Fook

by Brian Drinkwater

  “What?”

  “You’re in the emergency room, Mrs. Tillmore. You took a pretty good blow to the head. You may have a concussion. Just lie still and relax.”

  “Richard.”

  “Is that your husband?” the doctor questioned.

  Tabitha nodded.

  “I’m sure he’s on his way. He should be here soon.”

  “My head,” she moaned, noticing the throbbing pain for the first time.

  “Like I said you had a pretty good fall. Hit your head on a table I hear. You should see the table,” he joked, getting no response.

  “Mr. Branson,” Tabitha opened her eyes again, trying to sit up before the doctor once again encouraged her to lay back down.

  “You really need to stay still, Mrs. Tillmore. We’re going to take good care of you. You just need to relax.”

  As instructed, she again laid down and closed her eyes.

  “Is Mr. Branson someone from your office?” the doctor continued the conversation, testing her mind as he also checked her wrist for her pulse.

  “No, a client,” she responded. “Important.”

  “Well I’m sure Mr. Branson will understand what happened and we’ll have you back to work in no time,” he assured her. “Now you just stay here and relax. I’m going to see if your husband is here yet, okay?” he added as he slipped through the curtain and disappeared.

  Tabitha just nodded, unaware that the doctor had left.

  “There you are,” Melody spoke in a panic as she peeked through the curtain to find her friend lying on the bed.

  “Melody?”

  “Yes, it’s me,” Melody answered as she dropped her purse on the chair beside the bed and grabbed hold of Tabitha’s hand. “They wouldn’t let me in the ambulance. I got here as quick as I could. What did the doctor say?”

  Parting her eyes, she attempted to bring Melody into focus. “Melody,” she spoke with a smile as if just now realizing who she was talking to.

  “Yes, it’s me. What did the doctors say?” she asked again, worried by her partner's incoherent state.

  “I’m fine. Nothing to worry about,” Tabitha grinned.

  “You’re a tough one,” Melody nervously laughed. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of blood in the conference room.”

  “Mr. Branson,” Tabitha appeared to come through a bit more as her eyes widened and Melody’s face became clear.

  “You did it,” Melody smiled.

  “What?”

  “You did it. We got the Fabrix account,” Melody almost let out an excited squeal.

  “How?” Tabitha asked, more confused now than she had been when they’d wheeled her into the hospital.

  “The blood.”

  All Tabitha could offer was a look of painful confusion.

  “You busted your head open pretty good on the table and got blood all over the carpet. Mr. Branson and his associates quickly rushed to help you and I...well...I didn’t know what to do. I guess I sort of panicked. You know I’m not good in a crisis and cleaning comforts me so...”

  Tabitha continued her look of confusion.

  “...so I grabbed the bottle of Fabrix from the table and started to clean up the blood. Sorry,” she offered Tabitha an apologetic grin for making it seem like the carpet was more important than her friend.

  Tabitha just smiled, indicating that no offense was taken.

  “Anyway, Mr. Branson saw how well his product was cleaning up the mess...that stuff really works by the way. The carpet looks almost new.”

  “Melody,” Tabitha put her wondering partner back on point.

  “Yeah, sorry. Anyway, when he saw me cleaning up the mess, he suddenly blurted out ‘crime scene!’ I had no idea what he was talking about. There was no crime involved. Then he went on and on about an ad campaign centered around spoofing shows like ‘Twin Peaks’ and ‘Murder, She Wrote’ and how, if the criminals had just used Fabrix, they’d have never gotten caught.”

  It was an oddly morbid campaign for a guy who’d just scolded her on the oppression of women and domestic violence but who was she to argue?

  “He wants us to start putting together ideas immediately. Isn’t that great?!” Melody’s excitement finally got the best of her as she vocalized her excitement for the whole E.R. to hear.

  “Well there seems to be an awful lot of excitement coming from in here,” a voice spoke as a white haired doctor parted the curtain and joined them in the enclosed space.

