The Perfect-Perfect Plan

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  “Are we good?” he asks once he’s helped me with my seat belt.

  “Good to go,” I tell him.

  He closes my door, trots back around to the driver’s side and hops in behind the wheel. “Home we go,” he says with a big smile. Of course, it’s my home. But when he says it like that, my heart explodes and just like my parents, I start thinking about wedding plans. While I’ve only known Phillip since Friday, spending almost the entire time together makes it seem longer. And even though I know our relationship is just beginning, I can’t help being overly excited about where the road may take us.

  When we arrive at my apartment, he parks in my driveway and we enter through the back entrance. While I have walked some at the hospital, this is my longest trek on crutches. It takes a while before we make the lengthy walk down the hall to the elevator, and then there’s another walk down the hall to my apartment. It feels exhaustive and cumbersome and I’m looking forward to lying down. By the time we arrive, I feel like I have participated in that 10-mile marathon.

  Using my keys from my bike bag to gain entry, I unlock the door and invite him inside. “Welcome to my humble abode,” I say as I drop my fanny pack on the entry table.

  “Where do you want this?” he asks about my bike helmet that is now scratched and dented from the accident.

  “Just put it on the top shelf,” I ask of him, gesturing to the coat closet by the front door. “Even if I could ride, my bike has been totaled.”

  “You should get that Vanover guy to buy you a new bike even if you don’t end up pressing charges,” he suggests.

  “Yeah, I think so,” I agree, thinking I’ll get a top-of-the-line model.

  “What about this?” he asks meaning my bag of personal items my parents brought to me.

  “If you don’t mind, just toss it on my bed.” I point down the hallway.

  Before he has time to head that way, Lucy has heard my voice and barreled from her chair in the living room to see her mother. She stops short of getting to me, giving Phillip the once over. “Lucy, this is Phillip. You need to be nice to him.”

  I look at Phillip. “Don’t stick your hand down to pet her if she’s eating. She gets overly protective of her food.”

  “Good to know,” Phillip says and looks at Lucy. “Hello Lucy. I hope you learn to like me because I’m going to be around a lot for the next few days.”

  Few days? Gosh, I was hoping for more. Does he feel like he’s got himself into something too fast and he’s pulling back? Are my parents to blame?

  “Well come inside and make yourself at home.” It dawns on me that Phillip hasn’t brought any clothes or toiletries. I would’ve thought yesterday’s errand might have included something like that if he were planning to stay with me. If not, what was he doing while he was out and about?

  “I’ll go put this in your bedroom.” When he scoots past Lucy, she swishes her tail at him and gives him one of her haughty looks.

  “Come on Lucy,” I tell her. “Let’s get you some fresh water and check your food.”

  When I enter the kitchen, I see a half-eaten banana on the counter. I’m positively certain that I didn’t leave it there. Perhaps my mom or dad left it there. But wouldn’t they have placed the uneaten part in the fridge? It has now blackened so I take it to the trash and dispose of it.

  When I walk over to Lucy’s water bowl, I notice that cat treats are in her food dish, as opposed to her regular cat food. I’m quite certain my mother knows the difference. Maybe my mom was busy packing my clothes and my dad might have fed her. But even he should know the difference. “Lucy, I hope you didn’t eat too much of this.” I look at her and she practically smiles at me. “It’ll give you the poops if you eat too much,” I warn her, as if she cares.

  I lean on a crutch and stick my leg out doing a weird balancing act to reach her water bowl.

  “What are you doing?” Phillip barks. “Hannah, this is why I’m here, for goodness’ sake.”

  “No, you’re here to take care of me, not my cat,” I correct.

  “Yeah right,” he grunts. “And if you fall over and can’t get up, then you’ll be in worse shape than you already are.” He passes by me and gets the bowl to refill.

  While he’s busy rinsing he bowl, I notice a couple of droplets of blood on the floor. I wonder if Dad fed Lucy and got his hand too close. Maybe that’s why one of them got distracted from the banana.

