A Dream Come True
By Jean Teasdale
"What a wonderful way to wake to the new day," thought Jean Teasdale. The first thing she had seen when she opened her eyes was a mourning dove lighting from her windowsill, prettily silhouetted against the rising sun. Priscilla and Garfield, her two kitties, were still snoozing together at her feet. The waterbed precisely conformed to her body's contours, cradling her in total comfort. Jean felt glad that she and Hubby Rick had decided to keep the old waterbed. Sure, they could have easily bought a newer, bigger bed, but they found it impossible to part with the old one, even if it was too shabby for the expensive satin sheets and comforter that covered it, let alone their 25-room mansion.
Yes, so much had changed in the past seven years, courtesy of the winning number of the highest Powerball jackpot in history: $850 million. Jean often recalled with a smile how Rick had scolded her for "throwing money away" on a lottery ticket instead of going out and finding a job. Now "throwing money away" didn't seem like such a bad thing. Impulse trips to Paris or the Riviera aboard their private jet, Rodeo Drive shopping sprees, languid summers in their Tuscan villa were par for the course these days (and they even owned their own course!). But the Teasdales hadn't forgotten their humble roots, hence, their main home built in the Ozarks, not far from Branson, and, of course, that waterbed.
Hubby Rick quietly entered the bedroom. Jean smiled. Wealth, along with the diet, had done wonders for him, she thought. He looked at least fifteen years younger, much like the man she had first married. Better, actually. And although she still couldn't believe he had shaved off his twenty-year-old mustache, she couldn't exactly say she missed it. For as the pounds—and the facial hair—came off, certain other things came back.
Rick sat down beside her and sweetly kissed her forehead. "I never thought you'd wake up," he said.
"You're up early," Jean said, placing her hand in his. "Hitting the links this morning?"
"'Hitting the links?'" Rick replied in an incredulous but gentle voice. "Don't you know what today is?"
"Sunday, right?" Jean said. She shot him a look of mock wariness. What mischief was he up to now? It wasn't her birthday; it wasn't Christmas. Of course, that didn't stop Rick from spoiling her rotten. That diamond ring in her French onion soup during one humdrum dinner? The Lexus she nearly broken her nose against on her daily walk to the estate lake?
"Yeah, it's Sunday," Rick said, standing and opening the door. The scene he revealed couldn't have pleased Jean more.
"Happy Mother's Day, Mommy!" One boy and two little girls, ages 6, 4, and 3 respectively, were doing their best to hold up a silver tray laden with toast, milk, juice, strawberries, cereal, pancakes, and eggs, even a red rose in a crystal vase!
"Rhett! Schuyler! Antoinette!" Jean cried. "What a wonderful surprise! Quick, Rick, help them with the tray!"
Rick grabbed the tray as Rhett and Schuyler leaped on the waterbed and threw their arms about their delighted mother.
"Okay, kids," Rick laughed. "Don't shut off her wind."
Jean learned that the two older children had prepared the food themselves, with Rick's help. (Rick had given the dozen servants the day off.) Only Antoinette, or "Toni" for short, hung back. She looked like she was keeping something behind her back. Jean's gentle query prompted a shy, baby-toothed smile. Toni slowly brought her hands forward. In them was a crayon drawing of her mommy holding a big red flower. Mommy had stick hands and feet and a very big tummy, but she didn't mind. It was the best portrait she had ever seen, far better than the giant Thomas Kinkade portrait of her in the drawing room.
"See how she signed it?" Rick said. "I helped a little, but it's all her printing."
Garfield still snoozed undisturbed at his mistress' feet (it didn't seem right to feel like his mommy anymore, even though Jean still sort of did), and Priscilla stoically tolerated Schuyler's playful swipes at her tail. Still feeling a bit sleepy, Jean took in the scene. Her adoring and adorable children surrounded her; her husband stroked her hair; the taste and smell of the food was intoxicating. Jean's eyes grew heavy. Then, she was seized with an odd thought: What if this was all a dream? What if she wasn't an immensely wealthy lottery winner with beautiful children and a transformed husband at all, but still a sporadically employed, childless wife in a one-bedroom apartment? So much had happened in the past several years, it didn't seem real.
Jean's eyes closed, and all grew dark.
"Mommy? Mommy?"
Jean's eyes opened. She expected to see the dingy mini-blinds, battered rattan chair, and malfunctioning clock radio on the nightstand of her old bedroom. Instead, she saw Toni's sweet peaches-and-cream face.
"Don't fall asleep, Mommy," Toni said. "Daddy said we're taking you for a ride on the new yacht after breakfast."
"Toni, you ruined the surprise," Rhett protested. But the surprise was far from spoiled for Jean. It had been all a dream, Jean thought. A dream come true.
