The Perfect Plan

by Bryan Reardon

  My head lifted as I looked out at the guests, picking through them one by one. My eyes burned with the intensity of my search. There had to be someone out there. It was not as if I expected our father to suddenly appear. Nor did I fantasize that Mom would rise from her grave, drunk with love for her boys. For her new daughter-in-law. I knew we had no family, no long-lost cousins or doting grandparent. Yet I had never felt so alone looking out at the entirety of Patsy’s life, painted in concentric circles of caring eyes and loving smiles. I saw her father, the past Speaker of the House. Probably the reason my brother chased her in the first place.

  Then I saw Bob. He sat with a table of people from Drew’s work. I knew them, too, but felt no connection, at least not in that moment. I remember, so well, that Bob saw me, too. For some reason, his soft eyes made me feel an overwhelming sadness.

  My hand hit the tabletop, harder than I meant it to. Drew’s head snapped to the side. His eyebrow lifted. I turned away. At the same time, a fork sounded off the side of a glass. Others joined in. I looked back up in time to see Drew kissing Patsy. Everyone cheered.

  A hand fell on my shoulder.

  “Mr. Brennan?”

  I turned. The man from the hotel who’d organized the event stood behind me, bent at the waist. He had spiked brown hair and a standard tuxedo. He smiled, his trimmed goatee splitting to reveal teeth that looked like they may have been recently capped.

  “It’s time for your toast.”

  I said nothing. He stared at me, his eyes slowly widening. Those sparkling teeth separated. I lifted the flute up and drained it. After that, I finished a vodka and tonic I had gotten from the bar before they called us to the table.

  “I can get that refilled,” the man said, looking utterly uncomfortable.

  I handed him the flute and he hurried off. I watched him go, then looked at the empty vodka glass until the guy came back and ushered me out of my seat. My vision wobbled slightly as I turned toward the audience. He handed me a fork and nodded at the glass. I did as he asked, and the room quieted down. Drew looked up at me with his smile. Patsy . . .

  I have no idea how long I stood there. I hadn’t meant to look at her. My plan had been to get the speech out and leave, simple as that. But her eyes. I got lost in them, maybe. I really don’t know. It seemed like an hour that I watched her. Not in a creepy way or anything like that. It was something so much more, and so much worse. She looked happy. And everyone in the room was happy for her. That fact tore at me from the inside out. I wanted to step away, reach out, touch her face, and convince her to run away, forever. I needed to . . .

  “You’re on,” the scrawny little man said, trying to hand me a wireless microphone.

  I startled and the audience laughed. It broke through to me, ending the charge that held me frozen awkwardly in place. I cleared my throat, tried to smile, and spoke.

  “It’s hard to believe I’m standing up here tonight. Not because I didn’t expect my brother to get married. And not that I didn’t think he would have me be his best man.” I laughed. “No, I just assumed he would never trust me with a microphone.”

  The audience laughed. The sound took the edge off my nerves. It let me forget my true thoughts.

  “If our mother and father were here today, I’m sure they would be on the edge of their seats, waiting for me to screw this up.” The simmering laughter turned awkward, yet I spoke over it. “Instead, only Drew is. He’s looking at his little brother and seeing the child I was. And the funny thing is that when I first thought about what to say, I saw Drew the same way, too. I thought of him as my big brother. The kid who became my parents. Who kept me alive after everything fell apart. My big brother. But somehow, I knew that wasn’t right anymore.

  “Tonight, Drew becomes something else entirely. Not only does he become a husband. In a way, he is free to become himself. We made it this far.” I looked down at him and he nodded. The crowd stirred. I felt violently sick to my stomach, like every word I forced out was laced with some horrid poison. “Now it’s time for Drew and Patsy to start the next leg of this trip. And I know without any doubt what great hands my brother is in. Everyone in this room does. Everyone who has seen them together does. There’s something special, something real and . . . amazing . . . about . . .”

