by Sarah Dreher
“And she’s talked David into suing Millicent Tunes for malpractice. I’ll testify on his behalf, of course. Maybe we can get him a lighter sentence, if we can prove undue influence. We offered to pay for his lawyer—he certainly won’t see any payment for kidnapping Marylou—but he wouldn’t hear of it. A nice boy, really. Quite upstanding for a criminal.”
“Are you sure you’ll be all right on the flight home?” Stoner interrupted Marylou’s waving and smiling to ask.
“No problem,” Marylou said. “After what we’ve been through, US Air will be a piece of cake.”
“Don’t count on it,” Gwen muttered. She was still weak and sometimes in pain, though three days spent lounging in the sun on the shore of Bay Lake had put color back into her face.
“Speaking of cake,” Edith said, “our first act when we get back to Boston will be to find the most exotic, rich, difficult-to-make cake we can.”
“Chocolate Oblivion Truffle Torte with Raspberry Sauce,” Marylou declared.
Edith leaned across the table. “They don’t have that at McDonald’s, do they?” she whispered to Stoner.
Stoner grinned. “I’m afraid not.”
“You don’t suppose she’ll expect me to make it, do you?”
“Not unless she’s crazier than any of us know.”
Aunt Hermione poured salsa over her omelet. “We’ll be back in about three days, more or less. I really think it would be too hard on Gwyneth, to be stuffed into one of those God-awful airline seats. And we’d like to set our own pace.”
“You don’t have to open the agency until I get there if you don’t want,” Stoner said to Marylou. “You could probably use a rest, too.”
“Isn’t he delicious?” Marylou sighed as Goofy finally returned her wave. She turned her attention to Stoner. “Don’t worry, I’ll have everything under control.”
“It’s cruise season, you know.”
“I know.” Marylou laughed. “Really, after the experiences we’ve had, I’d think you’d stop sweating the small stuff and turn your mind to higher things.”
“Such as?”
“Parallel universes and such.”
“Cruise season,” Stoner said, “is the Ultimate Parallel Universe. The bookings aren’t so bad, but now we’re into changes and cancellations and political upheaval.”
“Not to mention hurricanes, volcanic eruptions, and other natural phenomena,” Marylou admitted. “Maybe I’ll take your advice and close the place down. By the way, Love, do you still insist that was all real?”
“I really don’t know,” Stoner said. She glanced at Gwen. “What do you think?”
“Don’t look at me,” Gwen said. “I was unconscious the whole time.”
“Oh, of course it was real,” said Aunt Hermione. “Sometimes you Doubting Thomas’, with your stranglehold on the Material Plane make me… make me… well, make me want to lie down.” She caught herself and coughed a little in an embarrassed way. “Forgive that outburst, please. It seems Spirit has totally deserted me this morning.”
The monorail slipped into the Contemporary with a low rumble. Stoner watched it with a feeling almost like nostalgia. For all the anxiety and fear, in spite of the frightening things that had happened, she really had fallen a little in love with Walt Disney World. And the management had treated them well, inviting them to stay in their rooms at no charge until Gwen was ready to travel. Giving them passes to the parks. Providing all the help they needed when Gwen came from the hospital. They’d even offered Stoner a wheelchair and a personal aide so she could rest her knee, but it made her feel self conscious and she politely refused. Maybe they were only concerned about PR, and maybe they were trying to avoid law suits. It didn’t matter. Real or packaged, the place was magic, and would always be magic.
Edith stood up. “Well, we have to be off. Our flight leaves at one, and Marylou insists we stop by the Tupperware Museum on the way, God knows why, but I had to promise or she wouldn’t get on the plane.” She tapped her daughter on the shoulder. “Time to rein in your hormones, child of mine.”
Marylou rolled her eyes. “Mother, really.”
“Has it occurred to you,” Gwen asked Stoner, “that we might be missing out on some very interesting moments by not going with those two?”
“It occurred to me,” Stoner said. “I don’t think we need that kind of interesting.”
* * *
While Aunt Hermione had a farewell meditation with her friends from Cassadaga, Stoner and Gwen decided to Listen to the Land one last time. The little boat chugged along the waterway. The theme song, that would stick in their minds for weeks like a Double-mint Gum jingle, invited them to pretend they were seeds and trust in the loving kindness of Mother Nature. The painted roots and pumpkins and seedlings were only painted things now, lovely but innocuous. The jungle was a true-to-life but mechanized jungle. The desert and prairie behaved they way they were programmed to behave, and the bison did only what the computer ordered them to do. The little dog outside the farm house barked dutifully when the sensors picked up the approach of their boat, and stopped immediately when they were past.
They did seem like a dream, the things that had happened. She could put herself back into the events, and recapture a little of the mystery of it. But her logical, Twentieth Century mind was taking over. It made her a little sad.
Gwen tugged at her sleeve. “Listen,” she whispered, and tilted her head to indicate the seats behind them.
Stoner glanced around. A young girl, no more than five, dressed in tiny overalls and tiny sneakers, was looking over the side of the boat in wide-eyed wonder. Her mother was smiling indulgently.
“It was just a dolly, honey. Like your wind-up Mickey.”
“No, it was a real puppy.”
The mother caught Stoner watching her and gave an embarrassed smile. “She’s a very imaginative child. Always seeing things nobody else sees. She thinks the little dog chased the boat.”
Stoner felt a hard knot in her stomach. “It’s very realistic,” she said shakily.
The child shook her head decisively. “I saw it, Mommy. I really did.”