The Plan

by Kim Pritekel

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “Welcome, welcome!”

  “Thank you, Mrs. O’Shea,” Eleanor said, eyes squeezing shut as she was accosted by Scott’s mother with kisses all around and a painful hug that she was pretty sure made her rib creak.

  The elderly woman stood back, hands on Eleanor’s shoulders. Her lipstick was as red and as slightly smudged as ever. “Why haven’t you been coming around as much?” she asked, ushering Eleanor into the house. “We’ve missed you, and I know my Scotty has, too.”

  “I know. A few teachers and I have been helping the substitute who took over Scott’s classes while he’s out,” she explained. “Late nights and extra hours.”

  “Well, we’re grateful you came today,” she said, coming to a stop before leaving the living room. She turned to Eleanor. “He’s struggling, Eleanor. He’s been home for two weeks now, and he’s really struggling.”

  Eleanor nodded, letting out a small breath to try to ease her nerves as they continued walking again, heading to the back family room, which Scott tended to make his space.

  It had been a month since the shooting and, though the town had rallied around the two men—even if there were whisperings behind closed doors of an “unusual” situation and wonderings why Scott had been with a colored man—Scott hadn’t bounced back. The doctors and medical team had worked wonders for him physically, but mentally and emotionally, he had yet to return to whole.

  “Scotty!” Mrs. O’Shea belted out in a sing-songy voice. “You have company!”

  “Ma, I told you I don’t want to see anyone!” he yelled from the other room, sounding more like a petulant ten-year-old than an educated man in his thirties.

  Eleanor smiled at that. Sadly, she doubted that was terribly unusual behavior at home with a mother who had catered to his every whim since the moment she’d found out she was pregnant.

  They entered the back wood-paneled room, its goldenrod shag carpeting vacuumed to fluffy fullness with perfect striping to prove it. The heavy drapes were closed, and the television was on. Scott sat in his red flannel robe with his hair messy as though he’d just rolled out of bed, and his unshaven face had blossomed into a scraggly, uneven beard.

  “Look at those whiskers,” Eleanor said, standing at the center of the room with hands on hips. “I think you need a bath and a shave, my friend.”

  Scott looked up at her, eyes wide with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “What, can’t a girl come visit her best pal?” she asked, smiling as she walked over and plopped down on the couch next to him, careful not to jostle him too much in case he was still having any pain.

  “I’m nobody’s best anything,” he muttered, tossing the book he’d been reading on the coffee table.

  “Uh-oh,” she said, teasing in her voice as she lightly nudged him with her shoulder. “Someone’s having a bad day.”

  He glared at her, his eyes the poster child for despair. “If you’re here to make fun of me, you can just leave. I don’t want to hear it.”

  She was surprised to hear such words and tone from him but was not offended. She’d never seen him like this before. “So I heard the police were going to release your car back to you. That’s good news, right?”

  “What the hell do I care?” he asked, slapping his hands to his thighs.

  “Here we go!” Mrs. O’Shea exclaimed, entering the room with a tray filled with finger sandwiches, a pot of tea, and two teacups.

  Eleanor looked at it all, wondering when she’d left and how on earth she’d prepared all that in a couple of minutes. “Thank you, Mrs. O’Shea,” she said, watching as the tray was set on the coffee table. Wadded-up tissues, the discarded book, and a small stack of dirty dishes were pushed aside to make room. The dishes were gathered in her hands.

  “Do you kids need anything else?” the elderly woman asked, looking bright-eyed between the two.

  “Uh, no. I think we’re good,” Eleanor said with a smile.

  “Just go,” Scott muttered.

  Not skipping a beat, his mother left the room, leaving Eleanor to stare at him, shocked. She knew he could act like a spoiled brat, but she’d never seen him be so rude to her.

  “Scott,” she said. “That wasn’t nice.”

  “What do you care? Not like anyone does, anyway.” He crossed his arms over his chest, again the petulant child peeking his head up.

