The Plan

by Kim Pritekel

  She studied the deep maroon Chrysler New Yorker. A beautiful car, to be sure, and she certainly admired it, but as she was about to walk on, she gasped and ducked into the shadowed alcove of the box office. She watched as the driver’s side door opened and a woman stepped out, dark auburn hair held in perfection by the sheer powder blue scarf wrapped over it. Sunglasses covered the beautiful eyes that she knew so well, but she’d know that air of confidence, that electrifying beauty and presence that made man and woman alike stop and stare.

  She was dressed in the latest fashion, a petite yet wonderfully feminine body hugged by a midnight blue dress with tiny light blue polka dots all over it, from what she could see of the skirt portion of the dress, which flowed around curvaceous calves. Her upper body was wrapped in a cream-colored cape coat with satin lining, seen on the flared collar.

  She closed her car door and looked both ways, waiting for a car to pass before her high heels clicked on the pavement as she hurried across the street toward the law offices of James Vaughn.

  Eleanor stepped out of the shadows and into the afternoon sun, her gaze never leaving the woman who walked around a Chevy Bel Air and stepped up onto the sidewalk. She reached up and removed her sunglasses as she neared the door, which opened. The man Eleanor had seen several times standing outside smoking a cigarette or chatting with people stepped out. She’d come to suspect this was James Vaughn himself.

  Stepping farther away from the building, Eleanor watched the interaction of the two, her hands absently coming up to wrap around a parking meter. She watched as the couple met a few feet from the door. He leaned in for a kiss, but she turned her head, the peck landing square on her cheek. Eleanor felt her stomach roil with the show of affection, no matter how brief and almost innocent. It was in that moment that her head turned, however, that Eleanor feared she’d been spotted.

  Turning away, she quickly pulled her jacket collar farther up near her face and hurried away. She didn’t stop until she got to the corner where she quickly hid around the side of the building, her back against the sun-warmed brick. Hand to her chest, she took a few deep breaths, trying to get the image out of her mind and, worse yet, all that her mind wanted to add to what she’d seen.

  Her attention was grabbed by the sound of a car headed in her direction. She glanced over to see the maroon New Yorker stop briefly at the stop sign before continuing on. She watched it until it disappeared after taking a left turn at the next street.

  Letting out a heavy breath, she pushed away from the wall and continued home.

  ****

  “Don’t forget, guys, tonight are the parent/teacher conferences, which means specifically teacher, which means me, and parents, which means not you.” She gave her chuckling students a pointed look. “You can, however, take a cookie with you.” She indicated the tin of homemade cookies she’d baked for the night’s event but had made extras for her last hour of the day.

  She watched as the teens gathered their things, some scurrying up to her desk to grab a chocolate chip cookie with a smile of thanks before ducking out of the classroom to join the sea of fellow students in the hallway beyond. She spotted Jimmy Vaughn making his way up to her desk, his usual swagger firmly in place along with his smile.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Brannon,” he said, reaching into the tin for his treat.

  “Good afternoon, Jimmy.”

  “So, uh,” he hedged, leaning a hip against the desk. “What does it take for a guy to get a good review from his teacher to his dad?”

  She managed to hide her smile, but just barely. “Are you worried?” she asked, raising her eyebrows as though he had something to be concerned about.

  “Hey, one never knows how he is perceived by those around him.”

  This time, Eleanor did laugh, shaking her head at his antics. “So just what kind of bribe are you looking at, kid?” she asked, both understanding she was joking.

  “Well,” he said, leaning in with his mother’s cocky grin on his face. “My mother makes the most amazing lemon cake thing.”

  “Gâteau de Mamie,” Eleanor said softly, remembering that cake well, as well as what Lysette and her mother had called it.

  “Yeah!” he exclaimed before his eyebrows fell in confusion. “How did you know that?”

  She merely smiled at him. “You think that would help what I tell your dad, huh?” she asked, entwining her fingers before resting her chin on them.

  “It’s really good cake…”

  She shook her head and smiled, waving him off. “Get out of here.”

