight. "Maybe it's just begun and you don't know it yet," she teased.

"Joy Marie, don't start."

"How about the hunt for the perfect church? Have you found one yet?"

"I'm narrowing it down, and you know as well as I do that nothing's perfect. You?"

Joy grimaced. "Working Sundays."

"Don't even try that with me. I heard you asking Zack to give you those Sunday shifts, and I know why. You're convinced every congregation will be the same as our old one. I refuse to believe all churches are filled with gossips and judgmental jerks. You just have to find the right one."

"The right gossip? Or the right judgmental jerk?" Joy scowled. Church busybodies had become thorns in the path for her last year. When Zack broke their engagement she'd blamed her church and left the congregation. Now she knew the real reason for that break, but the behavior of the people she'd thought of as her church family continued to make her distrust churches in general.

She and Zack had reconciled. Still, she occasionally wondered if he trusted her. And how could she trust another church after the way they'd treated her mother?

Mom also left their church last year. She'd asked to teach a Sunday school class and was turned down because Joy was illegitimate. It didn't matter that Joy was also a grown woman with a doctorate now; the trustees didn't believe it would be a good example to have an unwed mother in a position to teach children about Jesus. Small towns had their drawbacks. Quite a few of them.

"There are weeds in every wheat field, sweetheart," Mom said.

Joy knew what she meant. "I know all about the parable of the tares and the wheat, but my concern is with the actual wheat. Just as scientists have altered the original grain until it's unrecognizable and causes celiac disease, the same goes for toxic Christians."

"Toxic Christians are now causing celiac disease?" Mom asked dryly.

Joy paused again to catch her breath. She needed to find out her mother's exercise plan. "They wander from the truth. You proved your love for God from the time I was old enough to understand."

"Not all of them wander. Besides, when we avoid the fray we're allowing the weeds to take over, and then the wheat is drawn even further from the original truth."

"I'm not weed killer."

"And so you work in the ER on Sundays, where you have to judge between drug seekers and legitimate patients in pain. You hate it."

"They're all patients in pain, but too many of them try to self-medicate with the wrong thing."

"When do you plan to join Zack in his practice?"

Relieved by the subject change, Joy picked up her pace again. ""He's barely making enough to handle overhead, and I can't see it growing until he hires staff. He can't afford that."

"Then help him finance it with your half of the investment."

"A basic practice, including staff and start-up time, would be more than half a mil. You think I could possibly have saved that much since May?"

"You could talk to your grandpa."

Joy knew her grandfather would gladly give her the money to get a practice started. He would also take out ads in the paper and spread the word and tell all his friends, and then he would proceed to tell her and Zack exactly how they needed to run things.

"We'll do it on our own or not at all. Besides, we've got a wedding to plan first, and I already regret the decision to have a fancy affair instead of getting married the week after Zack proposed. It would've been so much easier."

"You needed the time."

"For what? We've known each other since anatomy lab."

"Even so, you still have some questions about this engagement."

"Since when did you become omniscient?"

"You're saying I'm right, then."

"No." She wasn't saying that at all. She might be thinking it, but not as often as before. Zack had his own family issues to work out last year. Seeing his parents divorce left him doubting everything in his life.

"Good, because if you two don't know each other well enough by now you might as well give it up. You don't want to rob your grandfather of the opportunity to give his granddaughter away."

"That isn't why I'm getting married."

"He never got to do that with me, and he still grumbles about it."

Joy sighed. Molly Gilbert had always been a force of nature, beautiful, vivacious and kind, but she took after her father a little too much. Last year was the only time Joy had seen her falter. Losing her only child to the city, losing her job, being forced to accept Joy's financial aid for the first time in her life had knocked the exuberance from her. Now that she was bouncing back she was getting a little too personal.

"Thanks for coming with me tonight," Joy said.

"I like fireworks," Mom said.

"You wore your earplugs."

"I like to watch them, not hear them. Besides, you just said I needed selective hearing loss. The plugs also block out the whispers and rumors that seem to follow me wherever I go."

"You set yourself up. Bricking that old shed is enough to stir up anyone's imagination."

"Only because they make it their business to snoop on my private property."

"You know what they're calling it, don't you? A brick cat house."

"Cat shelter, not cat house. It's no one's business what I do on my own place. It isn't visible from the road, and no one has the right to trespass."

