The year of the Lucy

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With great friendship for my Wilmington Cronies Isabel Worrell Betty Philips Dorothy Rathje and to the memory of Elsie Watson

MIRELLE STRUGGLED against returning consciousness because it would end the delightful sequence of dream. Eyes half-opened, she lay on her stomach, feeling out the day ahead of her as she often did, trying to decide if getting up was really worth the effort. Sometimes she knew in advance that it wouldn't be. Today, the coolness from her open bedroom window, a patch of brilliant blue sky seemed propitious auguries. Something else, however, niggled and she cast her mind back to the lingering aura of the dream that she had been so reluctant to leave.

She mumbled with pleasure to herself as she recalled a fleeting part of the sequence. It was a dream that she had often had before, reaching only a certain point before wakefulness dissolved it. When Steve had been away on a long swing around his territory, or when she was particularly annoyed with him, she would deliberately conjure the opening scene of that dream in erotic revenge.

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