  Later that night, Eleanor filled one final glass of the punch she’d made for the meetings with parents and set it next to the open tin of cookies. She had one parent left, and her heart pounded and palms sweated as she waited.

  “Miss Brannon, I presume?”

  She looked up and saw James Vaughn walk into the room, still in suit and tie. His hair was just so, glasses just so, and his taste in fashion was impeccable.

  “Hello,” she said, standing from her chair and leaning over the desk with extended hand, which he took. “Eleanor Brannon.”

  “James Vaughn. I have the distinct pleasure of being Jimmy’s father.”

  She smiled, able to see where one of her favorite students got his charm. He definitely had a double dose. “And I’m his teacher. Please have a seat and, if you like, here’s some punch and cookies.”

  “Ohh,” he said, fingers moving over the cookie tin until he chose what must have been the perfect one for him. Taking a bite, he shrugged out of his overcoat, keeping the suit jacket on, and removed his fedora before sitting. “Very good.” He took a sip of the punch she placed before him before speaking again. “My apologies that I’m not very good at this. Normally, my wife would be here, but she phoned and feared she wouldn’t be back in town on time. So,” he added, popping the last of the cookie in his mouth. “Here I am.”

  She smiled, charmed. “Fathers are certainly welcome, as well, Mr. Vaughn. In fact,” she added, getting settled in her chair and pulling the few pages she’d gathered for Jimmy, “I think it’s important that fathers are interested and knowledgeable in their children’s education.”

  He raised a heavy eyebrow. “Well, that’s very modern of you. So,” he said, slapping his hand on the edge of her desk as though bringing a meeting to order. “Is Jimmy passing? Is he doomed to be a jailbird? Any girlfriends I need to know about?”

  She chuckled, shaking her head as she pulled out Jimmy’s grades. “No, I think you’re clear on the jailbird part. As for girlfriends, I don’t get involved unless I need to pry them apart.” They shared a knowing smile. “As for his grades, he’s doing quite well.” She turned the page for him to see. “His grades are overall good. He does have a few issues focusing at times, particularly if he sees an opportunity to get a bit of attention.”

  He nodded, rubbing his chin as he took the page in hand, scanning the handwritten grades and any attached notes she made at the time. “Yes, my class clown, to be sure,” he said, sparing her a glance over the top of the page. “He certainly got his vibrancy from his mother.”

  Eleanor smiled at the accuracy of his statement.

  “So anything else?” he asked, setting the grade report sheet back on the desk.

  “He’s been arriving a bit late in the mornings, but other than that, Jimmy is doing well. Treats his fellow classmates very well, and I have to say, I’m quite impressed by him. More than once, he’s stepped in to protect a classmate that was being picked on or having some issue.”

  He chuckled as he grabbed his overcoat, flipping it over his arm as he pushed to his feet. “Again, the influence of his mother. To be honest,” he said, placing his fedora on his head, “I wish he’d toughen up a bit.” He winked at her and extended his hand. “Miss Brannon, an absolute pleasure. I can see why you’re Jimmy’s favorite teacher.”

  She smiled and rose to her feet. “You’re my last parent, so if you’d like, feel free to take the rest of these to your f
amily,” she said, holding out the tin of seven or eight cookies.

  He looked down at it, then grinned at her as he took it. “Excellent. The kids will love it. Have a wonderful night, Miss Brannon.”

  “You, too, Mr. Vaughn.”

  She watched him go, returning his smile before he left the classroom. Alone, she blew out a breath and ran her hand through her hair. She was glad that was over, though she had found him to be very charming and pleasant. To say it felt awkward sitting across the desk from Lysette’s husband was beyond an understatement.

  Shaking all that and the moments before out of her mind, she gathered the papers on her desk and straightened them into a pile to file the following day before class began.

  She moved away from her chair, grabbed the eraser, and began to erase the day’s lessons from the blackboard when someone hurried into the room.

  “I’m so sorry! I got in much earlier than I anticipated but worried I’d be much later, so I sent my husband in for me. I—”

  Eleanor turned around, and her heart stopped. Lysette stood just behind the chair her husband had abandoned mere moments before, her jacket halfway down her shoulders. Her eyes were wide and her face frozen in midsentence.