"You know this town." Joy shrugged as she veered to her left onto the paved drive of the cemetery, relieved that her mother was no longer leading the way in both distance and conversation.

For an instant she thought she heard a cry over the chatter of the small group of partiers behind them. She slowed her steps, out of breath. It really was time to start an exercise program.

A quick glance behind them showed her that the people following were laughing and acting silly, filled with eggnog and Christmas cookies. No tears there.

She frowned. "Did you hear that?"

Mom slowed beside her. "What?"

Joy scanned the shadows, unable to see a thing besides the shapes of tombstones and cars. "I thought I heard someone crying."

"Coyotes out in the field?"

"No. Listen."

They stood in the cold night air. The crowd caught up and filed around them. When conversation lulled for a few seconds Joy was sure she heard a woman sobbing.

Mom switched on her tiny keychain flashlight, which seemed to glow in the cemetery darkness almost as brightly as the show they'd just seen. "Over in the protestant section. Let's check it out."

Joy followed. When the light bounced off a familiar red bumper in the line of cars, she reached for her mother's shoulder. "Hold it. Aim that thing back to the red car. See it?"

"Hmmm. Nice. So?"

"Have you seen any red Mustangs in town lately?"

"I'm seldom actually in town if I can avoid it." Mom strode off through the cemetery.

"Myra Maxwell got that red sports car last month," Joy called after her.

"She lives half a state away."

Joy sighed. "Just look for Dustin's monument. This is the second Christmas since his death and she might have felt a need to visit." But Joy had just spoken to Myra on the phone yesterday. She certainly hadn't been crying, she'd been celebrating the continued recovery of Sarah Miller, one of their favorite mutual patients. The poor young woman had battled post traumatic stress disorder for years. Last night she'd made reservations to eat out at a nice restaurant and attend a company party.

Mom stepped across the crackly winter grass. "Hello?" she shouted. "Anyone out there?"

The chatter behind them stopped, then some young girl tittered.

"There's plenty of someones out there," a guy muttered. "Is Molly going to start holding séances now?"

Another idiot laughed.

Joy turned and glared as the crowd spread out to their separate cars. She caught up with her mother halfway along a row of monuments.

"Myra's parents are buried out here, too. Last night was the anniversary of her mother's death." Mom stopped suddenly, light raised, and Joy nearly collided with her.

The beam landed on the slender shoulders of a woman huddling beside the Maxwell tombstone. The woman had black hair, a long denim duster that looked familiar-and far too thin to protect her from the cold.

Mom stepped closer and shone the light near the woman's face.

"Myra?" Joy called softly. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming down? And where's your coat?"

Her friend didn't respond.

Mom dropped to her knees and aimed the beam of light against the headstone to reflect and widen the glow. She placed a hand on Myra's shoulder. "Sweetheart, are you okay?"

Myra looked around, her cheeks streaked by tears and mascara.

Joy pulled off her own jacket. "You're shivering." When she tried to cover her friend, Myra scrambled aside, eyes wide with terror.

"Stay away from me! I don't know you." She hunched her shoulders, burying her head against her knees.

Joy stood holding the coat, fear stiffening her fingers and cutting off her air. She looked at her mother, who stared at Myra, still holding the light on her.

"You might now know us," Mom said softly, her voice shaking slightly, "but we know you. We're friends, and have been for a long time."

Myra shook her head. "Please go away. I don't want to know…I can't do this."

Joy swallowed hard, shock transforming into something more like horror. "At least take this jacket, please. We're not going to hurt you. Myra, I'm afraid something's happened to you."

"I don't know who Myra is."

"That's your name. I'm Joy Gilbert, and this is my mother, Molly."

"Please don't-"

"We can't just leave you like this," Joy said, feeling the quiver in her voice. "Something's obviously happened; you're in a state of amnesia and we're here to help you. Please Myra, just trust us."

"And first of all," Mom said, taking the jacket from Joy, "you need to get warm. Put this on before you freeze." She held the jacket toward Myra without getting close enough to frighten her further.

"You can't spend the night out here in the cemetery," Joy said. "You can stay with us at Mom's house. There's room." Joy glanced at her mother, tried again to swallow away some of the fear that paralyzed her, and went weak with relief when Myra finally took the jacket.

Joy stared at her best friend and forced herself to remain strong, but inside she wanted to scream out to the heavens. What was wrong with Myra?