  “What else can I do for you?” Phillip asks once he’s freshened the water dish.

  “I guess my dad fed Lucy yesterday and put the wrong food in her bowl. Would you mind switching it out for this?” I show him the Little Friskies bag versus the Temptations Tasty Treats and explain the difference too him.

  “Not a problem,” he willingly agrees. “Now what?” he asks once the task is completed.

  I feel certain that Lucy’s litterbox needs cleaning, but I decide it can wait and I’ll manage it myself later. “I can’t think of anything.”

  “Okay, well then let’s get you situated.”

  He directs me to the couch where I stretch out and he places a throw pillow under my leg. He ends up on the loveseat, which feels like a million miles away from me. We watch Lady on A Train, the 1945 version, not the latest version of The Girl on The Train.

  “I loved that movie,” Phillip says as the credits role.

  “Me too,” I agree.

  “I’m getting hungry,” he mentions.

  “Would you like to order Chinese?” I suggest since we both like it, according to our long talk last Friday night.

  “I think I’ll stay on your couch tonight to make sure you’re okay. If you’ll be alright here by yourself for a little while, I’d like to run home and get a few things. I’ll pick us up some food on the way back.”

  “That’ll be wonderful,” I agree.

  “Do you need anything before I go?”

  “No, I think I’m good,” I report. “Take my keys with you so I won’t have to get up to let you back in.”

  “Okay, well, don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.” He goes to the entry and pauses. “What would you like to eat?”

  I place my order for black peppered chicken with fried rice and he leaves. As soon as he’s out the door, I am scrambling to my feet, really needing to use the bathroom. Number two, and I just couldn’t bring myself to tell him.

  Once I’ve finished up my business, I unpack the toiletry bag. While I’m in my bedroom, I notice that my purse is not where I left it. It’s much closer to the edge and not on the other side of my perfume bottles where I normally place it. It really irks me to think my parents went through my handbag. It reminds me of the time they read my diary when I was in high school.

  On my way to the living room, I pass by my home office and notice that my chair is rolled away from my desk. What the heck were my parents doing in there? I hobble over on my crutches and push the chair back up. Then I notice my sticky pad is front and center with a pen next to it. It’s not at all where I normally leave it. I wonder if they went through my purse looking for something to write on and ended up in here.

  Just when I get myself back on the couch, the ringtone for my mother sounds out. My phone is still in my fanny pack on the entry table. After clambering to my feet and getting my crutches situated, I bumble my way to the hall table. My mother is leaving a message when I finally get there.

  “Mom, it’s me,” I say cutting into her recording.

  “Oh, hello dear, I was just leaving you a message. I wanted to know if you got home from the hospital okay.”

  “Yes, Mom. I’m home right now.”

  “Is that handsome doctor taking good care of you?”

  “Yes, he is. He went to get us something to eat.”

  “Well, that’s good. He sure seems like a keeper, doesn’t he?”

  “I hope so,” I agree. I’m just about to ask her about the banana, the blood, and the moved items when suddenly the key makes a clicking noise in the lock. Phillip is back
.

  “What are you doing up?” he scolds the second he sees me standing in the foyer.

  “My mom called. I’m on the phone with her.” I wave the phone about.

  “Hello, Mom,” he yells to the phone.

  “Did you hear, Mom? Phillip says hello.”

  “Yes, I heard … and he called me Mom. I think I’m going to like this boy.”

  “Phillip has dinner, so I’ll let you go.”

  “Bye, dear. If you need anything, just let me know.”

  “I’ll call you later.” I tell her in closing. And I most certainly will because I want to ask her about those misplaced items. But I don’t want to do it in front of Phillip. But I can’t figure out the reason why.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Douglas

  It is already noon by the time I wake up. Then again, I didn’t get in bed until Carol was getting up. Jesus, what a night! I consider going back to sleep but need to take another piss. So, I crawl out of bed and head to the bathroom. By then my stomach is grumbling like a roaring tiger. I haven’t had anything to eat since that greasy pizza … oh holy shit! That banana! What did I do with it? Did I throw the peeling in the trash? My God, did I leave it on the counter?