  Deciding to take a moment to gather her thoughts and her strategy, Eleanor went about pouring them both some tea, making it how she knew he liked it. “Martha told me she came by with some dinner for you last Wednesday,” she began conversationally. “She said she made you her Swedish meatballs that her husband apparently howls over.” She smiled, handing him his tea, which he took, refusing to look at her. “And through the grapevine, I heard that Carlos dropped off a chocolate cake his wife baked and a scarf she crocheted for you.” She took an experimental sip of her tea, making a show of it. It was then she noticed something leaning against the wall where it was placed on the floor, even if half of it was obscured by a randomly thrown undershirt that dangled from it. “And I see you have the card that the entire student body made for you and signed.” She took another sip. “I don’t know, Scotty, I’m thinking lots and lots of people care.”

  He looked away from her, his arms relaxing a bit from their stiff, stern position, but he still kept up the wall between them. “He left,” he finally said, voice quiet.

  “Who did?”

  His head whipped in her direction, gaze hard. “Who do you think?”

  She felt her heart fall. “No. Where did he go? Why?”

  “He said it was for my own good,” Scott said bitterly. “Like he’s me and knows what’s best for me. He said the whole thing was his fault, that he brought danger to us, and he could never live with himself if he got me hurt again or worse,” he added, sounding as though he were spewing a well-rehearsed speech.

  “I’m so sorry.” Eleanor reached over and grabbed the closest hand to her, tugging his arms apart so she could hold his hand as it rested on her thigh. “People never know how they’re going to react to horrible events in their life,” she explained. “Some embrace those around them to get through it while others shut down.” She studied his profile as he stared straight ahead in the direction of the television, though she knew he wasn’t seeing the game show on the screen. “Where did he go?”

  “To his sister’s house or something. I think she lives in Illinois.”

  “Look, I’m not going to give you platitudes or patronize you by saying things like if it’s meant to be, you’ll be together, blah, blah, blah. We’re both adults, and we know life isn’t always pretty.” She smirked. “Or kind. But you do have to pick yourself up and try and move on and continue the best you can.”

  He turned on her, yanking his hand from hers. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be attacked by a monster and in that moment, everything you hold dear is taken from you? Then, after all that, you’re essentially shoved into a prison of your own body and emotions through no fault of your own?”

  She could only stare at him, so much going through her own mind, so much she could say, so many things she could share with him about just how well she understood that, but it wouldn’t help him.

  “Do you?” he demanded, tears in his eyes when she failed to respond.

  “Come here, Scott,” she said, gently hugging him to her as he began to cry. Her touch in comfort would do him far more good than any words she may have. She rocked him gently. “We’ll get through this,” she whispered, leaving a kiss on top of his head. “I promise.”

  ****

  After leaving Scott’s house with a promise to return the following day to take him out for lunch, Eleanor decided to stop at the theater. Sure enough, An American in Paris was playing.

  “One, please,” she said softly to the girl behind the glass. She slid her money under the slot, and the girl slid a ticket back her way. “Thank you.”

  H
olding her ticket, she headed toward the door, pausing as she looked up at the marquee, then at those stepping around her to enter the building.

  “Sorry,” she said, as she was blocking the way for a group of girls trying to get past her. She studied the faces of moviegoers, and she knew she was looking for one face in particular.

  It had been a handful of days since Lysette had barged into her classroom, shocking Eleanor. She managed to keep her cool because Lysette deserved to know the truth, a truth she thought Lysette knew. She’d been left entirely confused—and admittedly hurt. Now she hoped Lysette would “bump into her” for the show, but in her heart of hearts, she knew she wouldn’t.

  She saw a young man strolling up toward the box office hands shoved into his trouser pockets. “Excuse me,” she said to him. “Are you going to buy a ticket to this showing?” At his nod, she handed him hers with a smile and walked away.

  She walked down the sidewalk and headed home. The thought of sitting in that dark theater with the seat next to her either empty or occupied by a stranger was just too much to take. After seeing her best friend fall apart in his own heartbreak, she couldn’t handle dealing with her own loneliness, a loneliness that only one person could fill.