  I felt dizzy for a second. The sight of all those people watching me, they seemed to weave back and forth, up and down. I reached out to put my hand on the back of a groomsman’s chair beside me and forgot that I still held the glass of champagne. It hit the wood and some splashed over the brim and onto the guy’s shoulder. Everyone laughed. I thought I might pass out, but instead, my arm came up and made a sweeping motion toward the tables surrounding us.

  “About all of this. For the first time in a long time, our family is not shrinking. Instead, it grows with Patsy, and with everyone who loves her. She brings us together. Makes us . . . makes Drew whole again. I have no words for what that means. But I can say that this may be the luckiest day in my brother’s life.”

  People clapped. I lifted my glass.

  “Here’s to Drew and Patsy Brennan.”

  Everyone toasted them with a smile. I slipped back into my chair and the guy in the tuxedo removed the microphone from my limp hand. He got the party rolling again as I leaned back and looked at the ceiling.

  “Nice one,” Drew whispered, slapping my upper arm.

  I didn’t look at him. Instead, I got up and walked along the back wall until I could slip into the hallway to the bathrooms. When I reached a stall, I pushed in and locked the door. I sat on the edge of the bowl and put my head in my hands.

  I had written that speech three weeks before. I read it five times a day, doing my best to memorize every bit. Like I was afraid to forget a single word. And in that moment, more than any other, my weakness disgusted me to the core.

  15

  The years that followed their wedding, however, would become my greatest shame. I saw the signs. They lined up one by one like the guns of a firing squad. Each time, I thought to throw myself in front of her, take the bullet meant for Patsy into my own chest and let it drown the life out of me. Instead, I remained in the shadows, watching as my humanity peeled away one layer at a time.

  Drew grabbing her by the wrist as she tried to leave a restaurant. Him whispering into her ear. Each word darkening her soul, though she’d never be able to explain why.

  His half smile as he stood with his lacrosse buddies telling an intimate story starring her and painted in the words of a teenage athlete.

  I felt her pain. In a way, I lived it over and over again. But I did nothing. Not until, of all things, my brother received his first polling response after he announced his candidacy for governor.

  “Not good,” he said, taking the paper from Bob’s hand.

  I always marveled at how my brother spoke to Bob. It reminded me of how my father spoke to our neighbors.

  “It’s not really a surprise,” Bob said. “Johnson is sitting in the seat. Incumbents don’t lose too often in this state. When I looked at the polls, I thought it was a good start. Not bad at all, actually.”

  “I’d like to win this election, Bob.”

  “We all want that,” Bob said.

  The people working on the campaign talked to me, especially when Drew and Bob weren’t around. All of them saw the campaign for what it was, a test of one of the party’s young upstarts against an opponent who had about a zero percent chance of losing.

  “So, what are we going to do about this?” Drew asked, rubbing at his eyes for effect.

  I looked around the room. Along with the three of us, about half a dozen staffers stood and sat around Bob’s living room. It had become the de facto headquarters. I remember thinking that Bob liked the company.

  “We’re going to raise money,” Bob said. “Statewide elections are different. It’s not as much about pounding the paveme
nt and shaking hands. Whoever spends the most, wins the most. I’ve got coffees scheduled at three of our big donors next month. It’ll be a good start—”

  “Bob, excuse me,” someone interrupted. I turned and noticed Lauren Branch for the first time. For months, I took her for an intern. There was something about her tone that night, her familiarity, that immediately put me on edge.

  “I respect what you’re saying and all, but Drew and I were speaking earlier. No offense, but that adage of yours is a little old-school. Raising money is great, but this election isn’t going to be decided by who spends the most money.”

  To his credit, Bob smiled without being dismissive. “Okay.”

  “It’s about who spends the money wisest. My friend is majoring in big data at the university. He’s—”

  “Big data?” Bob asked.

  “Data mining . . . algorithms.” She shook her head, clearly frustrated by his question. “It’s a way to target our coms. We get the right story to the right people and we’ll take this campaign viral. I’ve already got Drew up-to-date with his social media accounts. He’s reaching thousands of people through Facebook. And Twitter is growing. Put it all together, and it’s going to be huge.”