  “I’m sorry,” Melody replied embarrassed.

  “No, don’t be. We could use more of that around here,” he laughed as he looked over Tabitha’s chart. “So it says here you hit your head.”

  “Yeah, the other doctor said I might have a concussion.”

  “What other doctor?” the doctor questioned confused.

  “The one that was just in here a few minutes ago,” Tabitha pointed to the curtain.

  The elderly doctor looked at Melody.

  “I just got here,” Melody responded.

  “Well aside from the paramedics and nurses, I’m the first one to look at you,” the doctor chuckled as he looked at the chart again.

  “No, there was another doctor. An Asian guy. Young,” Tabitha insisted.

  The doctor looked up from the chart again with a worried look. “Well as far as I know, we don’t have any young, Asian doctors in this E.R.. I would know. I do the hiring,” he smiled. “Now let me get a look at that cut,” he changed the subject as he moved toward her.

  “Honey,” Richard appeared in the curtain. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine,” Tabitha smiled.

  “Are you the husband?"

  “Yes,” Richard addressed the doctor before turning back to his wife. “Your office called and said there’d been some sort of accident; that you’d fainted and hit your head or something.”

  “I’m alright,” Tabitha smiled as Melody moved over so Richard could take her spot beside his wife. “The doctor says I could have a concussion.”

  “I never said that,” the doctor corrected.

  “The other doctor,” she corrected.

  “There is no other doctor,” the current doctor insisted.

  “What’s going on here?” Richard asked, joining the confusion.

  “Your wife hit her head Mr...,” looking at the chart, “...Tillmore. There seems to be some understandable confusion going around,” the doctor chuckled.

  “Anyway, I’m fine,” Tabitha smiled.

  “She could have a concussion,” the doctor interjected.

  All three of them shot the old man a look.

  “The good news is that I think I know what caused you to faint,” the doctor added.

  “I already know that. Stress,” Tabitha replied.

  “Well, only if that’s what you’re going to name it,” the doctor smiled.

  “What is this crazy old man talking about?” Tabitha wondered.

  “Name what?” Richard verbalize what Tabitha and Melody were thinking.

  “Mrs. Tillmore, you’re pregnant.”

  “What?” Tabitha responded more in shock than joy.

  Richard on the other hand lit up as worry instantly turned to delight at the news.

  “Oh my god! Tab! That’s so great! Congratulations!” Melody again addressed the entire E.R..

  Tabitha couldn’t share in the excitement however as panic once again started to come over her. She didn’t have time to be pregnant right now. The company was collapsing and they’d just landed the client that could bring them back from the brink. She was going to have to work extra hard to ensure that they didn’t fail and she just didn’t see how being pregnant and having a baby was going to fit into all of that.

  “I take it this wasn’t planned,” the doctor uncomfortably responded to Tabitha’s worried stare.

  “Are you sure?” she looked up at the white haired man.

  “I can have them run the test again to confirm, but it says it right here. In about eight months you’
re going to be paying us another visit.”

  “Honey, this is great. I love you so much,” Richard leaned in to hug and kiss her.

  “I’ll be in the waiting room,” Melody, sensing the awkwardness of the situation, announced her departure. “Congratulations,” she added much more timidly this time.

  Not sure what to say, Tabitha looked down at her outstretched feet. Resting on the blanket, at the end of the bed, was a small folded piece of paper. “What’s that?”

  Stopping in her tracks, Melody turned around, following her friend's gaze to the small paper. Picking it up she handed it to Tabitha.

  “Did you put this there?” Tabitha asked as she took it from Melody.

  “No,” Melody replied.

  Silently, she glanced at her husband and the doctor. Both shook their heads no as well.

  Confused, she opened the folded paper to reveal a single, handwritten sentence.

  Do you like roller coasters?

  Showing the note to her husband, he looked equally as confused.

