Angela Morrison - Sing Me to Sleep

“I’m fine. Can you sit a minute?”

I perch on the edge of one of her wingback chairs. I feel stupid with the chicken leg in my hand.

“They did some testing on the fetus.”

I’m not so hungry anymore. The smell of the chicken is turning my stomach.

“And ran some genetic tests on Linda.”

“That’s all she needs. They should leave her alone.”

“But now she knows what’s going on.”

“They found something?”

Mom nods. “It’s genetic.” She pauses, looks at me intently. “Linda is a carrier of what’s called a trisomy—a triple chromosome. Very rare.”

“And it causes miscarriages?”

“Babies that have it either die and miscarry”—Mom swallows hard—“or are born with severe mental and physical handicaps. Linda’s doctors told her not to try anymore.”

“But Anna,” my cousin, “is fine.”

“She could be a carrier.”

A shudder goes through me. “I’m sorry, Mom. Poor Aunt Linda. That’s all she needs.”

“Honey.” Mom looks down at her hands and then forces her eyes back to my face. “You need to be tested. You could be a carrier.”

“What do you mean?”

“From . . . him.” Dad? Even gone—ruining my life, finding a way.

“That means . . . all my babies . . . ” Will die ? Be severely handicapped? I’m not sure what they mean by that. There’s a kid in a wheelchair at school. He’s kind of twisted and talks weird, but he’s smart. I could deal with that. I could love a child like that. Even a baby who wasn’t smart. I think you’d end up loving them even more. They’d never grow up. Always be with you. I’d like that. I’d never be alone again.

But all of Aunt Linda’s babies died . Except Anna. “Did you have miscarriages, Mom?”

She shakes her head. “I just got pregnant the one time. With you.”

I guess nature made me a beast for a reason. Too ugly to attract a mate and pass on the curse. Would an adopted baby love me or be frightened like those kids at the library last summer? Do they give children to single beasts?

Mom gets up and hugs me. “You’ll be fine. It’s nothing to worry about.”

I hug her back and try to believe, but the quiver that runs through her body makes it difficult.

Over her head I catch a reflection of myself in the window behind her desk.

Dyed, straight blonde hair.

Perfect clear skin.

No thick glasses.

I’m beautiful.

But inside, I can’t escape. I am what I am. My world was close to change.

Breaking these shackles,

My bid for freedom

So near this time.

But chains still bind me tight.

All my cries

For love, for hope

Fade in the night.

Just run away.

That’s exactly what I’ll do. I’ll get on that plane, fly to Switzerland, sing to the world. Even this new curse, this awful new power my father may have over me, can’t stop me.

chapter 10

INFECTED

“Oh, baby, look at that.” Meadow jabs my ribs with her elbow.

Two way-hot guys wearing jeans and red and white hockey jerseys are talking to the guy who seated us. One of them is a tall guy I remember seeing on the Amabile guys’ Web site and the other one—

Catches me staring—

And grins at me.

My eyes hit my plate, and I jam a forkful of pork schnitzel and buttery noodles into my mouth. I blush to the tips of my fingers. He’s got a magnetism that didn’t show up in his pictures online. Angel face, medium height, slim build, dark, soft hair. Pale, pale skin. I can’t believe I actually chatted with this guy. I can’t believe I was such a snot. He doesn’t know who I am—doesn’t have a clue that the awkward scarlet-faced girl staring at him with her mouth hanging open is the mysterious Bliss soloist. He’s awful, right? Horrid. As bad as Colby. For sure.

“It’s him.” Meadow perks up. “Derek.”

Poor Meadow. The trip up here this morning was brutal. Debilitating stage fright is merely one of her conditions. It’s all real, too—no act. She’s okay now. We’re sitting in a cozy restaurant, the Crystal something or other, all windows, snow-covered peaks smack up against them, that reflect so much sunshine it makes your eyes hurt. All this balanced on top of a peak in the middle of one of the most famous mountain ranges in the Swiss Alps. The Jungfraujoch. Don’t ask me how you say it. It’s part of this giant installation worthy of a James Bond-villain hideout. They call it the Top of Europe. When we first arrived and saw giant peaks right in our faces, we all stopped at the same time. Staring. Amazed. Alps on steroids.

Down in Lausanne, where we started today’s journey, the Alps across the lake are a striking blue granite with hints of snow at the top. The quaint old city is rich with green grass and trees, the blue lake and bluer skies, red geraniums pouring off every windowsill—perfect summer, cool and sweet down by the water. Such a relief after the heat in Rome. The place is like a fairy tale come to life compared with the humid, overcast Great Lakes summer we left behind.

Up here on the edge of the skies where clouds and birds and the very tip-tops of mountains live, it’s freezing white perfection. The glaciers on the peaks are pure and lovely, like an everlasting first snowfall.

To get up here, we took train after train, and the last one went straight up through the middle of the solid granite mountain. All we could see was the rough stone walls cut a hundred years ago for tourists like us. Tunnels and Meadow don’t mix.

She was breathing fast and shallow, head down, a sheen of sweat seeping through the makeup coating her face.

I remembered that awful panic feeling when I was getting my face lasered. Meadow’s mom was in a different car. She always fades away when Meadow is in meltdown. Guess she doesn’t like to watch her own handiwork gone wrong.

Meadow sympathized with me when I was flipping out during the lasers. On the train ride earlier today, I glanced down at myself in the picture displayed on the back of my new camera. I looked nice. She did this to me. I hated it—every second. But now? I should be grateful. At least grateful enough to help her out.

“Hey!” I shook her arm, and her terrified eyes glued to my face. “Look at these pictures from Geneva yesterday.” I stuck the slim digital camera Mom and I bought after my appointment with the DNA guys under Meadow’s nose. Mom got me in for testing two days before we left. Cancellation. So lucky. We both needed cheering up after that.

She focused on the screen. “Are you sure that’s Geneva?”

“Yeah. There’s one of you at the UN.” We sang in the entrance in front of all the flags. “Let me find it.” I skipped ahead to a pretty one of her.

“I can’t believe we missed the Amabile guys by ten minutes.” She has their schedule memorized. Guy talk works best to snap her out of it, so I kept her on the subject.

“Wasn’t that them yesterday afternoon?” We had paraded en masse with all the competing choirs through the center of Lausanne, singing and waving flags. Hundreds of choirs. Thousands of singers. And a mass of guys in Canadian red and white that had to be the Amabile boys.

“Seeing them from the back, miles away, isn’t what I came for.”

I slowly scrolled through the shots. “You’ll see them tomorrow.”

“No way. We’re competing. Terri will keep us tethered all day. But Amabile sings tonight. We got to get out and go.”

Terri won’t let us go to the opening gala. After today’s long trip up the mountain, she wants us in early and asleep. Now that Meadow’s had her sighting, maybe I can talk her out of sneaking out. I’m here to sing not stalk. And tomorrow it finally happens.