  “I,” Lysette said softly, pulling her jacket back into place, her gaze never leaving Eleanor’s. “I was looking for Miss Brannon. Miss Eleanor Brannon,” she near-whispered, her gaze falling to the floor as though something had clicked into place in her mind.

  “It’s all right,” Eleanor said quietly. “Hello, Mrs. Vaughn,” she continued, Lysette’s gaze rising to meet her own again. “Your husband was here. In fact, you just missed him. Delightful man. And you found her.”

  Chapter Seven

  In a borrowed dress, Eleanor sat at the breakfast table, Lysette to her left and Lysette’s ten-year-old brother Theodore to her right. She watched as Lysette’s parents talked to each other, the kids laughed, joked, and even sent a rolled-up napkin flying across the table at the oldest son, thirteen-year-old Michael. But what shocked Eleanor the most was that handyman Samuel and cook Risa, a colored woman, sat down to join the family for the meal!

  “Good, isn’t it?”

  She turned, still wide-eyed from her thoughts and observations, to see Lysette looking at her expectantly. “Huh?”

  Lysette grinned. “The frittata. Isn’t it fantastic?”

  Eleanor looked down at her barely touched food. “Oh, uh, yes.” She gave her a small smile, uncertain.

  “What? You look confused.”

  “I’ve never had frittata,” Eleanor said slowly, the word feeling strange in her mouth. She felt small and stupid, out of her league. What she wanted to do was run home and eat what she knew: oatmeal. It was bland glue that secretly she hated, but at least it made sense to her.

  Lysette gave her an understanding smile. “Just try it,” she said gently. “It’s good, I promise. Maman brought the recipe back with her from Italy last year.”

  Eleanor gave her a small smile in acknowledgment of what she’d said before looking back to the pie-like slice of egg dish sitting on her plate. She grabbed her fork and cut into it, bending her head to get a peek inside before carving out a small bite. To her surprise, it was amazing. The flavors that popped inside her mouth—egg, potato, sausage, seasonings—all mixed together in one delightful bite of food. Definitely better than oatmeal.

  Lysette was looking at her with an expectant expression on her beautiful face. “Good?”

  “Yeah,” Eleanor admitted shyly. “Really good.”

  Breakfast was interrupted by loud pounding on the front door; everyone’s attention focused on it.

  “Everybody just stay put,” Davis Landon said quietly. “Samuel, would you mind accompanying me?”

  “Yes, Mr. Davis.”

  Eleanor looked around the table at those who remained, trying to gauge their reactions and any evidence of what they were thinking. Was this normal? Was someone expected? Were they as concerned as she was?

  Her stomach fell immediately when she heard her father’s voice booming in the entryway.

  “I’m here to collect my daughter.”

  “Good morning, Ed!” Davis Landon boomed just as loudly, though cheerful, followed by the sound of a hand slapping a back in masculine greeting. “Why, Eleanor is eating breakfast right now. Why don’t you join us? Got plenty.”

  Eleanor knew that though unintended, Davis had just angered her father. In his mind, he’d just been told he wasn’t taking care of his own family. She gently rested her napkin on the table and pushed her chair back from it.

  “Where would you like me to take this?” she asked softly, picking up the plate, prepared to clean up her mess.

  “Just leave it, hon,” Risa said, pushing up from her own chair and walking around the table to Eleanor’s side. She touched her hand with her fingers before giving her a kind smile, taking the plate from her.

  “Stay,” Lysette said, reaching up and wrapping her hands around Eleanor’s arm. “Please?”

  “Lysette,” Adalyn said. Though her tone was soft, warning was in it. “Leave her be.”

  Lysette looked from her mother to Eleanor and back to her mother. “But she’s not even finished her breakfast, Maman!”

  “Lysette.” Adalyn’s look was as hard as that single word.

  Eleanor wanted to cry—in fear and regret—as she moved away from Lysette, whose hands fell limply back into her lap. “Thank you for everything,” she said softly, then made her way toward the men’s voices.

