The Perfect-Perfect Plan

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  My question has shocked her, and it takes her a moment to answer. “They’re going down to Dinosaur Valley State Park in Glen Rose today. Angela wants to be on the road by ten.”

  “Good, that gives me plenty of time to reschedule a few clients and take care of a few things at the office. I’ll be back in time to eat breakfast with them.”

  “Okay. What would you like?”

  “What will they be having?”

  “Biscuits with jelly.”

  “Okay, I’ll have that too. But add some bacon and fried eggs.”

  “Yes, Mr. Vanover.”

  It doesn’t take me long at the office. After a few phone calls to clients and several sticky notes to my receptionist, I have things situated … at least enough that there shouldn’t be any fires I have to put out later.

  On the way back to the house, I make one more call.

  “Mobility Bank. Good morning. How may I help you?”

  “I’d like to speak with Hannah Williams, please.”

  “I’m sorry sir. Hannah will be out of the office until Wednesday. Melinda Hanson is here. Would you like to speak with her?”

  “No, thank you though.”

  My deadline is Wednesday morning. By then I want to be in and out of the bank.

  When I return, the kids are already at the kitchen table. Sophia has jelly smeared all over her tiny face and Henry is dipping a knife into the jelly jar and building a mound of it on his biscuit. When he looks up and sees me, a smile lights up his face.

  “Oh Dad, there you are. I thought you changed your mind and went into work.” He lets out a sigh of relief.

  “No way,” I say in a cherry voice. “I’m not about to miss this adventure.” I have no idea what to expect. But I’ll make the most of it – and get ready for it – for my kids. I know. I’m as surprised as you are.

  Millie brings my breakfast and I dig in.

  Henry throws another smile in my direction. “I like having breakfast with you Dad. It’s like we’re a real family.”

  “It is,” I quickly agree with him, silently noting that Carol is a missing unit.

  When they run off to get ready, I turn to Millie. “Where’s Carol?” I don’t know why I bother to ask. I really don’t.

  “Today is her yoga day.”

  “All day?” I question.

  Millie shrugs. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Really, I thought you were married to Leonard. Doesn’t he tell you where he drives my wife?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then all day?” I pose again.

  “No, Mr. Vanover. I don’t think it’s all day. Please, Mr. Vanover.”

  Millie is uncomfortable and I don’t know why I’m putting her on the spot. It’s not a surprise that Carol has other lovers. But for some reason, today it bothers me more than it ever has before. Maybe it’s because of her “Little Dougie” remark. I can’t be sure. But after last night, I am particularly pissed at Carol … more so than I care to admit.

  “I’m sorry Millie. Please forgive me.”

  “Yes, of course, Mr. Vanover.”

  My attention is diverted when my two kids bounce into the room, both with eager faces. “I’m ready Dad,” Henry exclaims. “I’m so excited.”

  “Me too,” Sissy squeaks. “I’m bringing Ariel with me.” She holds up a doll that resembles the Disney mermaid with the long red hair.

  “Ariel,” I say. “So that’s her name.” Now guess what I’m guilty of knowing.

  Angela isn’t far behind and I note that her hands are completely full. “Jeez, let me help you.” I run to relieve her of some of the bags.

  Thank goodness Angela knows what to pack. I’ve never seen so much crap. We’re taking a picnic basket filled with food and snacks, an ice chest, a blanket, sunscreen, water shoes, an emergency change of clothes in case one of the kids gets wet or muddy, and other stuff I can’t see in closed containers. Plus, she has the kids tablets fully charged along with a few other things she says will keep them occupied on the drive down.

  “Thank you, Angela. I don’t have a clue about this stuff,” I acknowledge as I pack everything into the Q3.

  My eyes gaze past my black Lincoln Navigator to the empty spot where the Lincoln Town Car normally sits. It’s the only car Leonard feels comfortable driving. Even the Q3 is for when we attend family functions … such as when I am wining and dining a potential family client and it is necessary to bring my kids along to give that “family” appearance.

