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To everyone else, this was any ordinary Monday. To Foster, it was a day of monumental importance. For her, one of substantial ambiguity. Foster was spending the day at home. She didn’t have that luxury. She had to face this assembly of corporate heads while, less than an hour ago, she’d had sex with a stranger.
Yes, it was strictly for the purpose of procreation, and, yes, she’d done it with her husband’s blessing, and, yes, for the sake of their future together she could do it again until they were successful. She would do it.
She sipped from her water glass, then smiled down the length of the conference table. “Who’s up first?”
“Me,” said the man in charge of baggage handling. “Unfortunately, we’ve had an incident in Austin. Foster isn’t going to like it.”
Foster was still very much a presence, but lately she had been his proxy for some of the executive meetings. The daily commute to the office, short as it was and with Manuelo along to facilitate it, had proved to be too much. So Foster had limited his days in the office to two per week. On days when it was mandatory for the department heads to meet, Laura presided, then in the evening she would give him a detailed recounting of what had been discussed.
In only a few short years she’d gone from asking passengers “Coffee or tea?” to serving as the CEO’s understudy. When Foster had hired her as Hazel Cooper’s replacement, her transition into management had gone smoothly. For years, she had been preparing herself for such a position. It was what she had aspired to and, having been given the opportunity, she felt confident she could meet the challenges.
But when her job description suddenly expanded to include dealing with a disabled husband as well as assuming many of his corporate responsibilities, the transition wasn’t quite so seamless. Up until that point in her life, she’d been resistant to delegating any responsibility. Now she had no choice. Minor and routine jobs that she had formerly insisted on doing herself, she began assigning to subordinates.
Even so, the largest share of the workload remained hers. Nor could the tasks she did for Foster be turned over to someone else. Only she could do them because Foster demanded they be done in a particular order and in a particular way, his particular way, which was a way far more meticulous than anyone else’s. His insistence on perfection put a strain on her time.
But no matter how difficult and demanding her schedule became, she refused to buckle under. Quitting, or even slacking off, wasn’t an option. She was doing what must be done, and she would continue to.
However, she had begun to fear the impact motherhood would have on the careful balance she was maintaining. How could she possibly be a full-time mother, which she wanted to be, without detracting from her duties as wife, department head, and stand-in CEO? The prospect of juggling that additional responsibility was daunting. But if—when—she was forced to confront it, she would.
At present there were other matters demanding her attention, such as this one involving baggage ha
ndling. “What kind of incident?” she asked that department head.
“The worst. Stolen bags.”
“You’re right. Foster isn’t going to like it. Details?”
The explanation was lengthy and involved, and generated discussion around the table. Laura tried to concentrate on what was being said, but her mind wandered. Her ability to focus simply wasn’t there. She’d left it behind in that small, tidy house on Windsor Street, along with her dignity.
Why, I asked myself, would you agree to making a baby this way?
“Laura?”
She yanked her mind back to the business at hand. Everyone was looking at her, and she wondered how many times she’d been addressed before she realized it. “I’m sorry. My mind drifted for a moment.”
The question was repeated. Laura answered. The meeting continued. While she wasn’t wholly attuned, she wasn’t caught again being inattentive. But as soon as there was a convenient point to adjourn, she did so. “We’ll pick up the rest at the next meeting, okay? I’ve got a killer schedule this afternoon.”
As the others filed out, no one seemed especially curious about her absentmindedness or abrupt adjournment. Joe McDonald did stop on his way to the door. “Hard day?”
“Harder than most.”
“Maybe this will cheer you up.” From behind his back, he produced a large white envelope and, with a flourish, laid it on the table in front of her. “Ta-da!”
“What’s this?”
“Your baby.”
“My what?”
“Uh…” Obviously taken aback by her stunned reaction, he said, “What I mean is, you’ve been waiting a long time for it. Check it out.”
Having recovered from his choice of words, she opened the envelope and slid the contents onto the table. It was an eleven-by-fourteen artist’s rendering of a SunSouth jet with a new and distinctive logo on the fuselage.
“Oh, my God!” Laura exclaimed. “This looks great, Joe! Truly great!”
He hooked his thumbs into his suspenders. “I thought you’d like it.”
“Like it?” she said, unable to contain her excitement. “I love it.” She ran her finger over the artwork as she read the words printed on the airplane. “SunSouth Select.”