  Ed Landry stood tall in front of the door. His gaze fell to Eleanor as she entered the entryway, his jaw muscles working.

  “I’m here, Father,” she said, head lowered in deference.

  Ed placed a hand on her shoulder, moving her behind him. She squeezed her eyes shut, able to feel the tension coiled in his body. She listened as he said terse goodbyes, then she was roughly turned around and guided out into the sunny morning ahead of him.

  During the ten-minute drive to the store to pick up her mother, Eleanor spared a glance at him before looking out the mud-splattered windows. The town she’d been born and raised in was a mess. The harsh rain had created deep rivets in the roads and yards, the mud quickly drying from the early morning heat that was already settling over the town.

  The truck pulled up in front of the building, and Ed looked at her. “Make it quick.”

  Nodding, Eleanor was glad to escape his intense presence, his anger seeming to be simmering just under the surface.

  “Mama?” she called, making her way up a back staircase that led to the second floor of the storefront.

  “In the washroom, Eleanor.”

  She followed the sound of running water and found her mother in the tiny washroom that serviced the entire building. There was a commode, which wasn’t much more than that in their outhouse at home, as well as a sink with cold running water.

  Hurrying down the narrow hallway, as she knew time was short, Eleanor found the right door and peeked inside. There, she stopped cold. The other Landry woman stood before the small mounted mirror above the sink, gently dabbing at a cut on her chin with some tissue.

  “Oh, god,” Eleanor breathed, her paralysis lifting as she hurried to her mother’s side, fingers to the uninjured part of her face to turn her to see the wound better. Instantly, tears came to her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she cried, easily able to tell that her father’s slap or punch had sent her mother flying into something that had cut her. “I never should have left!”

  “Shh, sweetheart, stop. Stop it now,” Emma said, gathering the crying teen into her arms for a quick hug. “It’s okay. Don’t accept your father’s sins as your own.” She glanced over to the empty doorway before looking back at Eleanor, tears continuing to flow down Eleanor’s cheeks. “Listen to me, honey,” she said, voice low and serious as she reached up to brush loose strands of hair out of Eleanor’s face before lovingly caressing her face. “We’ll get through this, okay? I promise you, I’ll never l
et anything happen to you. You let me take it all.”

  Eleanor shook her head. “No. I made it worse by going to the Landons’ house. Why does he hate them so much?”

  Emma let out a heavy sigh. “It’s an old story, and we don’t have time for it now. Don’t you worry about that. Okay?”

  Eleanor nodded, though she was absolutely worried about that. “Okay.”

  Emma left a quick kiss to the top of her head before returning to her reflection, turning her face this way and that before dabbing again at the cut. “Okay, this’ll have to do. Let’s go.”

  ****

  The early afternoon was growing hotter and hotter, and the normally dry air was heavy and muggy from the deluge the night before. Eleanor had been stunned by the damage done to her bedroom, which seemed to get the brunt of the flooding on the second floor.

  She’d found the wide-brimmed straw hat she used while picking crops in the fields and tied it on to block the harsh overhead sun as the three of them worked in concert to empty out the house. Her mother was mainly picking through what was being brought out to the front yard and tossing aside what was not salvageable, her father giving the final opinion, of course.

  Left alone upstairs for a few moments, Eleanor knew she had to act quickly or get caught. Scurrying back into her emptied bedroom, she fell to her knees near the closet where her dresser had been and worked to pry up the loose floorboard she’d found years before.

  “Come on,” she growled under her breath, wincing when a splinter embedded itself deeply into her finger. “Darn it.”

  No time to deal with that, she continued to work on the wide plank until it finally lifted. Smiling with her success, she quickly reached inside until she felt the softness of material that she’d stitched around the cardboard she’d used to fashion a book. Pulling it free, she glanced over her shoulder before reaching up under her skirt and tucking the precious book into her panties before working the board back into place and hurrying from the room.

  She ran down the stairs, mindful that the diary didn’t dislodge from its hiding place before she could find somewhere to hide it. As she stepped out onto the front porch, she saw the glint of sunlight on glass before she heard the distant sound of a car engine.