Perfect Folly

By Louanna R. Fitts

"Home again, home again," Tim yawned as we pulled into the garage. It's been a ritual for eighteen years, ever since Nikki was two, and it's still against the rules to leave the car till it's finished.

"Jiggety-jig," I obliged.

He fell asleep before I did. As a rule, I never rehash a workday. But Friday's war wounds festered for want of revenge on the rude and crude. Fighting back, I revisited New Mongolia, delighting once again in everything from the crab rangoon to the promise of the fortune cookie. I snuggled down, indulging myself in the silly fancy.

"My first wish is for Tim to get that promotion." Although it was Tim's dream to head up the far eastern division of Continental Oil, the step up would also free me from the daily grind at Memorial. No angry patients waving bills like flags. No screams of highway robbery, or ranting that they could buy a whole bottle of aspirin at Wal-Mart for what we charge per tablet. I no longer had the patience, nor the inclination to throw myself at their feet, holding up a sign that says, "Tread On Me."

"Retire?" He had choked when I broached the subject. "You gotta be kidding." I might as well have said I have a teenage lover.

"If I land this promotion, we'll be on Easy Street, hon," he'd said. "Then you can pack up and come to the other side of the world with me." I had clung to those words, my own Magnificent Obsession. I knew there wasn't a chance, given Greg Hansen's seniority and the fact that he was the boss' nephew. Yes, the first wish must be for Tim.

Prize-winning snores slashed away to free me from Confucious' spell. Annoyed, I turned over and buried down again, ready with the second wish.

Tim's promotion would take us continents away from our only child and grandchild, already named Toby. The second wish had to make up for all the precious moments we'd miss.

"This one's for you, sweetie." Proceeding through a make-believe ceremony, "I wish for Nikki to live in perfect happiness always."

All bases covered. Drifting now, my last thought was to hold on to the third wish, just in case there was something to this fortune business.

The mere aroma of the freshly brewed stuff got my early morning attention. Tim, already dressed in khakis and a red golf shirt, set a steaming cup on my nightstand, bless his heart. I glanced at the brass starburst. Seven-thirty.

"You are my one true love, honey. Thanks for the coffee, but I thought we were sleeping in today."

"We did, silly. It's almost eight o'clock. Get up. Let's go to the Fairway for breakfast."

"I'm with you. Give me fifteen." I jumped out of bed and headed for the shower. It only took ten, and when I emerged from the steamy cocoon, Tim was in the doorway.

"That was George," he said.

"Where?"

"On the phone."

"What did he want?"

"I've got to run through the proposal with him. He's flying to London tomorrow and doesn't want any surprises with the big kahunas next week. I'll just grab something on the way. How about lunch instead?"

"Lunch is good. The grocery list needs work anyway."

"It's a date." A kiss goodbye and Tim was gone.

I struggled to get six plastic bags into the house and answer the phone at the same time. It was Tim.

"Hi," I said. "What's up?"

"You'd better sit down, Maura."

"What is it, Tim? What's wrong?"

"I'm going to tell you something and I want you to write down every word."

"Tim, what in the world?"

"Don't ask questions. Just write."

"Ok, ok, just a minute." I grabbed a pen off the counter and flipped the grocery receipt to its backside. "I'm ready."

When he finished, I stared at the paper, letting the words sink in. I read it a third time. "Please accept my resignation, effective two weeks from today. Signed, Maura Ferguson."

"Are you still there?"

"Tim, what does this mean?"

"I'm driving in now. Meet me at the back door, and give your husband a congratulatory kiss. We leave for Hong Kong at the end of the month." Then he broke into a chorus of "We're In the Money."

Tim went to his office off the bedroom to begin planning for the transition, leaving me at the kitchen table in a daze. Greg had dropped the promotion in Tim's lap. Didn't he want it? Or maybe he's just a nice guy who knew he wasn't ready, and was man enough to admit it. Fat chance. Only I knew the truth.

I called Nikki. She was more than disappointed that we'd be flying out in two weeks.

"But that's when the baby's due," she wailed.

"I'm sorry, honey, but it can't be helped. Everything will be just fine." I didn't lie. For some crazy reason, these wishes were coming true.

On Monday I set the separation paperwork in motion at Memorial. I had a month's vacation time, which took care of the two weeks' notice. The rest would be added to my final check. Loosely translated, at the end of the day, I'd be a free woman. Oh, happy day!

Time flew by, a whirlwind of getting a realtor, packing, shipping, more presents for the baby, passports, vaccinations.