  Beyond that, I have a classic 1965 Austin-Healey 3000 MK III. She’s a gorgeous two-seater in a British racing green with tan interior. This beautiful toy was one of my splurges with a low mileage of only 24,939. The number only increases by a small amount each year because it is worth so much more if I leave it parked. I gaze upon it with awe. And then I go over to admire the plush interior. My eyes don’t quite make it to the soft leather seats, or even to the giant steering wheel. Instead, my focus lands on the speedometer. My mouth flies open, and I hear a gasp escape from the back of my throat. The mileage is 32,312, considerably more than it should be. Carol has been driving my beauty.

  A deep ember of hate smolders within me. I want to hunt Carol down and kill her. I seriously wonder if I am going to kill her.

  “Dad, we’re ready,” Henry says drawing my attention back to him.

  My eyes bounce from him and over to Angela. She turns her gaze away from me, but not before her eyes have registered what’s happening. She takes a few steps toward me and whispers. “You can talk to Mrs. Vanover later. Today is a supposed to be a fun day for the kids. Don’t you agree?”

  I take a moment to debate it. Part of me wants to go kill Carol right this minute. Another part of me sees two children bouncing in the car, anxious about the day before them. But what I also see is Angela standing next to me, close enough to smell a welcoming scent of coconut coming from her shiny brown hair. Her long legs look luscious in a tan pair of shorts. And her magnificent boobs are pinned behind a white tank top. Her brown eyes implore me to get myself together. And her silent calm, cool and collected attitude makes me want to set aside my anger and follow her to the car.

  And that is what I do.

  “Everyone buckled in?” I ask before I put the car in reverse.

  “Yes, let’s go,” Henry urges.

  “Go. Go. Go,” Sissy squeaks.

  The kids are quiet during the first leg of the trip. But as we near, they become somewhat restless. Interestingly, I don’t mind it as much as I previously did and especially not with Angela seated beside me. Each time they prick one of my nerves, I just gaze at her long legs. Angela is incredibly beautiful. I think about the fascination I had with Hannah and wonder if I’m fickle. I really wanted Hannah. But now I really want Angela. Yes, I believe that is the definition of fickle.

  As I drive along, I consider the differences. Hannah is far too young for me and she doesn’t already love my kids. It’s funny. At the time, I never put the kids into the equation. I pictured myself with Hannah. Just the two of us and without that damned cat. She probably would’ve never given up the cat. And now I can’t give up the kids. It’s a weird turn of events.

  When I look at Angela, I think how much she already loves my children. She has patience and understanding. And she’s extremely attractive. Would she consider me? Would it even be possible to divorce Carol and start a new life with someone else … with Angela?

  The possibility worms its way into my brain, and I can’t let the thought go. Today I will probe her mind to discover more about her and see if she is even material I should consider.

  When we arrive at the park, I am shocked that there has only been one outburst from Sissy. She dropped Ariel and couldn’t reach her. The wailing hurt my eardrums. But Angela simply turned in her seat and retrieved the doll for her.

  “Here you go, honey. Now hang on to her this time. It hurts Ariel when she falls from that distance.”

  “I love how well you control them,” I remark
in admiration. “They really listen to you.”

  She smiles back at me and I see a glint in her eyes. Was it for me? Or was she simply happy with my compliment?

  The first part of the day is spent messing around a creek, skirting around pockets of water while traipsing from one limestone rock to the next in search of dinosaur tracks.

  “Look Dad, there’s another one,” Henry yells and points down into the shallow water.

  “Good find, Henry. That’s a really big one.”

  “Dad is that one too?” Sophia asks. She points at a hole in a rock formation.

  “No Sissy,” Henry corrects her. “Look, look over here. There’s one. See it?” I am amazed when my son tells her it is most likely a sauropod track. He is really into this stuff.

  Around lunchtime, we make our way over to a picnic area and drag out the blanket, picnic basket and ice chest. I am happy to help Angela set everything up and, in no time flat, we are eating chicken strips, sliced apples, grapes, strawberries and crackers. It’s a kid’s lunch. But as I watch the four of us interacting, I can’t remember when I’ve had a better meal.

