WEDNESDAYS

June 14 , 1922

"Hooray, Gramps is here. Mom, Dad, Gramps is here!" shouted young Thurston Howell, III. He leaned his stomach over the top of the bannister, lifted his feet slightly and slid all the way down to the bottom of the grand stairway.

Flying off the end of the railing, he laughed as he threw himself into his grandfather's arms.

"There's my boy. There's my favorite grandson," said the original Thurston Howell with a laugh.

"Are you really staying to visit ALL summer?" young Thurston asked with glee.

"I am," his grandfather answered. "I really am – ALL summer."

Later that evening, as the family sat in the dining room finishing the last of their dinner, Thurston the first, leaned back in his chair. "Well, young T," he said. "What would you like for your birthday this year? Anything you want – the sky's the limit."

"Oh, Father, really," squawked Amelia Howell, Thurston's mother. "Isn't that a bit . . . excessive. He's only turning ten."

"Exactly," Old Thurston answered. "My oldest grandchild is turning TEN. And I am going to get him whatever he wants."

Thurston, II looked at his son. "Well, son, if Gramps said anything, then that's a big decision to make. You'd better think it over carefully."

"I don't have to think about it," young Thurston said. "I know already what I want. I've been thinking about it for weeks." Hopping up on his knees in his chair and leaning across the table, he said, "I want a tree house."

"A tree house?" asked Amelia. "Seriously, Darling, you hate playing outside. Think about it a little more."

"No, Mother. I do. I do want a tree house. The biggest, grandest tree house in Newport – built in that giant oak on the far side of the pool."

Even his father was a bit skeptical. "Are you sure, Little Thurston? You've never even climbed that tree. In fact, aren't you a little afraid of heights?"

Young Thurston rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to go in it myself," he said with a huff. "It's my first real estate. I'm going to charge a rental fee for all my friends to use it. We've got to make it the best tree house they've ever seen."

Old Thurston threw his head back and laughed. "Well, isn't he just a chip off the old block," he roared. Then he slapped his hand on the table and said, "A tree house it is. Come on, lad. Are you done eating? Let's go up to your room. Grab some paper – we can get busy designing this arboreal masterpiece."

"Yippee," shouted little Thurston. He pushed his chair back and ran for stairway, yelling all the way. "My first real estate. I'm going to be rich!"

September 12, 1928

Thurston Howell, III, entered the room at the St. Bernadine Hospital. He had gotten the call at school this morning that his grandfather's condition had taken a drastic turn for the worst. Naturally, he rushed to be at his grandfather's side.

Walking into the room, young Thurston almost let out a sob. It was unthinkable, how far his grandfather had deteriorated in the past year. Thurston had always known him as a robust man, thick and stocky with twinkling eyes and a hearty laugh.

This thin, gasping man behind the mask couldn't possibly be his grandfather.

There were flowers and balloons and gifts all over the room, but young Thurston didn't see them. He only saw his Gramps. Approaching the bed and sitting down on the edge carefully, he took the old man's hand.

"Gramps, I'm here. It's okay, I'm here now," he whispered. He thought for a minute that his eyelids flickered and fancied that the old man returned the grip on his hand. They sat like that for over an hour.

Thurston was vaguely aware of a young nurse, who periodically came in and checked on his grandfather, wrote things on a chart and then floated out again, almost like she hadn't even been there.

Thurston felt so lost, sitting alone with his grandfather, listening to the hum of machines and the raspy gurgling sound that Gramps made as he gasped behind the mask. His eyes never opened.

Thurston heard the door open and thought that his parents were coming in. He didn't turn around.

"I'm sorry you didn't see him when he was awake this morning," said a soft voice.

Thurston spun around. It was the young nurse – the one who had been flitting in and out throughout the evening.

"My name is Nurse Marion," she said. "I sat with him for a while before your parents got here."

She walked past Thurston, over to a small table that held dozens of flowers. She pushed one of the baskets to the side and reached down into the pile, pulling out a small brown teddy bear.

"One of the nurses brought this to him yesterday," she said, smiling and hugging the bear. "Here. You should keep it." She held the bear out toward Thurston.

