Sleep with the Lights On

“It’s the corneas. You need a transplant to fix it. Sadly, they save them all for people like me—not me specifically, of course. My body hates foreign corneas. Rejects them almost before the surgery’s over.” I smelled sweet pea and jasmine. “Are we about finished? My sister’s here to see me.”

“You—” He stopped, and I heard him shift positions, probably to look behind him at the doorway where Sandra stood.

“Is she messing with your head, Officer?” she asked.

“She’s amazing,” the cop said, thereby taking off ten pounds in my mental image-maker. Hell, he’d earned it. He still had bad acne scars and a hint of rosacea, though.

“Amazing my ass, she smelled my body wash.” Sandra came close, leaned over, we hugged, yada yada. “One of these days I’ll switch brands and screw you up royally, Rache,” she threatened.

“It’s not bad enough you pick a fragrance worn by a third of the women who shop at Bath & Body Works?”

She straightened, and I pasted a smile on my face and hoped my eyes weren’t doing anything stupid. Sandra and others had assured me that they didn’t, but I didn’t believe them, which is why I am rarely seen without sunglasses. I mean, why tell me, right? It’s not like I could check in the mirror and prove them liars.

“How are you, sis?” she asked softly.

My sister, Sandra, was my only claim to normal. She was a soccer mom in the best sense of the word. She had twin teenage daughters bearing the ridiculous names of Christy and Misty—no, I am not kidding—and a husband named Jim who worshipped at her feet. And why is it every great husband I know is named Jim? Anyway, this particular Jim was a pharmacist. Sandra was a real estate agent. Independent. Office in her basement and doing pretty damn well for herself. She and her family were so perfect, it was amazing I didn’t have to check my blood sugar around them.

“Bruised rib and a concussion,” I said. “Nothing big, but they want me overnight and they took my fu—” Oops. Cop’s still sitting there. “They took my darn glasses.”

“Did you give them hell?”

“Only a little,” I lied.

“We need to get you home before you destroy your career.”

“You’re right. I’m not even gonna argue. I was going to go hunt the glasses down myself as soon as Officer Bob here finishes with me.” I tilted my head his way. “That was your cue,” I whispered.

He laughed a nervous laugh. “Okay, I have all I need. And, uh—here.” He moved again, getting up, and then a plastic bag rattled. “It says personal effects, and I see some sunglasses in the bottom of the bag.”

I took it from him, and felt my glasses in the bottom. “Hey, thanks. I guess I should have asked you to begin with.” I fished them out fast and pushed them onto my face. My relief was so intense I felt like I melted in the bed a little.

“I hope you recover fast, Ms. de Luca.” Sincere and mildly amused. He thought I was cute. I hated being thought of as cute.

“Oh, I know I will,” I told him. “I’ll just raise my vibe until my body has to rise up to match it.” Oh, my agent would have kissed me for that one. Funny how no one ever responded with the obvious question: “Why the hell are you blind, then?” Maybe they did, behind my back. Who knew? I didn’t care, as long as they kept buying the books. And the affirmation cards, and the annual calendar.

The cop should have left then. He really should have.

But instead he said, “If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to call.”

“I need my brother found, Officer. I think I’ve told you that already.”

“I know, I know. Look, it’s not my case, but I’ll see who I can nudge, all right?”

“No. It’s nowhere near all right.”

My sister swung her hip sideways, bumping my bed hard enough to shake it.

“But it’ll do for now,” I added. “Thanks, Officer.”

“You’re welcome, Ms. de Luca.”

I waited until I knew he was gone. It’s funny how you can feel a person’s presence or absence. Human beings give off some kind of...I don’t know, energy or force field or something. You can sense it clearly and easily if you aren’t too busy looking for them with your eyes. At least, that was my explanation for it. I didn’t remember noticing it until I’d gone blind. Then again, who remembered details like that prior to age twelve?

“So?” Sandra took the cop’s former chair. “What happened?”

I told her what she already knew from my phone call. “Got run over by a cop. Not that one, though. A much better-looking one, according to my built-in TV. A detective, even.”

“You should sue,” she said. She reached out to take my glasses from my face, then put them back a second later. “Crooked,” she said. “You’d get a zillion.”

“I already have a zillion. You know, give or take. Besides, it was my fault, so—”

“You weren’t in the crosswalk?”

“I speed-walked into the crosswalk without even pausing. The guy couldn’t stop. I was pissed. About Tommy.”

“I know.”

“Besides, how is the ‘make peace with the pain’ guru going to look in a big messy lawsuit? It would cost me more than I’d gain.”

She sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

“So I’m here for the night.”

“Yeah, well, you’d better stow the attitude, then. People talk.” And then she was leaning over the bed, apparently forgetting the part where I’d mentioned that I had a bruised rib, and hugging me again. “God, when I think what could’ve happened... We don’t know where Tommy is. Mom and Dad have been gone ten years now. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

“Mom and Dad went the way they would’ve wanted to. Together and on vacation.” Cruise ship capsized. It was all over the news. “And we almost never know where Tommy is, so we should be used to it by now.”

“I know.”

“You won’t lose me, too. I promise.” I grunted, because she was still hugging me and the rib was still bruised. “I’m fine. And I’ll stay that way if you’ll quit trying to break the rest of my ribs.”

Warmth on my face. Tears. Hers, not mine. I didn’t believe in them. They didn’t serve a hell of a lot of purpose except to rinse the eyes, and I could do that with Visine, thanks.

“So they’re letting you go tomorrow, then?” she asked, sniffling, unbending, releasing me from her killer hug.

“Probably tomorrow, they said.”

“Why only probably?”

“I don’t know.”

“I want to talk to the doctor.”

“Well, you can’t, big sis, because I’m of age, and that health-care proxy I gave you doesn’t kick in unless I’m incapacitated. So you’re going to have to take my word on this. I’m fine.”

“Hell.”

“I’m fine,” I repeated. “And the last thing I want is a fan club vigil in the waiting room or, God forbid, the press showing up. So keep this to yourself and tell my right-hand Goth to do the same. Got it?”