Fook (29 page)

“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 subject 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.

“How should I know?”

Frustration still lingering in her eyes, she
turned, “You claim to be from the future, so tell me, do they beat
these Windy City bastards?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t bothered to commit
every game in history to memory.”

“Then what good are you?” she joked through
her frustration.

Searching his brain for anything to offer,
“wait, 1991, this is the year Clemens wins the Cy Young!”

The anger evaporating from her face,
replaced by excitement, “Oh yeah? He’s my father’s favorite player.
So the Sox must do good this year. Do they break the curse?”

He wasn’t sure if her excitement was a sign
that she was starting to believe his story or just a frustrated fan
grasping for any hope of one day seeing a World Series title come
back to Boston. “No,” he reluctantly delivered the bad news. “They
fall apart late in the season. I think the Twins take it this
year.”