  After lunch, we tire the kids out with more roaming around and then we head back home. On the way we pass by an ice cream parlor and Sophia goes crazy.

  “Ice cream. Ice cream. Ice cream,” she shrills at the top of her voice.

  Finding a place to turn around, unbelievably, I go back and treat my kids to a sugar high. What the hell is wrong with me? In the morning, I’m calling my doctor for a physical exam to make sure I don’t have brain cancer or something.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Hannah

  Sounds from the kitchen pop my eyes wide open. My first thought is that whoever has been in my apartment has returned. Then I remember Phillip is here. But he is a stranger when you think about it. I have only known him for a few days and yet I have entrusted him enough to invite him into my home. Was it a big mistake? Are the sounds down the hallway being made from someone who doesn’t have my best interests at heart?

  A shudder chills my spine. Today is Monday and he has already told me he has rescheduled his patients. He’ll be here the whole day and, unless I can get myself away from his hearing distance, I won’t have a chance to call my parents.

  Phillip is a nice-looking man who has been by my side ever since the accident. He has been nothing but caring, attentive and wonderful. And there shouldn’t have been any reason for him to come inside my apartment. I’m imagining this. It wasn’t him. It had to be my parents when they came to pick up a few personals for me. They are to blame for all things moved. All I’m doing now is sabotaging my relationship with Phillip. This is something I have done before. And I will not do it this time. My heart and mind are going to be open and not clouded with suspicion. And this time, I am going to end up in a relationship with a handsome doctor.

  Erasing my cynicism, I scramble myself out of bed and use my crutches to limp to the bathroom. After tee-teeing, cleaning my teeth and putting my hair in a bun, I throw on a robe and go see what Phillip is doing.

  “Hannah, why didn’t you call for me? I would’ve helped you out of bed.” He shakes his head at me, as if I have truly stretched the limits of my capabilities. “Besides, I was going to bring you breakfast in bed … oatmeal and toast,” he says, his gaze shifting back to a pot he is stirring on the stove.

  “You know Phillip, I’m not an invalid. I was walking on crutches at the hospital. And the only reason I had to stay was because of a possible concussion. If I don’t put any weight on my leg, I think I’ll be fine, especially if I rest my leg most of the time.” Then to push his buttons, I say, “However, I am planning on going for a jog later this afternoon.”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “You will not. I’ll tie you to the bed before I let that happen.”

  My brows go up and down. “Ooh, kinky stuff. That might be fun too.”

  He rolls his eyes at me. “Sit down and I’ll bring your breakfast to you.”

  While I pull a dining chair out and finagle into it, he pours the oatmeal into two bowls and delivers them to the table. On a return trip, he brings two cups of coffee. He already knows I like mine with two teaspoons of sugar and a slop of milk. And I already know he likes his straight and extra strong.

  “Would you like a banana with yours?” He reaches for the bunch on the countertop and snaps one off for himself.

  The mere mention unnerves me. Normally I would take one. But right now, my thoughts have focused on the half-eaten remains that I know I didn’t leave there. My lips pinch together, willing myself not to ask him if he entered my apartment without telling me. If he did, his reasons must have been ill-intentioned. Discounting the fact that my leg is in a cast, even if I were strong and healthy, his strength would overpower me in the split of a second. Don’t confront him, I warn myself.

  “No, I think I’ll pass on it right now. Maybe I’ll have a half of one later as a snack,” I emphasize, letting my tongue betray me just a little. My eyes dart to him to see if there is any reaction. I should be relieved when he simply takes a seat opposite me and begins peeling back the skin.

  He wasn’t in here. Get over it, I tell myself. I give him a kind smile and say, “Thank you for preparing breakfast. I appreciate it very much.”

  “It’s my pleasure. Besides, I’m here to help you.”

