The Perfect Plan by Bryan Reardon

Author:Bryan Reardon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2019-06-17T16:00:00+00:00

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I OPEN THE bay door as slowly as I can, leaning out to see if the police are gone. The fire lane is clear, so I throw it the rest of the way up and head to the truck. We don’t have much time. Someone from inside the store could come out at any moment.

When I turn, I see the kid. He’s still on the floor by the back of the garage.

“We weren’t here,” I say to him.

He might run inside, tell his boss. Or he might call the police. He might not, though. I think it’s more likely he’ll just disappear. Never show up again. But honestly, I just don’t care. We’ll be gone. And the police will find me eventually. So I back the truck out of the bay and we drive away.

The neighborhood isn’t far. I pull out of the parking lot and don’t see any police yet. So I speed up. But as I do, the back wheel drags against the dented panel. I figure it might blow at any second.

Lauren’s hand covers her mouth. She mumbles something. I glance over and it looks like the bleeding has stopped. But when her hand moves, I see her lip has already started to swell.

“Buckle your belt,” I say.

“You’re crazy!” she says.

I don’t answer. Instead, I look out the windshield and I’m a little kid again. Instead of my truck, I sit in a dingy yellow school bus that smells like sour milk. Instead of Lauren beside me, it is my brother, but a kid again, staring out the window just as she does. Pretending I don’t exist, just like she does.

Up ahead, I see the sign. It reads Woodside Acres in a flowing but faded script. It is a sign that is as much a part of my childhood as all the memories that come crashing back at the sight of it. We are home again, Drew and I. Like our stories are on a timeless loop.

I take the turn into my neighborhood, hard. I hear the quarter panel grind against the back tire but it doesn’t blow. So I floor the gas pedal. The speedometer hits forty as I race past two-story colonials with aging pastel siding and mature trees. I see two kids on bikes stopped at the corner. As I move closer, I swear one of them is Carter. That he’s returned to haunt me. At the same time, I smell it, I swear. It comes out of nowhere. Flowers and a slow death. I wipe at my nose but it doesn’t help. The aroma is inside me. Filling me to the point that I might get sick.

I turn onto Elder Street. Pass the Clarksons’ old house. Drew played lacrosse with their son Eric. Maybe his parents still live there. I have no idea. Eric’s BMW isn’t there, though. But that was twenty years ago. That car has to be long gone, but I look for it regardless.

Another turn and I pass Carter’s house.

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