True Vision

Friday, August 27th, 1954

The typewriter keys tapped intermittently, starting, then stopping for long periods of time. Dean could not seem to get the words to come out right. He reached for his pencil and drew a line through the last two sentences.

“Dean?” Maggie poked her head through the mostly closed door.

“Hey, Sweetheart,” Dean said, getting up from his desk. “How are you feeling?”

“Still under the weather,” she managed a half smile, “Teddy’s better, but my stomach is still convinced it is on a boat in bad weather.”

He held her gently, lips pressed against her cool, clammy forehead.

Her face was pale and pinched. It had been three days since Teddy woke them up in the middle of the night, having vomited all over his bedsheets. A bath and a sleepy midnight cleanup had been in order. That morning, with the sun barely peeking over the horizon, Dean had woken to Maggie retching in the bathroom.

“Teddy was only sick for two days, but this seems to have hit me far worse,” she said, leaning against him.

“Well, I tell you what. You go back to bed, and I will take that boy of mine fishing. We haven’t been in over a week, and I am having a hell of a time working out the kinks in this manuscript.”

Maggie looked relieved and concerned at the same time. She bit her lip, “Are you sure, Dean?”

“Are you kidding me? I need a break, the typewriter is winning this here staring contest.”

Twenty minutes later, Dean kissed Maggie on the forehead. The poles were packed and he and Teddy would get a couple of sandwiches at the market on the way to the fishing hole.

“Is there anything I can get you before I go?” She looked so pale and miserable.

“No, I'll be fine, really.” Maggie assured him, a wan smile upon her face. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” He kissed her again and left.

Teddy clutched the dashboard of the car while Captain Nemo sat in the back seat, the dog’s tongue flapping out the side of his mouth as he leaned his head out of the window. Teddy talked a mile a minute. “Mr. Ed...I mean, Daddy...” The adoption had finalized three weeks ago, but Teddy still had trouble remembering at times. Dean was patient, it would take time, but the boy clearly adored him. The feeling was returned, in spades.

“Yes, son?”

“Are we going to the same place?”

“The one up on Cliff Drive?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Actually, I thought we might go somewhere different, somewhere we have never been before.”

“Really?!” Teddy bounced harder. “Oh yes, please Mr...I mean, Daddy, yes please!”

The next few hours weren’t filled with much fishing. Instead, Teddy, with his dog in tow, befriended another little boy and began splashing about on the edges of the lake. Any fish that might have been in the vicinity were certainly frightened away. This did not bother Dean. He watched Teddy and the other child splash and play along the edges of the water while he took notes, filling his notebook with pages full of looping script.

Stepping away from the typewriter, sitting here on the rock, it was exactly what Dean needed. He could feel the words rising within him, like a flood.

Clouds scudded across the sky, slowly building, and he could see the light dimming as the cloud cover increased. The wind had picked up as well, and it teased at the corners of his notebook, insisting he pay attention.

“Teddy,” Dean called, “it’s time to head back home.” Captain Nemo had already tired of all of the activity and was curled up, fast asleep at Dean’s feet. He raised his head when Dean called out, turning to look for his young master.

Teddy, it seemed, had worn himself out as well. He waved goodbye to his friend and jogged back to Dean, the German Shepherd pup jumping to his feet and meeting him halfway.

“You wore out yet, son?”

Teddy shook his head, but he looked done in.

“I’m going to sit in the back with Captain.”

“Okay, son.”

The drive back home proved too much, and at a stop sign, Dean looked back to see the boy fast asleep, his head pillowed into Captain Nemo’s fur.

The clouds had fully formed and fat raindrops began to fall as Dean lifted Teddy out of the backseat and took him inside. The house was dark and quiet.

Upstairs, after putting Teddy in bed, clothes and all, Dean slipped the boy’s shoes off and crept away down the hall to the master bedroom.

Maggie lay there asleep. And after a moment of watching her, listening to the steady sound of her breathing, he slipped into his study. He could feel the words inside him. They bubbled at the back of his brain, jumping about, jostling for position, and waiting for him to put them onto paper.

As the storm moved in, Dean began to type furiously, afraid that the spell would break, that he would lose the ideas he had done his best to jot down. They were there, inside his head and fully formed, just waiting to be brought out.

The darkness closed around him, only his desk lamp shone in the darkness, as he continued to pour the manuscript out on paper.

Two weeks passed this way, then two more.

Maggie continued to struggle with nausea, some days seemed worse than others.

The pile of papers had grown. It looked as if this book, True Vision, would be even larger than At Winter’s End.

The weather had begun to cool in late September. The mornings held the chill of night and the days were noticeably shortening when Maggie slid into his office one evening. He had written pages that day, and could feel the end of the novel approaching. It wouldn’t be long now.

“Dean, Teddy fell asleep before I could call you in to say goodnight. I hope you don’t mind.”

“He was playing all day with the other children in the neighborhood.” Dean pushed back his chair and got up to stretch his legs and give his wife a hug.

“I think you are finally kicking this flu. You look much better this evening. Much better. There’s even color in your cheeks.”

He had worked straight through the afternoon, stopping only to nibble on a sandwich Maggie brought him.

She nestled her head on his shoulder. “I'm feeling much better today.”

“Will you be returning to work soon?” he asked, not that he wanted her to. That had been a condition of her agreeing to marry him. She wanted to be independent, but he hoped she would eventually reconsider. He had several investments that were going well, and her income wasn’t needed. She had been sick for weeks, and since she had transferred to the Infectious Diseases wing of the hospital, her manager had insisted she fully recover before returning to work.

“Actually, no.”

“No?”

She pulled away, and met his gaze. “I finally realized, and I visited a doctor this afternoon to confirm it. I haven’t been sick with the flu.”

Dean, his mind preoccupied with his book, frowned. “Well what is it then, if not the flu?”

Maggie’s eyebrows arched in amusement, “I’m pregnant, Dean.” When he stood there staring, her smile turned down at the edges. “You don’t look happy about it.”

“What?” He blinked, “No, no, that’s not it at all.” His mouth opened and closed, “I was just so sure you had the flu, especially with Teddy being sick and...”

He stared at her, his mouth curving up into an enormous grin, “You’re sure?”

Maggie nodded.

“Oh my love, that is such wonderful news!”

She smiled, her eyes dancing, "You are happy, aren’t you, Dean?"

“Yes, of course I am!” He hugged her close to him, covering her neck and mouth with tender kisses before he pulled away.

“What?”

“I need to finish this book. Right away! Scotty will lose his mind if I make him wait until after the baby is born.”

Maggie giggled, “Yes, he would.”

“When are you due?”

“Late March, so you have a little time.”

He pulled her close. “Don’t you dare think for a moment that I’m not happy,” he said, his mouth near her ear. “I’m over the moon, my love. A baby, my god,” he smiled against Maggie’s soft, lavender-scented skin. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

She sighed, and leaned against him as he kissed her neck and nibbled her ear. “I should let you write a little longer,” she began, “It’s still early.”

Dean reached over and flicked the desk lamp off, without letting Maggie go. He could hear her breath quicken as his mouth continued to travel, his hands moving over her body. “No, I think I’m done writing for the night. There are other far more pressing priorities to consider.”

The walls rang with Maggie’s laughter when he picked her up and carried her to their bedroom.