Ten minutes before landing, our captain announces that, due to a once-in-a-century LA rainstorm, our landing will be delayed; we circle for thirty minutes before descending through dense, black clouds. Our terrifying landing pales in comparison to the scene at the airport, where hordes of furious travelers are expressing themselves with uncensored imagination. I maneuver through the crowd and trudge off to the assigned luggage carousel, where, consistent with the theme of the day, my bag is the last to arrive. The delay ensures that, by the time I arrive at the Avis rental desk, my reservation has disappeared into cyberspace. The apologetic clerk calls headquarters, and I wait for the better part of another hour before the cheerful man on the phone authorizes my rental and explains that, as luck would have it, someone with the same last name took my reservation. In a spirit of corporate generosity, Avis produces a top-of-the-line, brand new, light blue convertible and throws in an extra day.
“Welcome to LA,” the clerk smiles.
I cheer up when I arrive at my hotel. The rain has stopped, and glorious California sunshine greets me—along with a cheerful desk clerk who remembers my room preferences. As I follow a valet to the elevator, I remember that I have a whole day and evening before the conference. I’ll take a quick shower, hit the gym, and treat myself to a Swedish massage. Then a walk on the beach at sunset, a mojito at the bar, a lavender oil bath, fresh salmon salad delivered to my room, three episodes of Succession, and ten hours of gorgeous, unbroken sleep.
My husband, Mike, wasn’t thrilled about the timing of this conference. The kids are on spring break, and the contractors are behind on our bathroom project. I’ll be in sunny California while he’s stuck in Brooklyn in charge of the kids, the bathroom, and Ralph, our twelve-year-old shepherd mix. Ralph’s schedule includes a 2 a.m. trip to do his business and bark at the neighborhood night watchman.
Truth is, I don’t have even the teensiest amount of guilt. For the last two months, while Mike’s been making the rounds of every cool restaurant in town with new clients, I’ve been on my own with the contractors, three kids under the age of twelve, Ralph, my day job, and preparing for this conference. I’ve been operating on four hours of sleep a night. Let’s just say it hasn’t been a walk on the beach.
The night before I left, I handed Mike a detailed calendar with the week’s deadlines and schedules, including his mother’s trip to the cardiologist.
“I’ve got this,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.” He put the schedule down on the table.
“You don’t want to go over it?”
“How hard can it be to take care of things for a few days?”
I guess we’ll see…
My hotel room overlooks the ocean. The curtains, shades, and lights operate on the hotel’s app. My bathroom has a whirlpool, a walk-in shower, and a bidet with a plastic-covered, six-page instruction booklet. Next to the sink, a wicker basket topped with a pink ribbon is filled with designer soaps and creams—rose, lemon, and eucalyptus. And the piêce de résistance: a king-size bed with six pillows, each labeled for firmness. A four-page room service menu by the phone lists twenty cocktails and, on the back page, nearby local attractions. The white porcelain bowl on the coffee table is filled with fresh oranges, grapes, three kinds of almonds, and a small bag of raspberry macarons. A handwritten note is tucked into the side.
All for me.
I lie down on the bed to text Mike my room number. Then I use the house phone to book a massage at the spa. I’m unpacking and humming the score from South Pacific when the phone rings. Hopefully, the spa confirming my appointment.
No such luck.
“Daddy hates me,” Sara says.
No reason to panic, I tell myself. My ten-year-old daughter has a finely honed talent for drama. I’m pretty sure she has a future on the stage, or maybe, like her father, in the courtroom.
“Slow down,” I say. “Tell me what happened.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Sara says.
“What wasn’t your fault?”
“He’s never speaking to me ever again.”
“Sara, put Daddy on the phone.”
There’s a short pause before she hangs up. I have a choice. Mike can handle it. I deserve a break. I call back.
“Don’t be mad at me, Mommy,” Sara says. “It was an accident.”
“What was an accident? Put Daddy on the phone.”
“I can’t,” she wails. “He’s talking to the plumbers.”
“Sara, I am not kidding. Get Daddy right now.”
She drops the phone on the counter. I review the room service menu while I wait for Mike to pick up. Maybe crabmeat instead of the salmon? Is it okay to drink before a massage?
“That you?” Mike’s voice is up an octave.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“You want to know what’s going on? Your daughter dropped her glasses in the new toilet. She tried to fish them out before she flushed them. The plumber says we have to replace the whole toilet.”
I’m trying not to laugh, but once the first giggle escapes, it’s a lost cause.
“Are you laughing?” Mike asks. “Really? You think this is funny? We flooded the Riley’s bathroom. They may sue us. I spent the whole morning on the phone with the insurance company.”
“No,” I put a pillow over my face to muffle the sound. “Not laughing. Sounds awful.”
“And,” Mike says. “You know what else? She lost her extra pair. We have to go out in the middle of the storm and buy new ones.”
“Oh dear. Is there a storm?” I have my fist in my mouth. There are tears rolling down my cheeks.
“Are you still there?” Mike asks. “And, just so you know, I have to take tomorrow off to supervise the plumbers.”
“Well, look at it this way,” I grab a tissue to wipe my eyes. “You went to law school for three years. I’m pretty sure you can handle a pair of glasses and the toilet. And if the Riley’s sue, you can handle that too.”
“I’m glad you think this is funny,” Mike says. “When exactly are you coming home?”
“In four days. Try not to kill the children while I’m gone. Get some rest.”
“Right,” Mike sighs. “Get home as soon as you can.”
As I hang up, I notice a white envelope under my door. My massage confirmation. I have thirty minutes to rinse off and change my clothes before I grab my gym bag, lock my room, and head to the elevator. No time to lose. The clock is running.
Author's Comment
In the face of life’s challenges, I remain inspired by the power of humor to brighten each day. If my stories help others to smile, to laugh, to ease their days, I have accomplished my artistic goal.
This book is for you, if you have struggled with depression. There are people who love you, and reasons to live.
If you have tried to help a loved one who does battle with darkness, this book will show that you are not alone.
Rae Dumont is a mother, a widow, and a friend. As a pediatrician and a family therapist, she has shared in many people’s experiences, and tried to help.
She hopes to bring their lives to the page and to share what they have taught her.
New Yorker Lou-Ellen Barkan retired to the Berkshires, where she teaches writing classes, runs a writer's group, and writes for pleasure and, hopefully, for others. She holds a BA from Hunter College and an MA from Columbia University. Her husband of over sixty years, her two children, six grandchildren, four dogs, and three careers have produced enough material for a lifetime of stories, some of which are available at 
Kari Uhlman lives in Sacramento County, CA. As well as being a facilitator for