Page 24 of Don’t Open Your Eyes

Annabelle put a forkful in her mouth. The sauce was bitter, and the noodles not fully cooked. She grimaced. “Liar,” she replied, laughing. “I’m not sure it’s supposed to be crunchy.”

James took a heaping helping, ate a forkful, and then arched an eyebrow. “It’s the most interesting lasagna I’ve ever had. The raisins are a nice touch.”

She pushed the plate away from her. “Pizza on me. This is inedible.”

James pulled out his phone and ordered a pizza. Then he smiled at Annabelle. “I’ve got it. You’re still a student.” He put his phone back in his pocket. “On its way.”

“Thanks,” she said, grateful that she wouldn’t have to dip into her dwindling cash. She appreciated James’s thoughtfulness. She knew he couldn’t make that much as a resident, but he always did small things to make it easier on her.

“How was your mom yesterday?” James asked.

“In a happy mood. Didn’t ask to go home, so I’m hoping she’s getting used to it there.”

“Did you play some of the old songs she liked?”

Annabelle nodded. “Thanks so much for suggesting it. She actually remembered some of the lyrics and was singing along. It was the first time in I don’t know how long that I saw a genuine smile on her face.”

“It’s amazing what music can do. I suggest doing that each time you see her,” James said.

“Yeah, I was thinking of getting her a CD player and some CDs, so the nurses can play music when I’m not there.”

“Great idea,” Randy said.

“I have one I don’t need. You can take it if you like,” James said.

“That would be great, thank you.” She yawned. “I’m wiped. I’m going to take off. I’ve got a full day of classes tomorrow. I want to stop and see Mom in the morning.”

“Are you sure? The pizza’s not even here yet,” Randy said.

“Yeah, you guys enjoy.” She’d been staying over a lot lately, and she was getting too used to it. She didn’t like the way she was starting to depend on Randy, and the last thing she needed was for Mrs. Miller to get upset that she was gone so much and ask her to move out. She said goodbye and drove home.

When she got to her apartment, she microwaved some ramen and ate it in front of the television, but her mind wandered. Her period was three weeks late. She hadn’t yet said anything to Randy, but she was worried. She was never late. She glanced over at the box sitting on the coffee table. She hadn’t been able to work up the nerve to take the test yet. She was graduating in a few months, and she needed to find a job soon after. What the hell was she going to do if she was pregnant? She cursed her stupidity in not stopping Randy that night they’d had no condom. If she was pregnant, it had to have happened then. That was almost two months ago. When would she be due? Was it exactly nine months from conception?

Sighing, Annabelle opened her laptop and googled it. A pregnancy calculator came up. She input the date of her last period and her possible conception date, then hit enter. Confetti filled the screen and the message: Congratulations! Your due date is September 13. You are 5 Weeks Pregnant. She gasped out loud.

Calm down, she told herself. Maybe she was late because she was under so much stress. That happened sometimes. “Just take the damn test already,” she said out loud. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the box and went to the bathroom, following the instructions. She left the stick on the counter and set her phone timer for ten minutes. She went back to her computer and navigated to the Facebook profile she’d been monitoring ever since her mother had gotten sick.

There he was, looking happy and relaxed on the slopes with his current wife and their twin daughters. The girls looked to be around nine or ten; adorable, blond-haired, and blue-eyed, like their mother. His wife was younger than he was—by at least twenty years. But time had been kind to him. In his late fifties, he could easily pass for fortysomething. His hair was still thick and only sprinkled with gray, which on a man always looked distinguished. She clicked through the photos, her gut tightening with anger. They were in Switzerland—Davos. They all had on fancy-looking jackets, ski glasses, and skis. His wife, Olga, was leaning into him with an arm around the two girls who stood in front of her. She was model pretty, and Annabelle wondered how he had snagged her, and if she knew he had ditched his first family. She didn’t know if he was the one who’d made the money or if he’d married into it, but she would bet it was the latter. His wife didn’t have any social profiles, so Annabelle wasn’t able to find out too much about her, other than a few articles about her parents and their large endowments to Princeton, their alma mater. Annabelle felt confident that his good fortune was not of his own making. Gerard Morgan (previously George Morgan), the name he was now using, listed his occupation as an entrepreneur with some vague language about investments and digital currency. He was certainly not discriminating with his Facebook friend requests, as it had taken her no time at all to put up a fake profile, with a photo of a stunning blonde, and send him a friend request, which was speedily accepted.

