By Linda Sammaritan
Carrie removed the clutter from her husband’s dresser, dropping each piece onto the bed. A package of new shoelaces. An old watch, the hands on its face forever proclaiming three-thirteen. A comb. His lab glasses. Safety pins. A tie clip.
At this rate, it would take the baby’s entire nap time to get the whole house dusted. And Eugene wouldn’t even notice. She smiled at one more irony in her life. How did the Neat Queen ever fall for Mr. Absentminded Pack Rat?
She frowned at the growing collection on the bed. Prickles scurried up her spine. Something was wrong.
Or maybe her new-mommy instinct was in overdrive. With a quick, tip-toe gait, she peeked into the nursery. Wyatt slept, not smothered by blankets or choking on some overlooked toy.
After returning to her bedroom, she swabbed the dresser’s surface with furniture polish, its fragrance the only pleasant portion of the chore. Lemon scent permeated the room, yet it couldn’t mask her unease. Back went Eugene’s paraphernalia onto the gleaming surface.
As she returned the lab glasses, a shiver rippled through her. These glasses should be with him at work. She and Eugene had often sparred over his blasé attitude toward safety in a chemistry lab. He conceded every match, but in a few weeks he’d forget again.
Usually, she was just irritated. Why was fear welling up inside?
Carrie shook her head as if the motion would fling dust motes of anxiety out of her mind. Just because the shatterproof glasses sat on the dresser didn’t mean he was in danger. Sim-Chem had an exemplary safety record.
Call him.
And interrupt his day? To do what? Scold him? Tell him this was not a good day to forget the lab glasses? Warn him to get out of there before he got blown up or something?
She rolled her eyes. The gauge measuring her melodramatic imagination had just spun into the red zone of ridiculous.
Call him.
A cranky wail sounded from the nursery. Wyatt shouldn’t be hungry already, which meant he was probably protesting a full diaper. Carrie sighed. No more dusting this afternoon, and the phone call to Eugene would have to wait.
CALL him.
She halted midway between the two bedrooms, the lab glasses visible through the open door. A slow-motion film played in her mind as she watched shards of glass fly across the lab like machine gun bullets, followed by a spray of acid, then fire, then—
What if this voice in her mind wasn’t her imagination? What if she didn’t call him?
Ignoring the baby’s rising demands for attention, she tapped her speed dial. One ring, two, three. The pressure in her chest expanded. Four rings. If Eugene didn’t answer, her heart was going to explode. Didn’t he keep his phone in his pocket?
“Carrie?”
“Are you in the lab right now?”
“I can’t hear you with the hood fan going. Let me step into my office.”
Good. A solid wall between him and the lab.
After a few seconds of silence, his voice returned. “You never call me at work. What’s wrong?”
“I had this terrible feeling, and your lab glasses are home, and…” And what? The words sounded nonsensical, even to her ears. Why had she given in to her crazy imagination?
“What’s wrong with Wyatt? He’s screaming.” Eugene’s voice rose in pitch.
She had him in a near panic over the wrong problem. “No! Wyatt’s fine.”
“He doesn’t sound fine.”
What do I say? Eugene is fine. The lab is fine. Yet, I’m still a wreck.
“Carrie.” Now he sounded frustrated. “What is going on?”
“I just—”
Boom! An explosion blasted through the phone.
“Eugene!” Her scream sent Wyatt into a full-out shriek.
Distant shouts and cries sounded in her ear. Then—
“I’m okay, babe. There’s been an accident. People need help here. Gotta go.”
Carrie leaned against the wall, allowing her legs to slide out from under her, two words repeating over and over in her mind. Thank you, thank you, thank you. A chant. A prayer. A song of praise.
She listened to the lullaby of Wyatt’s healthy screeches.
Through tear-blurred eyes, she peered into the bedroom. The lab glasses rested on the dresser, waiting for their owner to come home.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The tension of this story held me all the way through. Fantastic job!
Thank you, Florid Sword!
Great story! Having worn safety glasses for 30+ years at work, I get the emotion.
Thanks, SC Steamer. My husband is a chemist, but he’s not as absent-minded as Eugene! This story originated with the memory of the one day he did forget his lab glasses. And yes, there was an explosion that day.
This was so good!! Definitely a three star read! 😍
Thank you very much!