"What would I want with a teddy bear?" he asked in an affronted manner. "That's ridiculous."

"But he liked it," she explained. "You should have seen him smile when she set it on the bed near him. If you keep it, it will make you think of him and smile."

Thurston looked at the bear. He picked it up and held it at eye level. He felt absurd.

He started to protest once more, but caught himself looking the bear in the face again. He peered into the little button eyes. Maybe I'll take it home and put it in the tree house, he thought. Fine, that's it. He can live in the tree house.

Late that night, Thurston lay in bed listening to the silence of the manor. His grandfather had passed away a few hours ago. His parents had just come to talk to him about it, but he sent them away. He reached under his blankets and pulled out the teddy bear. Looking into the bear's button eyes again, he whispered, "Teddy, will you never die and leave me? Will you always be here?"

Holding the bear with both hands, he reached his fingers up and made the bear nod. With a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a sob, he curled up in his blanket and hugged the bear tight.

August 16, 1944

It was early Wednesday afternoon, and Thurston Howell, III was just coming back from a luncheon meeting.

"Oh, Mr. Howell," called Hazel Murphy, his secretary. "Mr. Dewey cancelled his appointment this afternoon."

Thurston paused with his hand on the door to his office. Hmmm, he thought. That changes my plans for the day. Looking out the window, he formulated a new plan.

A half-hour later with new plans in place, he walked across his office, shut off his lights and walked out, locking the door behind him.

"Ms. Murphy," he said. "I'll be out of the office for the rest of the afternoon." He passed her with a sly smile and a wink.

As the limo driver drove past Zuccotti Park, Thurston pulled down the little window and told his driver to pull over at the corner of Cedar and Trinity. As the limo rolled to a stop, Thurston lowered his window. Just in time, he thought with a smile. Wendell Day, a young man who worked in Norton's Gourmet Restaurant, was running down the sidewalk jostling a large picnic basket.

"Here you go, Mr. Howell, Sir," he hollered, gasping for breath. He handed the basket through the window. "Everything's there, just like you asked." Wendell put his hands on his knees as he tried to recover from his sprint.

Thurston handed him a one-hundred dollar bill out the window. "Wendell, you're right on time." Rolling up the window again, setting the basket beside him on the seat, Thurston smiled.

Rolling down the window to his driver one more time, he handed a slip of paper through.

"Luther, go to this address next," he said.

Recently, Thurston and his wife, Lovey, had received the devastating news that conception was an impossibility for them. They had been trying to have a baby for several years, with no success. After an emotionally exhausting series of tests and blood work, the doctors finally concluded that Lovey Howell was unable to conceive. She had been crying for days.

When Thurston's afternoon became unexpectedly cleared, he decided to indulge in a little pick-me-up for the love of his life.

The limo pulled up in front of a large white house in a very well-to-do neighborhood. Luther got out and opened the limo door for Thurston, who approached the house and knocked on the door. A maid answered the door and invited him in.

Less than ten minutes later, he came out again, carrying another wicker basket with a cover on it. He gently set it on the seat and got in, instructing Luther to take him home.

Upon arriving at home, Thurston asked Matilda, their maid, where his wife was and how her day had gone.

"She's in the garden, Mr. Howell," Matilda answered. "She hasn't been crying as much, but she hasn't eaten either."

As he walked toward the back of the house, Matilda watched him go, wondering what could be in the two baskets.

Peering through the glass doors into the garden, Thurston watched her for a few moments. She had her back to him and was sitting on a little bench by her favorite patch of flowers. He slipped through the doors and came up behind her.

"Which one first?" he asked, when she turned to him with an excited squeal. He held the two baskets up toward her.

"That one first," she said with a smile, though he could tell that despite what Matilda thought, she had recently been crying again.

He handed her the first basket and she opened it, pulling out a beautiful gingham blanket and spreading it on the grass near the flower garden. "Oh Thurston, what a brilliant idea. I'm so surprised to see you home so early," she said. She gasped when she saw all the fixings for a very extravagant picnic, and squealed with delight at each item she pulled out.

