New York Billionaires Series

It’s the first time I’ve voluntarily sought out the information. The first time I haven’t run from my fate.

It starts good. Confidence-building, even. Ways to color-coordinate your clothes. Testimonials from people who lost their vision later in life and learned to compensate, to prosper. To evolve. There’s a quote about how blindness can be a gift that makes me laugh. Yeah, no matter how you try to make lemonade from these lemons, it’ll always taste bitter.

There’s a link to a documentary about a man who lost his vision later in life. Went completely blind, without the bright pinpricks of light I might expect, to use Dr. Johnson’s optimistic view of things.

My finger hovers over the play button for the trailer, but I hit play.

It’s a mistake.

The trailer is beautifully shot. But as his raspy voice starts to speak, and as he narrates his descent into depression upon waking up blind… my blood turns cold.

He describes forgetting what people look like. Visual memories started to fade, until they became memories of photographs, memories of having once had visual memories. And as the years passed, he could no longer remember what his wife looked like. His parents. His children.

Himself.

I barely make it to my bed before the floor gives out beneath me and despair washes in, the taste of fear like ash in my mouth. I reach for my bedside table, not sure what I’m looking for. My phone to call Summer. My painkillers for the headache.

I choose neither, but I don’t get out of bed for the rest of the day, either.

My self-imposed exile from Summer lasts for three more days. I call her after an hour of deliberation. Lie back on my bed and close my eyes, ready for the wonder of her voice on the other end.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hi,” I murmur.

“How are you?”

“Good. Working.”

“On Acture?” she asks. “Opate?”

“On myself,” I say. “And a bit on Acture.”

We’re quiet for a beat, both of us breathing. It feels like the first relaxing moment I’ve had all week.

“I saw the prototype for the app, for Opate,” she says. There’s a rustle in the background and I picture her lying on one of her sofas.

“What did you think?”

“It’s good, Anthony. You… you created an app where Vivienne and I are still needed. Where we chat with new sign-ups and vet the candidates.”Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

“Of course I did.” She’d convinced me, after all. The human touch is necessary for Opate’s magic to work. Candidates need to be vetted. Interviewed. Nudged. “If this works, you’ll need to hire more personnel.”

“Expanding,” she murmurs. “Vivienne will be… I… well. Thank you, Anthony.”

“I should thank you. You’re the one who showed me how Opate truly works.”

“Mmm. By setting you up on dates that didn’t work.”

“I’m very glad none of them worked.”

“So am I,” she says and sighs. “I miss not seeing you.”

“I know, baby. Me too.”

“Are you sure this is necessary?”

The bleakness of the last few days hangs over me like a cloak, still visible despite the warmth in her voice. I still haven’t called Dr. Johnson.

“Yes,” I say. “But things are getting better.”

“That’s good, Anthony. I’m here if you need me.”

“That’s why I’m doing this in the first place, Summer. To get back to you.”

We hang up shortly after, and I carry her voice with me into sleep, waking refreshed for the first time since I’d made the decision to adjust.

Dr. Johnson’s silence is incredulous on the other end. It has taken me another week to make the call, but now that I’m on the phone, he doesn’t seem inclined to believe me.

“You’d like me to put you in contact with the Foundation for the Blind,” he repeats. “Is that correct, Mr. Winter?”

“Yes,” I say. My skin feels sticky with sweat, and it’s not just from the sweltering July heat. “You told me you could recommend a specialist who can help walk me through what I might expect.”

“I did, yes. I’ve emailed you his contact details. Twice, in fact.”

“Right. Well, I deleted both emails.”

His silence is incredulous again, but then he chuckles. “Of course you did. Well, I’m happy to send his information over again. He’ll set up meetings with people who’ve gone through the same thing as you’re currently experiencing. Many of them are happy to share how they managed.”

“Yes. Good.”

“You’re too early for cane training, but a guide dog might be a good idea. It takes a while getting used to, and the bond is a great thing to establish.”

“That’s the first time you’ve said I’m too early for something. Usually, you like to say I’m advancing rapidly.”

Dr. Johnson laughs again. “You’ve got time yet, Mr. Winter. But most importantly, you’ve got plenty of time after as well.”

“Yes,” I say. “I’m starting to realize that.”

“I’m really glad we could do this,” Vivienne says. “It feels like it was forever ago we last had lunch.”

A pair of oversized, vintage sunglasses sits on her nose, at odds with the wide smile beneath them. I nod and reach for one of the breadsticks. Olive’s next to the office has been our standard lunch spot for years.

“It does,” I agree. “I think it was back in May, actually.”

“Can’t have been that long ago, can it, Summer?” She shakes her head. “I suppose I’ve been in and out of the office a lot this summer.”

I nod and make my voice casual. “Ever since Acture Capital bought us, actually. Perhaps a bit earlier than that.”