A/N: Finally, Fantasy Island has its own category! This is the first story I can post directly to it, and I think it's wonderful. Thanks are due to Terry L. Gardner for the welcome reviews. There are many more stories to come...
§ § § -- April 10, 1994
It was a Sunday, but since Maureen had gone into labor late the previous day, Roarke had let Leslie stop periodically at the hospital through the day and check on her friend's condition. Each time, she'd found Grady Harding pacing the waiting room, more agitated than the last time she'd dropped in, until early evening arrived and the fantasies for that weekend had been brought to a conclusion. This time Roarke came with her.
By now Grady was doing something akin to a power walk, making a circuit of the now-empty waiting room every ten seconds or so. His expression was thunderous, and it took him a couple more trips to notice that Roarke and Leslie were there. Roarke carefully schooled his expression, but Leslie wasn't quite as successful with her own amusement; so she let her father speak. "Good evening, Mr. Harding. Obviously you've still had no word."
"This is crazy," Grady exploded. "Why the hell didn't someone tell me this kid would take so damn long to get here?"
"First babies often take their time about arriving," Roarke remarked.
"Yeah…but twenty-seven hours?" Grady all but shouted.
A nurse got up from her seat behind the admissions desk and leaned across it to glare at him. "Please, Mr. Harding, your wife isn't the only patient in this hospital."
Grady glared right back. "Easy for you to say. You haven't been wondering if your wife's gonna die in childbirth." The nurse rolled her eyes and sat down, and he resumed his frenetic pacing. Roarke and Leslie looked at each other and grinned a bit ruefully, then took seats. Leslie poked through the stacks of magazines for something appealing, while Roarke settled into his chair and watched Grady make a few more circuits.
The entrance door opened and in came Myeko Sensei, wheeling a stroller that contained her two-year-old son Alexander and his baby sister Noelle, who had finally made her entrance into the world on February 4. Leslie forgot the magazines and twisted around in her seat. "Hi, come over here and watch Grady wear out the carpet." She missed the dirty look Grady shot her, but Roarke grinned when he saw it.
"Oh geez, is he still walking?" Myeko said with a laugh. She stopped the stroller beside the chair next to Leslie, lifted out a squirming Alexander and set him down. "Go bug Mr. Harding. Maybe it'll make him stop pacing." This time Grady's dirty look went to her, and she grinned back at him before addressing Roarke. "Hi, Mr. Roarke. From the way he's tromping around over there, there's no word on Maureen yet, right?"
"Correct, unfortunately," Roarke concurred. They watched Alexander fall in behind Grady and imitate his steps. The sight made everyone, even Grady, burst out laughing, and to the others' relief, Grady finally quit pacing and sat down to entertain Alexander.
"How's Noelle doing?" Leslie asked.
"Great," Myeko said, gently lifting the sleeping baby from the stroller. "Here, want to hold her a little while? She's such a good baby. A good thing too, because Alexander knocks me out every day. He's into everything."
Leslie accepted Noelle and cradled the baby, gazing down at the delicate little face. "She's just adorable," she said softly, gently rocking the infant back and forth. After a moment she looked up at Grady, unaware of Roarke watching her with a knowing gleam in his dark eyes. "So Grady…you never did mention whether you and Maureen had settled on any names yet."
Grady, bouncing a giggling Alexander on one knee, shrugged. "To be completely honest, we never thought too much about it. Maureen was sick as a dog all the way through the first trimester; then the baby started kicking her during the second trimester and hasn't stopped since. And once the third trimester began, the baby apparently found Maureen's bladder, because she practically moved into the bathroom about the time Noelle there was born. It's been one blasted thing after another, and I'm telling you, this kid's gonna be an only child. There's no point in making Maureen go through all that again."
"You might want to consult with Maureen on that," Leslie remarked, and they all laughed again. Grady accompanied his laughter with a grimace.
"Mommy, Zander wide bwonco," Alexander squealed gleefully. Grady was still so full of nervous energy that he was bucking the little boy like a rodeo bull. That brought on more laughter, and just then the doors at the end of the hallway near the waiting area, marked SURGERY, swung open and a stretcher rolled out. Grady put Alexander back on the floor and stood up instantly, craning his neck.
Dr. Phillips, who knew Roarke and Leslie well after having treated Tattoo for a car accident eleven years before, greeted them quickly and focused on Grady. "Yes, Mr. Harding, your wife's given birth, and she came through with flying colors."
"Are you serious? After almost 28 hours in labor? I thought that kid was gonna kill her," Grady said incredulously.
"Well, we did have to perform a C-section," Dr. Phillips said. "But Mrs. Harding's in fine shape, and she's resting now. She should be awake in another hour or so, and you can go in to see her. As for the baby, you have a fine, healthy daughter. Eight pounds, four ounces, and she has all her fingers and toes." He grinned and winked.
