The Fairy Penguin

The night of the phone message we decided not to worry. It makes no sense to worry. The phone message could be about anything. They might want to change the next appointment. They might not be able to read my hospital registration form. Anything!
Also, we knew this: if the blood test results were positive, well, they could be wrong. Those results, we knew, give you odds, let’s say a 1 in 80 chance that there’s a genetic disorder. And then you have to wait a few weeks and have an amniocentesis. That’s what tells the truth. So, even if the test results are positive now, well, it makes no sense to worry until you get to the amniocentesis.
So, we fell asleep, but in the middle of the night I was wide awake. Colin half-woke and said, “Do you know what Jaci the Fairy Penguin does on the weekends?”
“No,” I said.
And he said, sleepily, softly, and with resignation: “Neither do I.”
This was such a perfect story, such a vivid, sleeptime story, and it was so sad that neither of us knew what the Fairy Penguin did on the weekends. So I burst into tears and said, “I don’t think I can do it. I can’t go on a book tour now.” And Colin said, “Okay, you don’t have to go on a book tour.”