Chapter 37 Annabelle
Annabelle
James insisted that Annabelle go home. Hours later she was making dinner when he walked in.
“Where are the girls?” he asked.
“In their rooms.”
“We need to talk. Let’s go in my study. I don’t want them overhearing.”
She turned the stove off and covered the pasta, then followed him down the hallway. She sat, and he shut the door.
He paced a few minutes, wringing his hands, then finally took a seat in a chair across from her.
“What happened today was unacceptable. We had to cancel all our afternoon patients, the fire department wasted hours on nothing, and you humiliated me in front of my staff. And all because you had a dream. Do you realize how insane that is?”
She swallowed and fought back tears. “I’m sorry. I really thought you were all in danger. I was right about the accident, and the balance beam, and—”
“Annabelle! People have dreams all the time. I can’t explain why some of the things you dreamed have come true, but that doesn’t mean all your dreams will. And most important, you can’t go around doing things like this!”
“But it was someone’s birthday, the same as in my dream. And Daisy was out sick. I dreamt that too. But maybe the rest, I manufactured somehow. I don’t understand what’s happening, James, and I’m scared.”
His expression softened and he moved next to her, putting his arm around her.
“Honestly, I’m a little scared too.”
“So you believe I’m having visions of the future?”
“No. I’m afraid because you believe you are. You’re incorporating things into your dreams and thinking you predicted them. That’s not possible.”
“James, I’ve done research—”
He cut her off. “This is just like when Scarlett was a baby. Remember, you saw danger everywhere. Don’t you see? You almost put Olivia in danger because of your anxiety. If you’d left her at school, she wouldn’t have witnessed that violence at the ice cream shop. You have got to get some help.”
“You don’t know that. What about my dream about the new client and Mitch going home sick?
I didn’t make that up. And if Olivia had stayed, it could have been her on the balance beam instead of Marguarite and she could have broken her arm.
” She didn’t tell him about Chase. How could she explain that she’d been dreaming about being away with another man and then he’d materialized?
James stood and began pacing again. “ Could being the operative word. And of course, you got a new client. You have a new boss. You could have guessed that. And maybe you noticed Mitch sniffling or not looking well. All that could have been manufactured by your subconscious. And then your anxiety put Olivia in the dream.” He put a hand on her arm. “I think you should talk to someone.”
“I don’t need a therapist. I’m dreaming these things for a reason.”
But his comment about her anxiety did get Annabelle thinking.
Maybe not all the dreams were premonitions.
No matter what James believed, though, some of them definitely were.
How was she supposed to distinguish between them?
If she had ignored the dream about the pickup truck, her husband and daughter would be dead.
She knew that for sure. However, getting assigned a new client and seeing a co-worker go home sick were not earth-shattering events that she couldn’t have picked up on and assimilated into her dreams. And the office having a birthday celebration was nothing new.
She knew that they celebrated everyone’s birthdays.
Maybe she remembered that it was one of James’s partners’ birthday today.
And maybe he’d mentioned that Daisy was out sick.
The worry about the children—well, that had always been there.
Most people who’d watched a parent get sick and die well before their time were plagued with the fear of losing someone close to them.
And of course, there was the other loss, the one that still haunted her.
A constant fear of something bad happening to her children crouched in the back of Annabelle’s mind.
She knew the worst thing she could do was to cripple her children with her anxiety and so she forced herself to be more laid-back in her parenting style.
James was different. He was overprotective, yes, but his concern for the girls wasn’t overshadowed by fear.
He expected that if he set down the rules and everyone followed them, all would be fine.
But Annabelle knew all too well that tragedy could strike at any time, and that control was an illusion.
All the overcautiousness in the world couldn’t prevent the inevitable. She’d learned that the hard way.
“Annabelle, did you hear me?”
“Sorry, what?”
“I said, will you think about talking to Monica again?”
She’d seen Monica, her therapist, for a year after Scarlett had been born, when her anxiety had reached a place where she couldn’t cope.
She had been living in constant fear of something happening to Scarlett.
Annabelle catastrophized every little ailment that came Scarlett’s way, calling the pediatrician almost daily until the doctor gently recommended that Annabelle seek help.
She’d learned how to navigate her fears to determine between those that were real and those that were imagined.
She’d been doing fine, until now. These dreams were bringing it all back.
Annabelle nodded. “Yes, okay.” Then another thought struck her. “You don’t think I have a tumor or something?” She’d read that that could sometimes cause visions.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, pursing his lips. “No, of course not. Why do you always jump to the worst possible conclusion?”
She thought of her mother again. “Are you worried I’m going to end up like my mom? That maybe I’m already showing signs?”
James put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Annabelle, you’re spiraling. I don’t think anything of the sort. Besides, you were tested, and you don’t have the gene.”
“Those tests are not a hundred percent.”
“Look, I think all this is most likely stress related. Talking to a therapist will help. In the meantime, please, stay off WebMD. I don’t want you diagnosing yourself again.”
“Okay, okay.”
James stood. “And you’ll make an appointment with the therapist, right? Make it a priority. You need to get yourself under control before things get any worse.”
Annabelle took a deep breath, resisting the urge to reply with something snarky. She’d call Monica, but there was nothing wrong with her. She was dreaming things before they happened. She just needed to figure out why.