Page 22 of Don’t Open Your Eyes

Annabelle went cold. Kiera’s words about Randy being a player resounded in her mind.

“Did something else happen?”

“I kissed her back, but then I told her it wasn’t going to happen. It was before you and I had coffee, I swear. Nothing else happened, and I didn’t want it to. I told you, I love you.”

Annabelle wanted to believe him, did believe him, but the mood was spoiled. Her appetite was gone, too, but she wasn’t going to let this blow up into a big fight. She looked him in the eye. “Whatever happened before we were together is cool. Just don’t lie to me. I’m only going to ask one more time. Was that really all there was to it, or did something more happen?”

He looked down at the floor. “A few kisses, and she initiated it. But then I made her leave.”

“Why would she think she could show up at your house? And how did she know where you live?”

“I don’t know. Honestly. She must have looked it up. I mean, I’m listed. I guess she figured she’d take her chances.”

“Let’s just eat and forget about it,” Annabelle said.

They returned to the kitchen and continued drinking wine and chatting as though everything was fine. But a little doubt had nestled in Annabelle’s mind, and she knew it wouldn’t leave as easily as Darlene had.

The Wife

He thinks he’s so smart, so tricky. I pretend that I don’t know about her. That I’m oblivious to everything. He leaves the house earlier every day. Even when he’s here, his mind is elsewhere. He stays in his office until late and comes to bed after I’m asleep. The last time I never proved anything, but this time I will. I’m not going to turn a blind eye.

I turn the knob on his home office and enter. He’s careful, so I’m not optimistic that I’ll find any clues, but I have to try. I sit down at his desk and pull on the center drawer. Locked. I rummage around for a key, looking under the blotter, in the pencil cup, moving papers on the surface—but there’s no key. I glance at the built-in bookshelf lining the wall. I don’t have time to search there. I’m already running late; I have a client meeting at nine with a woman who recently discovered her husband has been living a secret life for years. She wants me to take him to the cleaners, and that’s what I intend to do. They don’t call me a “ball-buster” for nothing. I’ve made a good living, helping women make their husbands pay dearly in a divorce. My reputation is well known. Unfortunately, my husband is aware of it, too, which makes him very hard to catch.

Annabelle

Annabelle left work early with a raging migraine. It must be stress, she thought. She hadn’t had a headache this bad in years. It was three o’clock, and the house was quiet. Scarlett had a soccer game, so Dylan and the girls wouldn’t be home until close to five. If it didn’t feel like a nail was boring through her skull, she would have loved to have surprised Scarlett by going, but all she wanted to do was lie down in a dark room with an ice pack on her forehead. After downing three ibuprofens, she went upstairs. She tried to quiet her thoughts, but she kept replaying the discussion between her and James about her dreams. When she’d tried to talk to him about it again, he’d cut her off midsentence. She wasn’t crazy, and she wasn’t imagining things. The plane crash, the restaurant, Scarlett’s vaping. It was all too much to be a coincidence.

She remembered her mother telling her about the time her grandmother had dreamed about her husband clutching his chest and falling over. She’d begged him to go to the doctor and get checked out. He didn’t listen. A week later, he had a heart attack and died. Annabelle’s mother said it was a curse that her mother had to bear, seeing these horrible things and no one believing her. And now it was happening to Annabelle.

She finally drifted off into a fitful sleep.

It’s pizza night and Parker sits at my side, his head on my leg, waiting and hoping I’ll share some crust with him. I know I should scold him, but he’s so adorable with that sweet face and limpid brown eyes that I don’t. When James isn’t looking, I break a piece of crust and hand it to him under the table.

“Nice try,” James says, “I saw it. That dog has turned into a pest because you all spoil him.”

“It’s not fair. We get to eat whenever we want. Parker has to wait for us to feed him,” Olivia says.

James shakes his head.

Scarlett’s phone pings, and she stands up to retrieve it from the counter.

“Not during dinner!” James admonishes.

She rolls her eyes. “It’s about a homework assignment. I’ll just be a sec.” She gets up and reads the text. “Oh, shoot!”

“What?”

“I forgot! I need a poster board for my presentation. I thought it was due Friday, but it’s tomorrow.”

I groan. “Scarlett! How many times have we asked you to plan ahead?”

“It’s okay, I’ll run you over to the store. We can swing by the grocery store too. I’m running low on my protein shake,” James says.

I clear the table after they leave, then open my laptop to jump on a Zoom call with the West Coast office. After a while, I look up and see it’s almost eight-thirty. They’ve been gone for over an hour and a half, and the shopping center is only a few miles away. A feeling of unease comes over me. I pick up my phone, go to the “find me” app, and look up James’s phone. It shows him on the road but not moving. I try to navigate to his contact info to call him but the phone freezes. My fingers poke the screen and nothing happens. Why can’t I call him? I turn to go in search of the house phone but it’s like I’m stuck in quicksand. I can barely move. The doorbell rings. A sense of dread overcomes me. I don’t want to answer it. Something inside is telling me that once I do, my life will never be the same. My legs feel leaden. The doorbell rings again. I make my way to the hallway, again, in slow motion as my legs don’t seem to get the message that I need them to move. When I finally reach the door and open it, a police officer is standing there. “No,” I whisper before he says anything.

“Mrs. Reynolds?”

I nod.