"Fantastic!" Grady exclaimed, and the others applauded, except for Leslie, who offered verbal congratulations, still rocking Noelle.
Just then Lauren McCormick ran in, breathless and excited. "Hey, am I too late? What's the good word?"
"You've got great timing," Leslie said, grinning. "Grady and Maureen have a new baby girl. Now you can go out and get all the baby clothes you refused to buy when Maureen had her shower last month."
"Terrific!" Lauren said enthusiastically, going to Grady and shaking his hand. "Well, congrats, new dad. So what's the kid's name going to be?"
Grady threw his hands in the air. "Search me. I hope Maureen gave it some thought, because I sure never did. Frankly, I'm just glad the kid finally decided to get born."
Lauren grinned. "Well, tell her if she needs help, we'll be happy to toss her ideas. In the meantime, I gotta get going. I was actually on my way to do grocery shopping and if I don't get going, I'm gonna miss the latest Star Trek: Next Generation episode. Tell Maureen congrats. Hi, Myeko, Leslie, Mr. Roarke…see you all later!" She dashed out, evoking merriment in those she left behind.
Roarke arose, still chuckling. "I don't mean to seem as if we are running out," he said, "but there are some last-minute items that must be taken care of. Leslie, if you don't mind…? I'm afraid I will need your assistance."
"That's my job," said Leslie cheerfully, transferring Noelle back into Myeko's arms. "I'm glad we were here to hear the good news. See you later."
On the way back to the main house, Roarke cast her a glance and ventured, "Tell me, Leslie, do you still hear from your former sister-in-law?"
Leslie shook her head. "Not anymore. Her kids take up all her time, and the longer it is since Teppo died, the farther apart I drift from her." They reached a stop sign and Roarke waited longer than usual, studying her with some concern. She became aware of his gaze and turned to face him. "Why do you ask?"
Roarke cleared his throat. "I noticed something in your eyes when you were holding the baby," he said gently. "Do you still wish for a child of your own?"
Leslie shrugged. "It's been almost four years since Teppo died," she said, staring at the dashboard without actually seeing it. "I decided some time ago that I can't let my friends' babies get me down. It's not going to stop them from having kids, and I wouldn't want it to. As for me, well…it's an impossibility, and I refuse to dwell on it."
Roarke smiled in sympathy and patted her shoulder. "Perhaps only for now, my child. You can never tell what the future holds. If you want impossibilities, now…well, I suggest you wait till next weekend, and then perhaps you will see impossibilities." Leslie stared at him in perplexity, but he simply winked at her and sent the car ahead.
§ § § -- April 16, 1994
"All right, Father," said Leslie at the plane dock the following Saturday morning. "What 'impossibilities' are we dealing with, after that tantalizing hint you dropped last weekend?"
Roarke chuckled. "Our first 'impossibility' is just now disembarking. The young lady in the wheelchair is Victoria Elliott, and the other is her sister Samantha. They come to us from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan; and their fantasy is to switch places for the weekend."
Leslie frowned, bewildered, and asked, "Switch places in what way?"
"Well, Samantha is a busy career woman—a high-ranking executive in an important Canadian banking firm. Her job demands nearly all of her time, and she tells me she has not had a vacation in more than three years. Victoria, on the other hand, has been unable to walk since her paralysis from the waist down, brought on by an automobile accident fourteen years ago. Her forced inactivity grates on her; she cannot work and has been drawing government disability pay since the age of twenty-one. It is the sisters' fantasy to exchange lives for this one weekend: Samantha will find herself confined to the wheelchair, and Victoria will experience her sister's hectic schedule."
"But that means Victoria will have to be able to walk!" Leslie pointed out, startled. "Is that what you mean by the 'impossibility'?"
Roarke simply smiled at her and, after a moment, gestured back to the plane dock. This time their guest was an excited-looking man in his mid-thirties or so, wearing a polo shirt and cream-colored Dockers, enthusiastically returning the kisses of the native girls who draped leis around his neck. "That is Mr. Kurt Jensen, from the small semi-rural town of Plainville, Massachusetts."
Leslie started and then relaxed with a giggle. "I thought for a second you were going to say Connecticut. The Plainville in Massachusetts is their sister city. So what's the impossibility factor in this fantasy?"
Roarke's smile took on a twinge of amusement. "Mr. Jensen wishes nothing more than to win a major lottery jackpot."
"Aha," Leslie said with understanding. "So of course, the odds are astronomical."
"But this is Fantasy Island," Roarke reminded her, eyes twinkling. "Therefore, my dear Leslie, when you speak of impossibilities, never forget where you are." He grew serious and shifted his attention to their guests, who were taking in their surroundings with awe, and said ominously, "In the case of these fantasies, however, the possibilities are endless." Leaving that pronouncement hanging, he accepted his drink and raised it in the weekly toast. "My dear guests, I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!"