Sleeping Beauty by Judith Michael

hear, but it didn’t mean anything. What she wanted was for him to say he’d spend a lot more time with her, go for more walks with her than he already did, even take her on some of his business trips—just her, no one else—so she could talk to him about everything she couldn’t talk about at home. She wanted him to take care of her; she wanted him to protect her from Vince. But he couldn’t do all that; he didn’t even know she wanted it. Anyway, he was ancient: an old man of sixty-six; how much could he know about people her age? He was wonderful to her and once in a while he took her to Chicago for lunch and a trip to the Art Institute or the Field Museum or the Museum of Science and Industry, and he’d always say he wished they could do those things more often, but then he would be gone again, seeing his own friends, traveling on business, and Anne would know that she wasn’t all that important to him after all.
    She wasn’t important to anybody, she thought. They all said they loved her, but they had their own busy lives and, anyway, none of the Chathams reached out to anybody else. They’re a race of short-armed aliens, she thought with angry humor; they all came from a planet of people who never learned to cuddle so their arms atrophied and shrank to little stumps that can never, ever hug anybody.
    â€œHappy birthday, sweetheart,” said Vince, exactly as her father had done. He gave her a little mock salute and his sweetest smile. “As far as I can tell, you’re growing up admirably, and I think that’s the best thing you can do, even if William doesn’t agree.”
    â€œOf course I agree,” said William. “Anne is growing up beautifully; of course she is.”
    â€œAnd tired of hearing about it, I’m sure,” said Marian. “It’s time for presents, don’t you think?”
    Everyone watched as Anne opened the brightly wrapped packages and said thank-you and briefly held up the cashmere sweaters, records of rock and folk groups, books, and a necklace from Charles, before putting them away and stacking them neatly. She pushed back her chair, anxious to be gone. I probably look like a criminal making a quick getaway with the loot, she thought. But she didn’t care. She just wanted to get out of there. “I’ll put these away,” she said, standing beside her chair. “Thanks again, it’s all very nice.”
    â€œDon’t you want more birthday cake?” Charles asked.
    â€œI’m full.” She gathered up the pile of gifts.
    â€œBut you haven’t given us a birthday speech,” said William. “We all talked and talked and the birthday girl didn’t get a chance to say anything.”
    â€œI don’t want to,” Anne said. “I’m not good at speeches.”
    â€œÂ â€˜Thank you’ was quite enough,” Marian said. “We don’t need speeches. But you might just want to stay with us instead of running off the way you always do.”
    Anne shook her head, feeling hemmed in. “I just want—”
    â€œBut you know, I told the children we might light the candles again,” Nina said. “They like to watch you blow them out.”
    â€œDamn it, I did it once!” She was at the door. “That’s enough!”
    â€œAnne,” Marian sighed, “I’ve asked you and asked you . . .”
    â€œSorry,” Anne muttered, and slipped through the door. They were staring at her. It’s my birthday, she thought angrily. I ought to be able to do anything I want on my ownbirthday. She ran up the stairs. If she was lucky, she’d have some time to herself before Vince came.
    He was there in twenty minutes. “I brought you your present. We’ll get to it later.”
    Anne had already taken off the silk dress Marian had asked her to wear for her party, and was wearing only her robe. She undressed Vince