Page 47 of Don’t Open Your Eyes

“That’s not fair!”

Annabelle closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. “Nobody said life is fair.”

Scarlett started to speak but then shook her head, grabbed her backpack, and opened the door to the garage. Olivia came skipping into the kitchen, oblivious to the tension in the air.

Scarlett didn’t speak the entire ride, looking out the car window, ignoring Olivia’s chatter until finally Olivia exploded.

“Why are you being so mean? I’m talking to you!”

Scarlett still didn’t turn to look at her.

“Your sister’s mad at me, not you,” Annabelle said.

“Why?” Olivia asked.

“It’s between Scarlett and me. Let her be, okay, sweetie?”

Scarlett turned to Olivia. “She won’t let me go skiing with Avery because she’s afraid her family might be a bunch of serial killers.”

“That’s not what I said at all. We’ll discuss it tonight.”

“Whatever,” Scarlett said, opening the door and jumping out before the car had come to a complete stop.

Annabelle held herself back from calling after her. She smiled at Olivia. “Have a good day, honey. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

What a morning. She’d managed to fight with both James and Scarlett and had allowed her temper to flare to the point where she couldn’t control her tongue. Regardless of whether or not these dreams were leading her somewhere, she needed some help dealing with them. It was time to schedule a session with Monica.

Annabelle

Before pulling out of the driveway the next morning, Annabelle went to Monica’s contact and hit send. She’d take care of this before her day got too busy and she forgot. But instead of ringing, she got an automated message that the phone number was no longer in service. That was weird. Navigating to a browser, she typed in Monica’s full name and the town. She was dismayed when an obituary came up. She’d died five months ago. The obituary didn’t specify the cause. Annabelle’s heart sank. The woman had been in her mid-eighties, but still, this was a shock. She looked across the street at Belinda’s house and debated confiding in her, but she quickly decided against it. The last thing she needed was to get a reputation as some loony woman who thought her dreams were coming true. All the neighbors would be talking about her. Maybe she could call her doctor and ask for a referral to a therapist.

She dialed Kiera’s number but got voicemail. As she pulled out of the driveway, a profound sense of loneliness filled her. How was it possible that she’d lived here for so long and in all that time, the only person she felt comfortable confiding in was a therapist she hadn’t seen in years? From the outside, her life looked perfect. She was married to a successful doctor, had a great career, and two beautiful girls. They lived in a gorgeous house in a sought-after neighborhood with a busy social calendar. Sailing, tennis, parties. Their lives could be a commercial for the good life. Yet it all seemed so superficial. Their packed calendars kept them from thinking too deeply about anything. She didn’t want time to think, because then she’d have to remember. Then she’d have to feel all those feelings that she’d tucked away in a little box, far out of reach. It was easier to keep busy and to focus on all the minutiae of their lives and their children’s lives than to wonder if they were actually living a life of substance.

They gave back, sure. School charities, donations to needy causes, but it was easy; it came off the top. There was no true sacrifice, no going without to make someone else’s life better. Any time things started to get too real—someone lost a job or had to move from the neighborhood because their circumstances changed—the conversation went quiet. What was she doing with her life?

Riggs was waiting for Annabelle in her office when she arrived. Could the morning get any worse?

“Wanted to catch you before you got involved in anything,” he said as she walked in. She hated being ambushed. Throwing her tote on a chair, Annabelle crossed her arms and stood across from him.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, more than okay. Chase signed the contract and doubled the hours he originally requested. He was very impressed with you. That means he’ll be your sole account for now.”

“I don’t understand. Why does he need so many hours?”

“He wants you to accompany him on some of his speaking engagements. You know, do some Facebook Lives, help with interviews, et cetera. You’re going to California!”

“What?”

Riggs nodded, a toothy grin on his face. “I made some calls to my L.A. contacts. We’ve got him booked to do a talk at the National Crime Podcasters Conference.”

“When is it?”

Riggs grimaced. “You need to leave the day after tomorrow.”

“Are you serious? I need—”