chimney.
“It’s nothing,” Rebecca said and began to talk about possible colors to paint the beige walls.
For two years they lived happily ever after. Jack’s parents liked Rebecca immediately, and Rebecca was thrilled with her new family. Jack worried what people might think of his wife’s profession or if odd people would be showing up at all hours. To his relief, Rebecca said she was happy to take a break from her work and just enjoy life. Every now and then she would see someone, mostly long-time clients who depended on her and didn’t mind traveling for a consultation, but she promised to see them when Jack was at work and not to advertise. Jack never asked her about these people and she never spoke of them.
Once someone flew in from Japan, though he left before Jack could meet him. And once Mrs. Simmons, who lived across the street, told Jack how a pair of black cars drove up to his house and men in dark suits, some with old-fashioned walkie-talkies held up to their ears, went into the house and didn’t come out for over an hour. Jack decided not to ask Rebecca about it. It was their agreement; he had said he didn’t want to know, and he thought he should stick to it.
Sometimes Jack would come home to find Rebecca crying or tight-lipped and he wouldn’t know what to do, how to help her. After a while she would sigh or rub her eyes, and then look at him with a soft smile, and everything would be fine again.
One night in early September, Jack woke at three a.m. to discover his wife gasping for breath, shaking. “Bec?” he said. “What is it? Do you need an ambulance?” He grabbed for the phone.
“It’s okay,” she said. “It was just a dream. Go back to sleep.”
He thought how he hated dreams, but he wrapped his arms tightly around her, held on until she stopped shuddering. “It’s okay,” he echoed her. “It was just a dream.” After a minute, she calmed down enough that he could let her go. She turned on her side, and Jack wondered, as he slid back into sleep, if she was still awake.
Five days later, terrorists attacked. Everyone Jack knew was weeping with frightened eyes, except Rebecca, who immediately began to organize local relief contributions. Jack never asked her about her dream.
He also never asked for any predictions about his work. Occasionally he would joke about “getting a reading” but never actually did it. However, sometimes at dinner he might tell her about a problem, ora pending decision, and the next morning she might casually make a suggestion. He never told her how these suggestions worked out, and she never asked, but once at a company picnic, when she met Charlie Perkins, Jack’s boss, Charlie told her, “Your husband’s really something, you know? Any time we can’t figure out what to do, we just tell Jack and he comes back the next day with the right answer. I guess they don’t call him Mr. Wisdom for nothing.” Jack stared at the grass.
They were married for two years and seven days when Rebecca told Jack she was pregnant. He yelled and danced around and offered to go and get a case of nonalcoholic champagne. Rebecca said very little, only asked Jack to hold her. Jack hugged her for a long time, then said, “Sweetheart? Is this okay? I mean, the baby. I’m being a real jerk here, but I guess that’s nothing new.”
She shook her head. “You’re never a jerk. You’re sweet and lovable.”
“I mean about the baby. I’m so excited I didn’t even check how you’re feeling about it. You okay? Because if not, and you want to, you know, do something, it’s okay. Really.”
“No, no,” she said, then sighed. “Did you ever do something you knew would turn out, well, bad, just because you knew absolutely it was the right thing to do?”
He took her shoulders. “Sweetheart, nothing’s going to turn out bad. I’ll take care of you, and if there’s any problems, we’ll get the best doctors in the world.”
“I’m not worried about that,”
“It’s nothing,” Rebecca said and began to talk about possible colors to paint the beige walls.
For two years they lived happily ever after. Jack’s parents liked Rebecca immediately, and Rebecca was thrilled with her new family. Jack worried what people might think of his wife’s profession or if odd people would be showing up at all hours. To his relief, Rebecca said she was happy to take a break from her work and just enjoy life. Every now and then she would see someone, mostly long-time clients who depended on her and didn’t mind traveling for a consultation, but she promised to see them when Jack was at work and not to advertise. Jack never asked her about these people and she never spoke of them.
Once someone flew in from Japan, though he left before Jack could meet him. And once Mrs. Simmons, who lived across the street, told Jack how a pair of black cars drove up to his house and men in dark suits, some with old-fashioned walkie-talkies held up to their ears, went into the house and didn’t come out for over an hour. Jack decided not to ask Rebecca about it. It was their agreement; he had said he didn’t want to know, and he thought he should stick to it.
Sometimes Jack would come home to find Rebecca crying or tight-lipped and he wouldn’t know what to do, how to help her. After a while she would sigh or rub her eyes, and then look at him with a soft smile, and everything would be fine again.
One night in early September, Jack woke at three a.m. to discover his wife gasping for breath, shaking. “Bec?” he said. “What is it? Do you need an ambulance?” He grabbed for the phone.
“It’s okay,” she said. “It was just a dream. Go back to sleep.”
He thought how he hated dreams, but he wrapped his arms tightly around her, held on until she stopped shuddering. “It’s okay,” he echoed her. “It was just a dream.” After a minute, she calmed down enough that he could let her go. She turned on her side, and Jack wondered, as he slid back into sleep, if she was still awake.
Five days later, terrorists attacked. Everyone Jack knew was weeping with frightened eyes, except Rebecca, who immediately began to organize local relief contributions. Jack never asked her about her dream.
He also never asked for any predictions about his work. Occasionally he would joke about “getting a reading” but never actually did it. However, sometimes at dinner he might tell her about a problem, ora pending decision, and the next morning she might casually make a suggestion. He never told her how these suggestions worked out, and she never asked, but once at a company picnic, when she met Charlie Perkins, Jack’s boss, Charlie told her, “Your husband’s really something, you know? Any time we can’t figure out what to do, we just tell Jack and he comes back the next day with the right answer. I guess they don’t call him Mr. Wisdom for nothing.” Jack stared at the grass.
They were married for two years and seven days when Rebecca told Jack she was pregnant. He yelled and danced around and offered to go and get a case of nonalcoholic champagne. Rebecca said very little, only asked Jack to hold her. Jack hugged her for a long time, then said, “Sweetheart? Is this okay? I mean, the baby. I’m being a real jerk here, but I guess that’s nothing new.”
She shook her head. “You’re never a jerk. You’re sweet and lovable.”
“I mean about the baby. I’m so excited I didn’t even check how you’re feeling about it. You okay? Because if not, and you want to, you know, do something, it’s okay. Really.”
“No, no,” she said, then sighed. “Did you ever do something you knew would turn out, well, bad, just because you knew absolutely it was the right thing to do?”
He took her shoulders. “Sweetheart, nothing’s going to turn out bad. I’ll take care of you, and if there’s any problems, we’ll get the best doctors in the world.”
“I’m not worried about that,”
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