  I tell myself over and over that it is okay. There were no signs of a break in. And chances are that Hannah’s parents came up from Waco to get her some things to take to the hospital. Hannah will assume one of them left it there. And even if this doesn’t turn out to be the case, maybe I can point the finger at Dr. Jag. He had access to her bike bag, not only from riding in the ambulance, but probably from being in her room. Who’s to say he didn’t take her keys and go over to her apartment? It’ll be my word against his. Heck, he may have gone over there to pick up her personals. I’m not going to worry about it. I’m not. Okay, I might be a little worried about it.

  As soon as I get out of the shower, I call the hospital and ask to speak to Hannah. If she is still there, I will go back over to the apartment and get the damn banana. If she has been released, I don’t know what I’ll do. I may just have to go ahead and kill her. I don’t know. Shit.

  My phone is glued to my ear while I pace the room in my underwear. “I’m sorry sir. We don’t have a Hannah Williams at this hospital.”

  “Okay, thank you.” I hang up and continue to pace. I was super careful about everything else. It was that damned cat’s fault. Perhaps I should kill the cat instead of Hannah. Which would you prefer? Hannah, or the cat? Think about it while I go get something to eat.

  Millie is serving peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to Angela and the kids when I stride into the kitchen. Normally I would take my meal in the dining room, but today I sit at the table, next to Henry.

  “Morning guys,” I say. “That looks like a nummy, nummy lunch.”

  Sophia giggles and Henry says, “Millie makes the bestest peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the whole world.”

  “The best,” I correct. “Not bestest.”

  Henry’s little face droops. “Yeah, the best.”

  I feel bad that I have corrected him. But shouldn’t I correct him? I really have no idea.

  “What would you like for lunch, Mr. Vanover?” Millie asks. “Would you like a panini, a baguette, a muffuletta, or a brisket slider? We have some other choices too. Let me look.”

  “I’ll have the peanut butter and jelly. I hear it’s the bestest.” I look at Henry and he grins.

  “It’s the best,” he corrects me, and I can’t help but smile and nod at him.

  Angela’s mouth gapes open and Millie braces herself with both hands against the kitchen counter as if she is about to faint.

  “What? Can’t I have lunch with my kids?” I say with a straight face, even though I am equally shocked by my own actions.

  “Yes, of course, Mr. Vanover. It was the P&J that threw me off,” Millie says, putting on her own straight face.

  Angela laughs. “Yeah right. And that you’re having lunch with your kids.”

  Angela has called me out. I like that. I look at Angela with a whole new perspective.

  “Here you go, sir.” Millie serves the sandwich on a Royal Copenhagen blue, full lace dinner plate with a side of potato salad. She compliments it with a chilled lauquen artes mineral water in a Waterford glass. My kids are eating on orange plastic plates and drinking from lime green sippy cups.

  It is an ordinary peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I would’ve preferred the panini. Millie makes the bestest of those in the whole world. Maybe I will suggest we all have that next time we are having lunch together. It befuddles my mind to picture myself doing this again. Maybe I slipped on that banana peel and damaged my brain.

  “Where is Mrs. Vanover?” I ask.

  “She’s spending the day at the spa,” Millie answers.

  “Yes, of course,” I respond. I have noticed something about Carol. She completely disappears on Saturday and Sunday while I’m home from work. I wonder why that is. I know she was really shopping yesterday, but I wonder if she is truly at the spa. Do I care? I decide I don’t so long as it’s not costing me too much money. But, of course, it is. This is Carol. She is getting the best treatments they have to offer.

  “Dad, we’re going for a swim in another hour. Will you come with us?” Henry asks.

  “Yes, I’d love to.” This might be the craziest thing I have ever said. I wonder when I fell on that ladder if I might have injured my brain rather than hurting my ankle, which feels much better today. Thank you for asking.