Annabelle hadn’t seen him in person in over seventeen years. He’d left when she was six. Her last memory of him was when she’d fallen off her bike and gashed her leg. He’d taken her to the Emergency Room for stitches, holding her and assuring her that she would be fine. She could still remember the smell of his aftershave, and the way the stubble of his beard felt against her cheek. He’d held her hand while they stitched her up, making up a fairy tale in which she was the princess whom the evil witch had made fall. Afterward, he took her for ice cream, a triple-dip chocolate cone. A few days later, he was gone. Her mother told her that he’d had to go far away for work, and that she hoped he’d come back soon. As she got older, and her mother couldn’t protect her any longer, she found out the truth: that he’d left them with no intention of ever returning. Even though in the divorce agreement he was responsible for alimony and child support, he left the state and never sent a dime to her mother. Annabelle never heard from her father again. To this day, she hated chocolate ice cream.

When Annabelle was older, she wondered if perhaps her mother had prevented him from getting in touch or intercepted his communication. But what she discovered broke her heart and made her love her mother even more. Despite his abandoning her, her mother had tried to get in touch with him over the years, beseeching him to stay connected to Annabelle for her sake. She’d even offered to legally absolve him of any financial obligation if he would only make time for his daughter. All her letters were returned to her with Return to Sender in bold letters. When she’d asked her mother why she hadn’t sued him for the alimony and child support, her mother had shaken her head sadly.

“I never wanted you to be in the middle of a legal battle, and I didn’t want to spend my time and energy fighting in court. I made enough to take care of us. Your father is not a good man. For your sake, I tried to convince myself that having him in your life was better than not. But he wanted to move on. I never wanted you to feel like raising you was a burden. You didn’t belong to him anymore, so I didn’t want to pull him back into our lives.”

Now her mother was incapable of changing her mind and going after him for what she was owed. The money from the sale of the house wouldn’t last forever, and Annabelle would be damned if she’d put her mother in an inferior facility. When it became clear to her that she wasn’t going to be able to afford it on her own for much longer, she decided she would find him and make him pay. Now that her mother was incapacitated, Annabelle had the right to represent her legally. From her internet searches, she was pretty sure that he was still legally responsible for all those years he paid nothing. Serendipitously, her landlady’s son was an attorney. He had promised to ask around at his law firm for a family attorney willing to take her case pro bono. For her mother’s sake, Annabelle was going to do whatever she had to do to make him pay restitution. He owed her that at least.

The timer on her phone went off and she stood. Time to face the music. She went into the bathroom and picked up the stick.

The Wife

I’ve always known he was a little bit kinky. I mean, the kinds of things he talks about are not normal. He’s always been drawn to the dark side, but as long as he’s only talking about it and not actually doing it, I always figured, what’s the harm? Some of the chat rooms he’s in are disturbing. I don’t understand the attraction. But again, talk is cheap. Maybe I should have taken more of an interest in the things that interest him, because I feel him drifting away more and more. I found the research he’s done on her. He’s learning everything he can, so that he can ingratiate himself with her. I won’t let him get away with it.

Annabelle

The next day, Annabelle was still haunted by her dream. It had rattled her so much that instead of ordering pizza, as they always did on Wednesdays, she’d texted James and told him she was making tacos. They had finished eating when everything began to play out just as in her dream. The text. The forgotten poster board. And James’s needing more protein powder.

“I’ll take her,” Annabelle said. She would go a different way, and they would avoid the horrible accident.