  “Damn it,” the doctor interrupted their confused pondering as he touched Tabitha’s bare wrist.

  “What?” Tabitha asked.

  “Oh, nothing. They just forgot to put an I.D. bracelet on you when you got here. No big deal but we wouldn’t want to misplace you,” he laughed. “I’ll be right back,” the doctor excused himself, followed by Melody.

  Pushing his wife’s hand and the paper out of the way, Richard took a seat beside her on the bed. “I know what you’re thinking but it’s all going to be alright,” he attempted to comfort her. “It’s not like we haven’t talked about having kids.”

  “I know, but now isn’t a good time with work and all-”

  “—Listen, there’s always going to be a reason to delay it. I think this is a good thing. Now the decision’s out of our hands and we can move forward with our new family. I love you so much and I need you to trust me when I say that everything’s going to be just fine. I promise.”

  Tabitha smiled. Richard always did have a way of making her feel better. He was the love of her life, and if he said that everything would be fine, she had no reason to doubt him.

  “I love you too,” She smiled as she pulled him close and tears of joy finally began flowing.

  THIRTY-ONE

  “How did I know you’d still be here,” Sarah smirked as she rounded the corner, bringing Derek and the same park bench she’d left him on that morning, into view.

  “Probably because you somewhat believe my story. I mean, where else am I going to go?” Derek swiveled his head back and forth.

  “Ooor,” Sarah pondered as she stopped in front of him, “you’re a homeless crack fiend like Reyna suspects.”

  “Crack is whack,” Derek responded with a grin.

  Though she offered a polite smile, she had no clue what he meant by the random statement.

  “That’s right, she hasn’t said that yet,” Derek spoke aloud, though more to himself.

  “Who?”

  “Whitney Houston,” Derek answered noticing her continued confusion. “Whitney Houston is around in 1991 right?”

  “Yeah. I love her music. She has the most amazing voice. She’s going to be in a movie next year...with Kevin Costner I think.

  “The Bodyguard,” Derek added.

  “You heard about it too?” Sarah asked, clearly excited about the cinematic event.

  “I’ve seen it,” Derek replied.

  “Oh, there you go with the future thing again,” she laughed. “Well I bet she’s still a big deal in your time. That’s a timeless voice. I bet she’s still pumping out hits; her and Michael Jackson.”

  “What I could tell you,” Derek mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. So, what are you doing here?” Derek questioned.

  “Our date. Don’t you remember?” Sarah asked.

  “I wasn’t entirely sure you’d been serious. I’m a mess. I have no car nor do I have any money. I can’t say with any confidence that I’m the dating type at the moment.”

  “Well, I’d sort of expected you to go home, wash up and maybe hit the bank before picking me up.”

  Derek just stared at her, his eyes hinting at the pending explanation.

  “...but you couldn’t do all of that because you don’t have a home in this time, nor do you have a car and won’t open your first bank account for at least fifteen to sixteen years?” Sarah guessed.

  Derek just shot her a “you got it” grin.

  “You’re really committed to this whole future thing aren’t you?” she asked, for the first time a bit uneasy about his persistence. “You’re not an actor or something, are you? You know, one of those actors who immerses themselves so much in their role that they never break character, even in their real lives?”

  “No, I’m not an actor,” Derek smiled. “I’m not that focused.”

  “Writer? You’re not researching a book and trying to get into your character's mind are you?”

  “I’m not that creative.”

  “So you’re going to stick with the stranded time traveler story, huh?”

  “The truth shall set you free, or in my case, strand me with no hope of return,” he grinned uncomfortably.

  “Okay, well, I guess you have a lot to talk about during the game then,” she played along with what she couldn’t decide was either a persistent game or mental illness.

  “What game?”

  “Red Sox. First base line. Row sixteen. Seats three and four,” she playfully pulled a pair of tickets from her pocket, fanning them out for Derek to see.

  “No, I couldn’t. Those must have cost you a fortune,” Derek tried to hide his excitement.