  She was about to reach the locked door to her building when she heard her name. Turning, she saw Lysette hurrying across the street after a motorcycle passed, her New Yorker parked at the opposite curb. Eleanor waited at the door, keys in her hand. She wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but her nerves were already working overtime.

  “Hi,” Lysette said, stepping up onto the sidewalk and walking over to her.

  “Hi.” The surprise was evident in Eleanor’s voice.

  “I need to talk to you,” Lysette said, her eyes troubled. Her body language was fidgety. Though she looked as elegant and beautiful as ever in her designer clothing and perfect hair and makeup, something about her was off. She seemed more like a little girl playing dress-up than a sophisticated woman.

  Eleanor nodded. “Sure. Want to come up?” She indicated the building behind her.

  “Yes, okay.”

  Without another word, Eleanor unlocked the outer door and held it open for Lysette before entering and climbing the narrow staircase. She could feel Lysette’s presence behind her, and it was equal parts unsettling and comforting. A dizzying cocktail, to be sure.

  Reaching the second floor, she led the way to her apartment door, unlocking it and pushing the door open for Lysette to enter before her.

  Closing the door once they were both inside, Eleanor tossed her keys and purse on the end table as she watched Lysette walk slowly inside, looking around.

  “This is lovely,” Lysette said, glancing toward the newest addition. She gave a small chuckle. “So you’re the one who ended up with the rocking chair.”

  “Excuse me?” Eleanor asked, glancing from the chair to Lysette.

  “Nothing. You live here alone?” Lysette asked.

  Eleanor was surprised by the question but nodded as she walked toward the kitchen. “I do. It’s all mine, and most importantly, I can afford it.” She offered Lysette, who had also moved into the kitchen, a small smile. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Eleanor leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over her chest. She felt a bit defensive and cornered. “How did you know where I live?”

  “Oh,” Lysette said, giving her a small, sheepish grin as she removed her purse strap from her shoulder and placed the purse on the table. “Do you mind if I sit?” She indicated the kitchen chair before her. Eleanor shook her head, and Lysette made herself comfortable. “I must have sat in my car for ten minutes outside the theater, trying to decide if I wanted to go in or not.” She looked down at her hands, which fidgeted in her lap. “I didn’t know if I’d be welcome.”

  “Welcome into the theater?” Eleanor asked, deciding she too wanted to sit. She sat in the chair adjacent to Lysette’s.

  “No,” Lysette said softly, glancing at her. “By you.” She let out a breath. “I was about to make my decision when I saw you walk up and, moments later, leave. I needed to talk to you, so I followed.”

  Eleanor nodded in understanding and acknowledgment. Even still, she didn’t feel the need to explain her quick departure, and Lysette, for her part, didn’t seem to be asking for one.

  “Ellie, I’m here today because I owe you an apology. I had no right barging into your classroom Monday afternoon like some lunatic throwing accusations everywhere.” She paused, her gaze pleading as she looked at Eleanor. “I had no idea what had happened, and when Jim gave me all that information, it rocked me to my core,” she admitted, looking away for a long moment.

  Eleanor said nothing, didn’t move a muscle. She had the feeling there was a lot more Lysette needed to get off her chest.

  “I’m sorry I went off half-cocked, especially at your job. That was irresponsible and beyond inconsiderate of me.” Lysette gave Eleanor a small smile. “I hope you can forgive me.”

  “Of course I do.” Eleanor returned the smile.

  Lysette took what seemed to be a cleansing breath, her entire demeanor changing as though it had been eating her alive for nearly a week, and now she’d finally said what she needed to say. She looked deeply into Eleanor’s gaze, her own unwavering. “You took the fall, didn’t you?”

  Eleanor nodded and responded verbally with a simple “yes.”

  “For your mama?”

  Another nod and “yes.”

  “My god,” Lysette breathed, slumping in her chair. “Why?”