  “But it’s going to take something bigger,” Drew said. “Something the voters can’t ignore.”

  Lauren walked around the couch Bob and I sat on, moving next to Drew. I swear that she almost reached out and touched him before she started to speak again.

  “What I’m about to say has to stay in this room. One of my closest friends works for a PR firm in the city. They’ve cultivated a nice stable of trolls. We’re going to start a smear campaign on Johnson, using social media. From what I understand, his campaign just isn’t ready for something like that. They won’t even know what’s going on until it’s too late.”

  “A smear campaign, huh?” Bob asked. “And what are you planning on smearing him with?”

  Lauren laughed. “We’ll make something up.”

  * * *

  —

  AFTER THE MEETING ended, we all moved over to O’Friel’s. Bob and I walked in together with the rest of the group a dozen paces ahead.

  “What’s a troll anyway?” Bob asked.

  I shook my head and pointed at Lauren’s back.

  “It’s not going to work,” Bob said. “You can’t just tell lies about someone. People won’t believe it.”

  “You’re probably right,” I said.

  But I watched my brother open the door for Lauren. I saw the arrogance in every movement he made. And I wondered.

  We settled in and ordered our second round before Patsy showed up. She stepped into the bar, so tall and light. Everyone at the table turned to look at her; everyone but Lauren. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her move her chair a few inches away from Drew.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” my brother said loudly. He rose from his chair and met his wife with a grand hug. “I’ll get you a martini.”

  Drew had advised her to switch drinks when the campaign started. He felt Guinness was a little rough for a candidate’s wife.

  “Club soda,” Patsy said.

  What?

  I felt off-balance as she went around the table saying hello. She hugged Bob. She hugged me, too. I know I blushed. I could feel the heat on my face. And Drew watched me, that smile on his face the entire time.

  Before Patsy’s drink reached the table, Lauren excused herself. All of the other young staffers joined her. I could tell they were heading somewhere else for the rest of the night, one of the trendier bars down by the river. But I wasn’t upset about that. Seeing Patsy watch Lauren out of the corner of her eye made me unbelievably uncomfortable.

  Bob stayed with us for about half an hour. I remember thinking how much fun it was, how it almost felt like the four of us were a family. Like Bob was the father I could have had if the universe had dealt me a better hand. Like Patsy was the spirit of my mother, untainted by her disease. Even Drew seemed to lighten up. He laughed and the other half of his mouth rose in a true smile.

  “Hey, Patsy,” Bob said. “So . . . is Lauren working for you now?”

  Up until a few days before, Patsy had been Drew’s campaign manager. Bob was the only one at the table who didn’t know that change had happened. To her credit, Patsy looked to Drew, her chin up and her eyes sharp. As she spoke, her voice seemed confident yet filled with an indescribable class.

  “I’m taking some time to focus on being the candidate’s wife.”

  Bob, on the other hand, remained the clown. He snorted.

  “Are you serious?” he asked.

  Then he looked at Drew. Saw that half smile. And had to turn away.

  “Whoops,” he muttered. “Sorry, boss.”

  Patsy saved Bob with grace. “Someone has to keep him in line.”

  Drew reached out and put a hand gently on her shoulder. He smiled at us all, dripping with schoolboy charm. Bob pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. And, in true fashion, spoke up again.

  “What does your father think about all this talk of social media?”

  She laughed. “He calls it an oxymoron.”

  “I knew I liked him,” Bob said.

  Drew leaned forward, his eyes almost predatory. “Dad’s going to keep the old schoolers happy for me, right?”

  Patsy frowned, just slightly. I had noticed that reaction whenever Drew mentioned her father.

  “For his favorite son-in-law,” she said with what looked so much like a genuine smile. “Of course he will.”

  Drew blinked. “Hey, I’m his only son-in-law.”

