Page 63 of You Met Me There

“We’re here,” she says, looking back over her shoulder. She stands with her hands on her hips, like a superhero without her cape. “I know it’s hard, but just a few more steps, Nat. You got this. Believe me, this view is totally worth it.”

I pant, hands on my knees as I hike the slope to catch up. “What makes you think this is hard? Is it the way I’m gasping for air or the redness in my face that gave it away?” I joke. Juliet chuckles, and when I bridge the ten-foot gap between us, I’m instantly rewarded for my hard work.

We stand at the top of a cliff, one that would very much kill us if we were to fall. But beyond that is a magnificent view of green trees that stretch on for miles. The sun dazzles from a clear sky, and I’m grateful that we hiked under the shade of the trees. A rolling green mountain reaches the tree line in the distance before touching the baby blue sky beyond. There isn’t a cloud in sight.

Juliet points. “If you look really closely, you can see the Kittappy River down there. And over there, you can see town.”

I squint, taking it all in. I can indeed see shadowy blue water, but it disappears behind a curve in the landscape. Maple Lake looks quaint and empty from way up here. It’s a small town, even smaller than I really remember it, but it’s charming. Rustic and wild as it nestles into the mountain, but tame and comforting at the same time.

A lot like the ocean, I realize.

I pull out my camera and uncap the lens, snapping photo after photo, zooming in on the town and the water, then going wide and snapping some more. It’s beautiful—so perfect I won’t have to edit these at all. I wouldn’t even want to; the raw images are breathtaking. Everything but the view fades around me until I lower the camera, holding it against my chest. I breathe in the warm summer air and exhale, the cheerful trill of birds on the faint breeze encouraging me to relax and enjoy the moment.

“I never thought I’d actually be here again, seeing this exact view,” I say.

“You remember it?” Juliet asks.

I nod at her. “Not vividly. But now that I’m up here, I remember seeing it before. The same view, from this exact angle.” I raise the camera between my hands. “These photos will be perfect for the cabin.”

She smiles, and I turn back to the view.

There are plenty of trails and tons of outlooks from which you can see Maple Lake. But I remember this one specifically, with the river on the left and town on the right. The lake by Juliet’s house sparkles—just a dot of blue in a sea of green. Main Street stretches between the trees, an opening in the leaves where everything else is dense woods.

“I used to dream about Maple Lake when I first left,” I admit, meeting Juliet’s eyes.

Her brows tug downward. “Really?”

“Yup. They weren’t good dreams, though,” I say, shaking my head. I look away from her, falling into a memory of Luke.

“I’ll stay with you,” he’d said the first time he woke me from a nightmare. “If the nightmare shows up, I’ll fight it. Nothing will happen to you.”

Juliet slides her backpack to the ground, shaking me from the scene.

“What were the dreams about?” she asks. She pulls out a water bottle and hands it to me.

“Thanks.” I take a few long pulls of water, savoring the crisp liquid as it cools me from the inside; then, I sit down on a large rock. “The dreams were mostly foggy. I couldn’t see much, like everything was fading, turning black. I could never really explain them, even when I’d just woken up from one. But, you know how sometimes in a dream you can’t see someone’s face, but you still know who it is?”

She nods.

“They were like that,” I say. “I couldn’t see where I was, but I knew I was here. Somewhere in Maple Lake. It was just something I knew subconsciously. But as much as I wanted to see beyond the fog, I just couldn’t. My dreams never cleared up. It was always black.”

She sits on the dusty ground, folding her legs under her. Dax leans against her body, and she reaches out to pet his neck. “It sounds like you had this dream a lot.”

I chuckle darkly, remembering how I never slept through the night, how the dreams felt like I was falling down a black hole, how I didn’t think I’d ever sleep soundly again. “It was at least once a night.”

“Once a night?” Her eyes widen in shock. “You had a dream like this every single night? For how long?”

“For a long time.” I crack a twig between my fingers.

I hate the way she’s looking at me—like I’m broken. But I had to do something to open up to her. She thinks my life has been a dream since I left, like everything’s been perfect without her. Maybe that’s why she resents me.

Well, I want her to know it was also a nightmare.

“What did you do?” Her voice is small.

“I started seeing a therapist, and that helped. I took medication for a little while to help me sleep.”

And when that stopped working, I resorted to strong drinks. The blur of the alcohol made my world spin, but it kept the dreams away. I hate that it’s the only thing that helped back then.