  Much to my surprise, an hour later I have applied some sunscreen, put on a pair of navy-blue swim trunks, and ventured out to the pool. Sophia runs out in a little one-piece with the Disney mermaid on it … the one with the long red hair. Just kill me if I knew the actual name. Henry is wearing a pair of trunks with dinosaurs on it. I think about their bed linens and realize they must be into those things right now.

  Angela lathers up both kids with sunscreen and then places floaties on Henry’s arms and then he yells, “Geronimo,” and jumps in, creating a sizeable splash.

  Next, Angela puts the same floating devices on Sophia. My little girl gingerly wades into the pool at the shallow end and then ever so gently pushes out into the water and yells, “Geronimo.” It is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

  Then my eyes bulge out of my head when Angela takes off her wrap and wades in after Sophia. How have I never noticed her before? She is wearing a solid black, one-piece. And she is one curvaceous beauty, practically spilling out of the top. My heart picks up speed and I will Goliath to behave himself.

  “Dad, are you coming in?” Henry asks, thankfully distracting me.

  “I sure am. You better swim out of my way.” I wait until he is safely to one side and then I jump as high as I can off the diving board and bring my knees close to my chest. Tucking my chin in, I plunge into the water with a giant splash.

  “Wow, dad, wow,” Henry marvels. “That was awesome. Can you teach me?”

  “I’ll be glad too. It’s called a cannonball.”

  Now this is funny, and I don’t mean ha-ha funny. I mean out-of-character funny. But I spend a large part of the afternoon working with Henry until he has perfected a cannonball.

  “Dad, I’m doing it!” he screeches in a big burst of excitement. He paddles over to the edge and climbs out so that he can repeat the process for the billionth time today.

  “Yes, you are. You’re doing it.”

  While he is jumping away, I move to the shallow end and help Angela teach Sophia how to swim without any life support.

  “You’re doing great,” I praise Sissy. “Have you been teaching her?” I ask of Angela.

  “Yes sir, but I have her in swim lessons too.”

  She says “I” not “Carol” which I am quick to notice. “Thank you, Angela. I appreciate that you’ve really stepped up where my kids are concerned.” I pause for a moment. “Do you have any children of your own?” If she does, I can’t imagine where she is hiding them as she is
always here with mine.

  “No, sir. I can’t have children.” She glances off into the distance as if it’s a painful subject.

  “I didn’t mean to pry.” She is clearly uncomfortable and now I am too.

  “It’s okay. My family has a history of ovarian cancer. I had some cysts issues, and my doctor recommended a hysterectomy and a bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy.” She sighs after stumbling over the pronunciation. “I may not be saying it correctly. I just generally say I had a bilateral hysterectomy.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Well, I’ve learned to compensate … your children are a full part of my life. I love them as if they were my own.”

  “What about your husband? Is he okay that you can’t have children?” I can’t believe I’m prying like this. What is wrong with my mouth?

  “Sir, I’m not married.”

  One of my brows quirks up before I can calm my surprise. “I can’t believe you haven’t been taken off the market.” She is a natural beauty with long brown hair and dark brown eyes. And she has a magnificent figure. I can hardly take my eyes off her tits.

  She shrugs. “I’m here twenty-four seven. When would I meet someone?”

  “You live here?” My voice raises several octaves. “No wonder I pay you so much money. Shit, I had no idea.” I throw a hand over my mouth. “Sorry Sophia, Daddy didn’t mean to say a bad word.” Sophia giggles as if she didn’t hear anything and continues to dog-paddle around us.

  “I stay in the room between Henry and Sissy,” she tells me.

  Up until last night, I didn’t know where Henry and Sissy’s rooms were. Stop judging me. Look, I’ve attempted this fatherly stuff for two days in a row. So just shut your damn trap. And let me add one more thing for you to chew on. When we finally climb out of the pool and go inside, Henry has hold of one of my hands and Sophia is holding the other one. And I like it. Maybe that’s the funny part.