  We all laughed. I sat there, amazed at how Patsy could bring things around. Her presence saved the night, for a time. But then Bob left. As he walked out the door, a silence fell over our shadowed corner of the bar, like a ghost from the past slipped into the room, possessing our moods. Patsy, too, seemed affected. Even before my brother opened his mouth.

  “Did you see her slip away like some kind of criminal?” he said, breaking the silence.

  The change in my brother’s tone seemed to dip my spine in icy water. I knew it immediately, the smooth lack of intonation, the veiled danger, like some odorless, colorless poison. And my first urge was to run. To get the hell out of there. But then I saw Patsy. I saw her stiffen, and I just couldn’t move.

  Patsy didn’t respond. That simple fact told me that she knew, too. That she’d been there before. Like I had. My hands shook under the table.

  “She sure is strutting around. Acting like she beat you out of a job.” He shook his head. “Aggressive . . . Do you think she’s pretty?”

  And I realized that I was no longer at the table. Not only had my brother pulled some invisible curtain around him and Patsy. But my mind had slipped me back to a time I had buried long before. Drew’s words seemed to change as they left his mouth, like I heard one thing and Patsy another.

  “I don’t see it,” Drew said. But I heard, It’s not right.

  While Drew spoke to Patsy in real time, I heard his words coming back from the past. Coming back to haunt me.

  “But people compare you two all the time,” he said. You shouldn’t be treated like that.

  “Can you believe that?” You shouldn’t just take it.

  “I tell them that they’re crazy.” I have your back, bro.

  My head spun. My vision lost focus. I felt like I was going to get sick. Drew kept speaking, kept talking about Lauren and how she hated Patsy. That she said awful things. That she had no respect for his wife. The words just kept coming and coming. Patsy and I just sat there like levies, his venom storming against our silence, threatening to wash the entire world away. As I vibrated, Patsy’s hand slipped over her stomach protectively.

  I stared at that simple gesture. I saw her club soda. And my entire body turned cold so suddenly that I quivered. The shakin
g spread from my hands up my arms and into my chest. It was like that night again, when I saw her through the kitchen window. When I realized that I had failed her so deeply. That I could have warned her so many times. And she would have listened. In fact, I think she had been waiting for it. But I had been too afraid. Too weak to even run away.

  I knew I couldn’t take it any longer. I knew that if I stayed there, I would snap. Maybe I would take my brother by the throat. Choke the life out of him. Drool would fall from my maddened mouth as I watched his eyes bulge, his tongue swell. I would laugh as I killed him.

  I stood up so fast that my chair tumbled back, striking the wall before clattering to the floor. My vision cleared so suddenly that I startled. And I saw his face so clearly. That smile. Those flat, piercing eyes. But worse, I saw her. I saw the pain on Patsy’s face. But also the anger. And it looked so utterly foreign there, like the world had turned red with fire. And my heart finally split into pieces.

  I didn’t speak. I didn’t reach out to her, try to save her. Instead, I ran.

  16

  I ran that night. As far as I could. At first, I had no destination. Not that I understood. But something seemed to beckon to me like a siren, calling me to the darkness of the sea.

  I reached a bridge over the inlet between the ocean and the Delaware Bay. The water surrounded me, buffering everything that stormed inside. Quieting the tempest.

  At the next town, I turned down a narrow side street and followed it to the coast. When I got out of the pickup, I heard the faint murmur of the surf. Like a sandpiper, I followed it until my shoes sank into dry, soft sand.

  The beach was wide and empty. I stopped, listening to the water and smelling the crisp, salty air. It was the exact spot where the party had been years before. A reminder of the last time I tried to run. But on that night, I was utterly alone.

  Slowly, I moved closer to the ocean. A few feet from where the sand was darkened by the surf, I sat. Running my hand through the sand, I saw the tip of the moon rising over the horizon. It sent jagged light reflecting off the choppy surface like a thousand mermaids cresting and diving in the night. Calling out to me with their cloying laughter.