[ WP ] It 's the middle of the night . Your iPhone starts ringing . You wake up . You 're getting a Facetime call from someone who died three days earlier .

Buzzing. Something buzzing tight against my chest, over my heart. I struggled out of a dark slumber, not fighting to wake, but fighting to stay asleep as the soft racket from my phone pried me from my peaceful state. I sat up in the easy chair, smacking my lips and blinking quickly at the harsh glare of the television screen in front of me as I began to grope on the side table for my phone. Even mostly asleep, I knew it was my phone that had gone off. It was a modern instinct. 
 
 
 I managed to slap over a picture frame and almost spilled the remainder of my tall bottle of Jack before I realized what the buzzing sensation was and fished the phone out of my breast pocket. I peered, squinting, at the screen, trying to make out the text without my glasses. Facetime call. The kitchen knife infomercial playing on the tv told me it was far into the middle of the night. I groped again for my glasses, but could n't find them. I'd probably knocked them onto the carpet, too. Without thinking further, I accepted the call. 
 
 
 A silhouette appeared on my screen. The background was so bright, so white, that I could n't make out the person's face at all, at least not with my flawed, naked eyes. 
 
 
 `` Hello?'' I croaked. 
 
 The face shifted a little. It was a smile. 
 
 `` Hi, Dad.'' 
 
 I sighed, and I was suddenly grinning from ear to ear. `` Hi, sweetie.'' 
 
 `` Sorry I'm calling so late, Dad. I just... you know, we really did n't get to say goodbye when I left.'' 
 
 `` That's okay, kiddo. You had places to be.'' 
 
 `` Well, not really,'' she shrugged, `` I just, you know, had to go.'' 
 
 `` Well, we miss you. Your mom misses you.'' 
 
 `` I miss her, too. Hey Dad, can you tell her something?'' Her jaw shifted again as she bit started to chew on her lower lip. `` Can you tell her I would have played tennis, just like she did?'' 
 
 `` I guess so, kiddo, but why --'' 
 
 `` If you could just tell her, Dad. Please?'' 
 
 `` No problem, sweetie. Hey, you want me to get her?'' 
 
 `` No, Dad. I actually, um, have to go. I'm really sorry.'' 
 
 `` Okay, sweetie. I'll talk to you later.'' 
 
 `` Yeah,'' she said, and the screen went dark. 
 
 
 I might have drifted back to sleep for a little while then. I do n't know if I did or not, but I remember that I eventually lumbered up the steps to the bedroom. I brushed my teeth with the light on and then stumbled over to the bed, gingerly climbing under the covers next to Rachel, trying to not to wake her with the crinkling of the the absorbent pads. 
 
 
 It did n't matter. She was awake, and still crying. I scooted up to spoon her from behind, pressing my body against her cold feet, warm legs, cold back, warm neck. She grabbed my arms and wrapped them around her tightly, and she snuggled back against me. 
 
 
 `` I'm sorry,'' I said. 
 
 `` Mm,'' she replied. `` Are you going to stay?'' 
 
 `` Yeah. I'm staying.'' 
 
 `` Please do n't go back. Do n't hide from me.'' 
 
 `` No, I'm done. I'm sorry.'' 
 
 `` I'm sorry, too. For yelling at you. For hiding from you. For what I said to your mother.'' 
 
 `` She probably deserved it,'' I said. I could barely get the words out. I could barely remember what we were talking about. I felt so tired. 
 
 Rachel stroked my arm and cried just a little more before I felt her breathing even out and slow down. I felt the darkness dragging me down alongside her. I put my mouth up to her ear and whispered, `` She would have been a tennis player.'' 
 
 `` I know,'' Rachel sighed, and then we were both gone. 
 
 
 ***** 
 
 
 The second I woke up, I threw off the covers and leaped to the end of the bed, trying and failing to block out the massive hangover and clear memories of the night before that crashed over my head. My brain shrieked in protest as I vaulted toward the door, and I managed to clip the corner of the empty bassinet with my shin, which sent shooting pains up my leg. I managed to make it down the stairs with an unbroken neck and ran to the easy chair. The tv was still on. I found my glasses, the picture frame, and bottle of Jack right where I thought they would be. 
 
 
 I found the phone between the cushion and arm of the chair. No missed calls. No messages. Nothing. Of course there were n't. The thing had been dead for days. I had n't even bothered to charge it since the hospital.