The day arrived. Then, the moment. As I lingered in the doorway, dreading the finality, memories gushed at the speed of light. There was Nikki, her face smeared purple with Gerber plums, Nikki, the teenager, scolded by her father for tying up the phone for hours. And my handsome young Tim, hanging his own version of custom cabinets with doors that never quite closed.

Like Lot's wife, I turned for one last look, and Tim gave my hand a knowing squeeze. The silence was heavy with unspoken language that crackled between us. It was then that I realized it had nothing to do with time or place. It was all about us.

"Mom, Dad, you're gonna miss the plane," from Charles, who had set up plan A, B, and even C. Very necessary, he had said, since the baby could come at any time. Plan A was running behind schedule, which would never do. Next stop, the airport.

We were the last to board, and scrambled to our seats to get Nikki and Charles in sight again. Blinking back the tears, we waved goodbye till they were specks on the ground, then settled back, letting our new tomorrow sink in.

"Oh no."

"What is it? What did you forget?" Tim and Nikki always said I'd have been a perfect specimen of womanhood, except for two grievous faults: a poor-to-none memory, and an inability to make a simple decision. I had to admit it was true.

I pulled "Toby's First Storybook" by the gold corner that peeked from the tote's side pocket, still fascinated by the personalized concept. I'd promised to get it to Nikki as soon as it arrived, but here it was, on its way to Hong Kong.

"I forgot to give Toby's book to Nikki."

"Oh, well, it's not the end of the world. We can mail it when we lay over in Singapore."

"No lecture?" I smiled, and tried to look ashamed at another memory lapse.

"What good would it do, dear?" Tim sighed. "Anyway, you wouldn't be you if you hadn't forgotten something."

I had it coming, and ignored the condescending remark. Thumbing through it again, my thoughts were of Nikki and how glad I was that I'd used the second wish for her.

A woman in First Class screamed, triggering panic among the passengers. It took a second to realize it was me. Someone shouted something about fire. The steady hum of engines stopped, replaced by the gut-wrenching sound of sputtering jets struggling to keep us in the clouds.

Oblivious to imminent danger, that pandemonium in the sky, my eyes riveted instead to the last horrific page of the storybook, a full-page picture of Charles and a very pregnant Nikki, waving and smiling, just as they'd been when we lifted skyward. Underneath, "And they lived happily ever after." What did it mean? Nikki and Charles trapped forever inside a fairy tale? That's insane.

I thought of the wish for Nikki's perfect happiness, the memory searing like hot irons. This isn't what I'd meant. I'd been tricked. There had to be another way besides make-believe. Dear God, what have I done!

Tim jerked me to the floor, wedging us between empty seats for the doomsday dive. The 747 arched its back, then fell into dizzying cartwheels. My ears popped, near to exploding. In desperate need of oxygen we struggled for the dangling life supports just out of reach. God help us. There was something I must remember. Something important. Think, Maura, think. Yes, that's it.

"I wish ... " It had to be just right. So little time. The blackness thickened, bringing a strange calm, peace. "I wish ... "

"Maura." Tim shook me hard. "Charles just called. He's taking Nikki to the hospital. Little Toby's about to make his grand entrance." I sat up with a start and looked across at the familiar starburst. Five-thirty. Thank God, it was just a Chinese nightmare.

Tim flipped on the overhead, and suitcases popped out of the shadows. They don't belong here. They're part of the dream.

"Tim, the luggage ... "

"What about it?"

Heart pounding, I took a chance. "Well, I just wondered ... are we all set?"  Maybe something he says will pull it together.

"There you go, worrying again. We can cram last minute stuff in the totebag later. The plane doesn't leave for another twelve hours."

The tote sat all alone in the corner. Something teased from the side pocket. Something gold. I had to get my hands on that storybook. Slipping it out, I carried it with me into the bathroom. Makeup and hair finished in record time, it beckoned from the vanity. Silly to tremble. There couldn't be a picture of a pregnant Nikki waving goodbye. She's in the throes of labor. Relief washed over me.

"What's taking you so long?" Tim spotted the book on the vanity and picked it up before I had the chance. "Toby's book?"

"Mm-hm. Thought we should bring it with us," I said, recovering nicely.

"Good thing you remembered, or it would've ended up in Hong Kong." The words punched hard, and I ached for the comfort of solid reality. I'd just have to sort it out later. Right now we had a grandson to meet.

As soon as the door closed, I heard the phone, but the lock played cat-and-mouse with my key again. Tim had better luck, and, in a flash, was back inside. I only heard the last of the conversation.

"Okay, we'll be ready." Tim said, and hung up.

"False alarm, honey. They're sending Nikki home, so Charles says it's back to plan A, and you know what that means." He grinned.

I knew exactly what it meant.

Copyright © Louanna R. Fitts 2003