  He is wearing red and black plaid pajama bottoms with a solid black T-shirt. His dark, wavy brown hair is mussed up and he has day-old scruff on his face. He looks amazing. Why is it that men look so dang good when they crawl out of bed and I look like warmed-over shit? It’s such an injustice.

  He refuses to let me clean the dishes and then he waters an ivy plant I have in the windowsill. And without my saying a word, he feeds Lucy, refreshes her water bowl, and cleans out her litterbox. He is warming his way into my heart.

  “Okay, now let me help you take a shower.”

  My eyebrows couldn’t climb any higher. “No, I don’t think so,” I respond, my voice several octaves up there.

  “Yes ma’am, I’m helping.” He looks under the kitchen sink cupboards and then in a drawer near the trash can. “There they are,” he mutters to himself, pulling out a kitchen-size trash bag. “Now, let’s go.”

  “Phillip, I don’t know what’s going on in your crazy mind, but you are not coming in the shower with me.”

  “Well of course not,” he says with a chuckle. “But I’m going to help get this bag over your cast so that you don’t get it wet.”

  “Oh,” I flatly respond. And now I can’t help picturing us in the shower together … and we’re having fun.

  After placing my whole foot into the bag, he brings it up above my knee and secures it in place. “There, that’ll hold … unless you start jogging around in the shower.” He grins at me. “Of course, that’s not something this doctor recommends.”

  While I was in the hospital, each day I received a dry bath as the nurse had described the process. A body wash was applied to my skin in sections and then toweled off. They had a similar shampoo product for my hair. Surprisingly, it was quite refreshing.

  This will be my first shower since the surgery, and I find myself quite nervous about it. “What should I avoid doing?” I ask.

  “Don’t jog around in there,” he says with a cocky grin on his face. Then he gets serious. “Just get busy. Concentrate on the areas that need the most attention.” He arches his brows around and chuckles. “Don’t rush to the point you fall. But get the job done and get out.” He hangs a fresh towel on the hook outside the shower and then he gets the water going, intermittently checking the temperature. “Are you ready?” he says giving me a look like I should’ve already stripped off my white terrycloth robe and soft blue gown.

  “No, get out of here,” I snip at him.

  “I’m going,” he says, heading for the door. He pauses and gazes back at me. “Or I can stay and help,” he adds with another of his cocky grins.

  “Go. Now,” I grouch at
him.

  “Don’t lock the door … and I’ll be right outside if you need me.” His hand is on the knob. He turns back. “Or I’ll wash your back right now … and maybe your front.”

  “Get out,” I screech, but I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face.

  He steps outside and pulls the door closed. I shed my clothes and use my crutches to get right up to the shower, propping them against the frame. Quickly I seat myself on the bench under the spray of water and begin lathering myself up. Like he suggested, I concentrate on the vital parts and then quickly wash my hair.

  “How’s it going in there?” he calls out from the other side of the door.

  “I’ve jogged twenty-five laps so far,” I retort.

  “That’s amazing. Call it quits when you get to thirty. I don’t want you overdoing it.”

  “Almost there then,” I call out.

  When it feels like I have performed an adequate job, I climb up on my good foot and rinse off. Then the room goes quiet when I turn off the water.

  “Okay Hannah, I don’t want you to slip and fall. Get the towel around you because I’m coming in to help you.”

  “Give me a minute then,” I growl.

  After barely draping the towel around me and pinning it in place, he taps on the door. “I’m coming in.”

  “Okay.”

  He strides over to me and holds me in place. “Feel better?” There’s a caress in his eyes that pierces my heart and I find myself melting against him.

  “I do.” While I step out of the shower, his strong hands hold me upright. When my feet touch the bathmat, he smooths my wet tendrils away from my face and then he slides his arms around my waist, swallowing me in a comforting hug.

  There’s a powerful energy filling the air between us, a spark that is almost visible. He moves up next to me and I feel a little jerk coming from within his plaid pajamas. He doesn’t step back or apologize. Instead, he moves in closer and pulls me into a warm embrace.

  “Oh Hannah,” he whispers in my ear and I feel his breath tickling my neck. “You’re so amazing.”