The Day I Opened My Eyes to His Lies

The night before I left for Northgate Hospital, I went back to the parlor for the ID I'd forgotten.

But at the back door, I overheard my coworker Pamela Pruitt talking with my boyfriend, Abraham Gilbert.

"She's an idiot. She still thinks I'm blind."

"But that's exactly the type the customers like. Pretty, can't see, willing to sweet-talk them for money."

"And those ugly, filthy clients—might as well let her take them if they tip a little. I can't stand serving them."

I froze in the doorway.

All these years, Pamela always said she was handing me the clients with the highest commission.

I thought she felt sorry for me, that she knew I was rushing to save up for the surgery. In my heart I'd treated her like a real sister.

Abraham laughed under his breath.

"It's fine. Give her the difficult ones. She takes the money and then she comes back and thanks us for it."

"She can't see anyway. Even if she gets treated badly, a couple of soft words from me and she's fine."

The blood in me went cold all at once.

Abraham was the person I trusted most.

Five years ago I lost my sight in a car crash, and he stayed with me the whole time, gave me this job.

I'd imagined it countless times—that when I got my sight back, the first face I'd see would be his.

I hadn't even seen their faces yet.

But I already saw exactly what kind of people they were.

The surgery in Northgate was scheduled three days out.

This time, once I went to Northgate, I wasn't coming back.

...

I pushed the back door open, and their laughter cut off at once.

"Pamela, you can see, can't you?"

There was a brief silence.

Abraham took hold of my arm.

"Weren't you home packing? Why are you back?"

I'd taken time off from the parlor, telling them I was going home to see Grandma.

The truth was I was going to Northgate for eye surgery. I wanted it to be a surprise for them.

"If I hadn't come back, how would I ever know you two have been treating me like a fool this whole time?"

Another silence.

Then Pamela, rushing to explain.

"Fiona Abbott, my sight only came back a little. I just hadn't had the chance to tell you."

"And the clients—someone has to take them, right? They tip well, and weren't you the one short on money?"

Abraham frowned too.

"That's right. Yeah, it's harder on you, but your commission really is more than anyone else's. You'll save up for the surgery sooner."

The air had gone awkward, and Pamela jumped in to smooth it over.

"Oh, right—didn't you take time off to go home? Bring me back some of the greens your grandma grows."

"Those greens last time were so green and lush. You could tell right away how fresh they were."

How would a truly blind person know the greens were green and lush?

Pamela seemed to catch her own slip, and hurried to add:

"I heard it from Abraham. He said the greens were green, that they looked nice."

I stood there, and all the moments I'd overlooked came back to me.

Pamela could put her hand right on the cup on the table.

She could tell me when there was a stain on my clothes.

When a client stood at the door saying nothing, she'd be the first to turn her head.

She'd said before that her hearing was good, and I'd believed her.

It had never once crossed my mind that someone who shared my suffering would use my blindness to deceive me.

Outside, it suddenly started to rain.

Raindrops slammed against the metal roof, faster and faster.

Abraham checked the time.

"All right, enough of this. There won't be any customers this late. Let's head back."

"Pam, I'll call you a car. I'll take Fiona myself."

The car came quickly, and the door opened.

"Pam, message me when you get home."

Only after the taxi drove away did he drape the rain poncho over me.

I felt the soaked seat of the electric scooter.

"We're riding this?"

"Yeah. A cab's too expensive."

Abraham fastened my helmet for me.

"You can't see, so you keep me company, and it puts my mind at ease carrying you."

I climbed on behind him.

Rain slipped in through the gaps in the poncho and down my collar, and the muddy water thrown up by the tires soaked my shoes and socks.

Abraham rode slowly.

At every intersection, he reminded me to hold on tight.

He'd put the helmet on for me, and he'd have me hold his waist over the bumps.

But all I could think about was the person in that car, who hadn't caught a single drop of rain.