Page 10 of Don’t Open Your Eyes

Annabelle rose. “Good night, sweetie. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Scarlett said, already looking down at her book.

Annabelle was troubled as she left. There was no shortage of articles on the damaging effects of social media, especially on teenage girls. She thought of her daughter’s comment about her job. Was she part of the problem? But what choice did she have? Her expertise was marketing, which these days was mostly online. She hadn’t connected her work with what many experts were citing as an unhealthy fixation on image. The clients she represented were professionals with products or services aimed at adults. As with anything, there were two sides to social media. It was a great tool for gaining exposure and connecting with others, but it could also be a gateway to misery. Especially for vulnerable teens who decided that their value was determined by how well-liked their posts were. She’d keep a closer eye on Scarlett. She was glad that at least she’d restricted Olivia’s access to it until she was older.

Annabelle went downstairs to let James know she was turning in. She’d read in bed for a while and try to get a good night’s sleep. Maybe the morning would bring wisdom. She’d only read a few pages when her eyes became heavy. Putting the book on her nightstand, she turned off the lamp, sank into bed, and closed her eyes.

I’m in a hotel room. It’s beautiful with a large balcony overlooking the ocean. The door’s open and the salt air wafts through, beckoning me. The sun is beginning to set as I walk out to the balcony. The sky is painted in brilliant pinks and purples, and the sound of the waves crashing on the shore makes the scene complete. I stand next to the railing, soaking in these last magical moments of daylight. When I glance at the table, there are two wineglasses filled halfway with a crimson liquid. Who am I here with?

Turning around, I look into the room, but it’s empty. Suddenly I realize I’m hugging someone. A man. He’s tall, and I feel completely at ease in his arms. We don’t speak, we hold each other, and it feels right. I can see his reflection in the glass balcony door—the back of his head. I try to make out his features but they’re blurry.

My phone rings. It’s on the table next to the wine, and James’s name flashes on the screen. I extricate myself from the man I’m hugging, whose long brown hair I can see now. It’s not James.

A pang of regret fills me when he releases me from his arms. I pick up the phone and enter the room again.

“Hello?”

“I need you to cut your trip short.”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Scarlett. She was vaping in school. They suspended her. Do you know how bad vaping is for you? This is really serious!”

“I can’t believe she’d do that. She knows better. Are you sure she was vaping?”

An impatient sigh. “She denies doing it but come on. She was caught in the bathroom with a bunch of other girls. She’s been hanging out with new people since the rift with Zoe.”

“I’ll talk to her when I get back. One more day.”

“You need to come home now. She needs you. You’re gone all the time, and I think this is her way of rebelling.”

“I can’t miss my meeting tomorrow. You know that. You’ll have to handle things until I get home. I’m not her only parent, you know! And it’s not like I haven’t had to do plenty on my own. I never asked you to come home when you were on call all night. How many nights have I spent with sick kids by myself?”

His voice softens. “I know. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty for working. I’m worried about her, Annabelle. I wish I could get through to her on my own, but she needs you.”

“I’ll try to book a red-eye for tomorrow night instead of waiting until the next day. But that’s the best I can do.”

“If you say so.”

I end the call and throw the phone on the bed. It’s then that I notice the television is on and an emergency announcement interrupts the program. A plane crash over Atlanta. Flight 108. I grab the remote and turn the volume up. Everyone is feared dead. A chill runs through me. There’s a loud blaring, and I look around to try to find where it’s coming from. Is the smoke alarm going off in the hotel? The man is still standing on the balcony, his back to me.

“Hey, do you hear that?” I shout.

“Annabelle, wake up,” James says, gently shaking her. “You must have been dreaming. You were yelling.”

She sat up with a start. “Um, yeah. I thought there was a fire. Only a dream,” she mumbled, still half-asleep. He held her phone in his hand. “Your alarm was going off. You should change it to music. I’ve told you these harsh noises are not good to wake up to.”

She fell back against the pillow, still tired. “Yeah. I’ll do that. I need a few more minutes.”

“Okay. I’ll get the girls’ breakfast going.”

She closed her eyes, reliving the dream, trying to make sense of it. Who was the man on the balcony? She would never cheat on James, especially given what had happened to her in the past, but the dream seemed to indicate that she was. She could still feel the sense of completeness she’d felt in his arms.

Annabelle had never met her grandmother, but her mother had told her that she used to have elaborate dreams. Dreams that sometimes came true, and that scared her mother. Annabelle hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now she wished she could ask her mother more about it. Lately, it was as though she was living in another dimension. She wasn’t doing anything different. No new medications or diet changes. Although she was doing that gratitude thing. Maybe she was tapping into her subconscious more. She didn’t like it. She’d have to google it and see if that was even a thing. One thing was for sure, her subconscious was screaming at her not to take the job. Her reservations about not being available if her children needed her weighed heavily on her. She would tell Madeline no.

When she got downstairs, James handed her a cup of coffee.

“Morning, everyone,” she said.