  “Yes, you could and no, they cost my dad a fortune. He and a bunch of guys from work went in on season tickets this year. But given his work schedule, among other family issues…” she showed contempt toward whatever she was referring to, “…he can’t make it to all of his games, so lucky me,” she smiled.

  “How do you even know that I like baseball, let alone the Red Sox?” Derek struggled to get out the words, as if his mouth were reluctant to utter such a ridiculous question. He loved baseball, and growing up his whole life in New England, how could he not love the Red Sox? Such blasphemy was against the law or at least it should be; punishable by exile to New York.

  “Given that your eyes almost doubled in size at the sight of the tickets...call it an educated guess,” Sarah smiled. “Now come on, the game starts in about thirty minutes and its a fifteen minute walk from here,” she turned, waving for him to follow.

  With nothing better to do and nowhere else to go, Derek didn’t have to think twice. A beautiful girl holding tickets to a game, insisting that he join her, what was there to think about?

  *****

  “Sosa, you suck!” Sarah yelled, drawing applause from the surrounding fans.

  Derek didn’t know what to say. Though never one to participate, he was accustomed to fan heckling, just never before from a woman. He was admittedly in awe and a bit turned on as he watched Sarah complete her rant as Sammy rounded first base on his way to second from a hard hit line drive to the wall.

  With the White Sox player safely on second and the clamor of the crowd dying back down to a steady roar, Sarah turned, the intensity in her face melting away as she noticed Derek’s shocked stare. Bowing her head, “Sorry. I get a little worked up sometimes.”

  “No. Don’t be sorry. I think it's kind of hot, actually.”

  “Before my dad had tickets he used to get them from his job, so we’d get to go at least a couple of times a year. You think I’m bad, you should hear him. He almost got us thrown out one time.”

  “Well, he’d be glad to hear that you're continuing such a fine family tradition. What about your mother? Is she a rabid fan too?”

  “My mother died a few years back.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Derek issued the standard response as he contemplated whether to continue with the su
bject or gloss completely over it in search of a more upbeat topic.

  “It’s okay. It was a long time coming. I mean,” she stumbled over herself realizing how that sounded. “She was sick for a real long time and I didn’t handle it very well.”

  Derek could see the pain behind Sarah’s eyes as she attempted to conceal the tears beginning to lend a glossy quality to the large hazel orbs.

  “Well he seems to have done a good enough job with you. I mean, aside from the aggressive hostility and fondness for drugged up strangers at your doorstep. I’d give him an A-…well…maybe a B+,” Derek smirked as a tear glistened fist landed on his left shoulder.

  “Look who’s talking. I’d like to meet the parents of the man who stumbled to my door coked up and rambling about time travel. Do you have to visit them in the looney bin between certain hours or can you just drop in any time?” Sarah responded with her own snide smirk, her attention from the depressing topic successfully diverted.

  Raising his hands, “Hey, hey, hey. Just hold it right there. One, it wasn’t coke...I don’t think...and two, I make sure to visit them at least twice a week. I’m a good son.”

  Sarah smiled as the crack of the bat instantly pulled her attention back to the field and onto the more important matter at hand...the game. “Come on!”

  The crowd boomed as Sosa rounded third on his way for home. Fielding the ball off the wall, Greenwell reared back and released a rocket toward home. Barrelling toward Peña at the plate, Sosa dove forward, arms outstretched for the safety of the plate just as the ball struck the catcher's mitt with a snap.

  “No!” Sarah cried as she began leading the crowd in a series of boos while the safe Sosa jumped to his feet and celebrated his way back to the dugout. “Do they win?” Sarah asked between boos.

  “What?”

  “The Sox. Do they pull it out?”

  “Which ones,” Derek looked at the similarly named teams.

  “What do you mean which one’s?” Sarah seemed agitated, though Derek knew it was just the fan talking and that she wasn’t actually upset with him.