  “Well,” Eleanor said, placing her hands on the table. “My mother had been through enough. And as I told her that day, I knew, well, hoped,” she added with a sheepish smile, “that they wouldn’t execute a young girl.” She shook her head. “My mother wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

  Lysette’s eyes welled with tears as she looked away. She said nothing, seeming to need a moment to get her emotions under control.

  Eleanor pushed away from the table and went to the living room to grab some tissues from the box on the coffee table. She handed them to Lysette with a kind smile before returning to her seat.

  “Thank you,” Lysette whispered, using one to delicately dab at her eyes. “So,” she said at length. “They put you into…”

  “Seven years, four months, twenty-nine days,” Eleanor murmured.

  The tears really began to flow as a quiet sob tore from Lysette’s throat. She buried her face in her hands, tissues clutched in her fingers.

  Eleanor wasn’t sure what to do. She’d already cried all the tears there were to cry over her fate as a teen, and she wasn’t sure how to comfort Lysette through hers now. She claimed she didn’t know about the killing, seemed to have no knowledge of what happened to Eleanor, so Eleanor couldn’t even imagine the burden of all this dumped on her at one time. Part of her wanted to go to Lysette, but somehow, she felt frozen to her seat, unable to offer comfort that she didn’t even know would be welcomed.

  After several long moments, Lysette calmed, her tears relegated to intermittent sniffles as she wiped at her eyes and nose. “My god,” she finally said, looking at Eleanor with pain-filled eyes. “I had no idea. What happened?”

  Eleanor got up to grab the box of tissues, placing it on the table near Lysette, though she’d done that more for something to do with the nervous energy that question had spawned than anything else. “Apparently, Brooke View police had begun sniffing around William Gabford, asking questions about his years in Texas,” she said, sitting again. “I heard years later that he had a couple warrants out of Oklahoma, too. Anyway, he and Ed decided to move things up. While Gabford went out looking for work in Wyoming, just across the state line, Ed’s job was to get me ready to go. Life as I knew it was over,” she added, sitting back in her chair, staring off past Lysette as she saw that morning all over again.

  “You were supposed to marry him, wherever you two ended up?” Lysette asked.

>   “I don’t know,” Eleanor admitted. “I’m not sure that was really part of the worry at that point. I think Gabford and Ed panicked, and I was the possession that Gabby wanted to pack first.” She smirked at that thought. “Anyway, Mama and I knew the only chance we had was to get word to your parents, so when Ed left, I ran to the neighbors.”

  “Jethro Howell,” Lysette interjected. “He gave me your note. I’ll never forget his name or face as long as I live.”

  “Yeah, Jethro Howell. Well, when I got back to the house, Ed had returned. Things got…ugly.” She let out a shaky sigh, seeing the pure, unadulterated evil in her father’s eyes again. “Mama did what she had to do to protect me,” she finished softly.

  “Who called the police?”

  “Mr. Howell came over. He heard the shots.”

  “And you said you did it?”

  Eleanor nodded. “I did. Honestly, my mother was so locked inside her own mind at that point, I’m not sure they wouldn’t have tossed her into the asylum, thinking she was crazy.”

  Lysette looked down at her hand, which rested on the table, a soiled tissue crumbled with her curled fingers. “Nobody told me any of this,” she said, shaking her head. “My father told me simply that the plan had changed.”

  Eleanor smirked. “To put it lightly. I sent you four letters. All of them were returned.”

  Lysette looked at her surprised, but then her expression relaxed. “You sent them to the Brooke View house?” At Eleanor’s nod, she explained, “It was burned down around the time we left for Paris, so around the time all this happened. We never returned to that house. Hell, I didn’t even return to Colorado until we moved here,” she said, indicating the space around them and the town beyond it.

  Eleanor shook her head. “Wonder if Gabford was behind that. I’m so sorry.”

  Lysette grabbed her purse and set it in her lap, unclasping it. She reached inside and brought something out, resting it on the table. Eleanor stared at the beautiful lead crystal ring box, confused as it was pushed toward her. Taking it, she opened it, gasping softly as she saw her cross.