He was happy to see the joy enter her surprised eyes, and even happier to see the flush in her cheeks. He sat next to her and set the second basket between them.

She jumped a little when the cover popped open on its own. Laughing, she pulled back a little white blanket, only to find herself staring into a little red furry face with tiny black eyes and a perfect little black nose.

"Oh Thurston," she said, her eyes wide and a huge smile on her face. "She's positively gorgeous." She pulled the tiny poodle out of the basket and held her close.

The puppy squirmed and reached up, licking Lovey's chin. Thurston took a deep breath and sighed with relief. It was love at first sight for both of them, as he had hoped.

November 18, 1964

Thurston Howell, III slowly opened his eyes and stretched. He reached under his blanket and pulled out a worn, lumpy teddy bear. Holding it up and looking into the bear's eyes, Thurston sighed. Looking over at Lovey's bed, he saw that she was already up and out of the hut.

He got out of bed and crossed the hut to get dressed, glancing out the window as he did. The only soul he saw was the Professor sitting at the table. He scowled. Suddenly, he was feeling like a wolf . . . The Wolf of Wall Street, to be exact.

He emerged from the hut and approached the table, wearing a pinstriped suit and fedora. Grabbing a mango, he pulled out a small knife from his pocket and started to slice it. He sat down at the table across from the Professor and glared at him with a furrowed brow.

It took a few moments for Professor to even notice him. He had his head down and was furiously scribbling into a notebook.

Thurston cleared his throat. Professor jumped a little and looked up.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Howell," he said. "I didn't see you sit down." He put the pencil down and looked at Thurston.

Slicing another piece of mango and eating it, he sneered at Professor. Then he asked, "Have you seen Mrs. Howell this morning?"

Professor gulped. It was just two nights ago that Professor tried to help Mrs. Howell make Mr. Howell jealous. After the disconcerting news that the Reverend Buckley Norris was a fraud and the Howells' weren't legally married, one thing led to another and the couple was on the outs. But Lovey wanted her husband back and asked Professor to help make him jealous.

Although it turned out to be a huge misunderstanding and the Howell's were again married . . . happily so, Mr. Howell was still a bit shaken about the thought of seeing his Lovey sitting at a dinner table in a romantic setting with the Professor.

"Uh, ummm," Professor stammered. "I think she went over to see Ginger and MaryAnn about some sewing projects.

Thurston nodded and slowly took another bite of mango. Looking back at Professor with a raised eyebrow, he asked, "So tell me . . . Professor. What's salicylic acid?"

"What?" asked Professor, clearly not expecting that question.

"Salicylic acid. Lovey promised to buy it for you." Another bite of mango.

Professor grinned sheepishly. "Uh, Mr. Howell, you really don't have anything to worry about."

"Of course, I don't," he answered gruffly. "The day an egghead like you could steal away my Lovey is the day the Queen Mary shows up on the west shore to take us home." Last bite of mango. "What is it? Salicylic acid?"

"Actually, it's just the scientific name for aspirin."

Thurston nodded as he took a napkin and wiped down his knife. "Salicylic acid. Aspirin?" He sat with the knife in his hand, tapping it on the table.

Professor nodded.

"Aspirin," he said again. Then he started laughing. He got up and walked back toward his hut shaking his head. "Eggheads," he muttered.

He got about halfway to his hut when he looked over toward the girls' hut. Lovey was coming out with Ginger and MaryAnn and the three of them were laughing. Thurston's heart burst with love. With a wolfish grin at the Professor, he turned and headed toward his wife.

"Good morning, Lovey, Dear," he said, holding his arms out to her.

She ran into his arms and they rubbed noses, whispering loving sentiments to each other.

He leaned down a bit and put his lips near her ear, causing her to shiver. "Tell me, Lovey. Do you need any . . . aspirin?" he asked, leaning back with a raised eyebrow and a grin.

"Oh Thurston," she said. Waving her hand at him and wrinkling her nose, she started to laugh. She linked her arm in his and patted his cheek with her other hand. "Come, Darling," she said. "Let's take a stroll."

With arms linked, and occasionally rubbing noses and stealing kisses, they happily strolled down their favorite path through the jungle.