The Perfect Plan

by Carina Taylor

  The emu snapped its head toward them and then began sprinting toward them.

  The man began screaming in a high voice, "Now, close the gate! Close it now!"

  Marcie and Libby grasped the gate and tried to close it before Felicia could get out. They slammed it shut, but the trailer gate was in the way. Marcie pulled the yard gate open just enough for Libby to jerk the trailer gate out of the way. Libby then helped Marcie close the yard gate, but this time it caught on something entirely different.

  An emu head.

  Its beak, eyes, and some tufts of hair reached through the gate. The gate was pressed against the side of her head. The emu's eyes bulged.

  Libby and Marcie jerked the gate open a few inches while the man started waving his baseball cap in the emu's face, trying to shoo it back into the yard. The emu finally retreated enough to let them latch the gate.

  Marcie bent over and rested her hands on her knees while the man swiped at his brow, his face unnaturally red.

  "She's a tough old bird. Is there, ah, something you should tell us?" Marcie asked between gasps.

  The man began shifting from foot to foot before he began to waddle back to the cab. "Felicia's got some spirit, now, so be sure to keep the gate closed. You all have a nice day now!"

  With those ominous words, he jumped into the seat of his still-running pickup with surprising ease and drove off, his open trailer door swinging back and forth behind him.

  Libby watched him go with amusement. "How many mailboxes do you think he'll take out before he reaches home?"

  "I'm guessing four," Marcie decided.

  Libby thought a moment before answering. "I say six. He was in a hurry to get away. He probably won't even notice until he reaches the highway."

  "You're probably right," Marcie agreed and turned to look at the backyard. She let out a little yelp. The emu's head peered over the wooden fence, staring at them with its unusually large eyes.

  "I'll agree she's unusual, but do you suppose she's a little unhinged even for an emu?" Libby asked.

  "She might be. Oh well, it will make it more exciting. Let's go down to the feed store and see if they have anything for an emu."

  "Probably a good idea since it looks like she wants to eat us."

  "I'll run in and get my wallet. We can walk into town. My doctor is going to be so proud of me for all of this exercise ever since you got here."

  When Marcie headed inside the house, Libby pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of the emu's head that still peered over the fence and then texted the photo to Evan.

  Evan: Where the heck are you?

  Libby: The Australian outback

  Evan: What is that thing?

  Libby: A puppy.

  She shoved her phone in her back pocket after she sent the last text and proceeded to do a few stretches while she waited for Marcie.

  Her ankle was still tender, but she was just glad it hadn't been a more serious injury. It could have been a lot worse with how hard that ladder hit her ankle.

  When Marcie came back outside, they walked into town and went to the feed store that happened to be on the back side of Harvey's hardware store. Libby ended up carrying a twenty-five pound sack of rennet feed — even though she didn't know what that was — all the way back to Marcie's. She decided she would go on strike next time Marcie wanted to walk to the feed store. Carrying twenty-five pounds that far made her shoulder go numb. They made it back to the house and were happy to see that Felicia was still in the yard.

  Libby stood next to the back door and looked through the warped glass to watch Felicia run around the yard. The bird didn't know the meaning of slow. She sprinted everywhere she went.

  Libby reached up to rub her aching shoulders. She was busy trying to rub some life back into them when the home phone began to ring. Libby ignored it. Marcie was in the house and could answer.

  But then it kept ringing. And ringing. Finally, Libby stamped over to the kitchen counter where it was mounted. It had a curly cord on it. She didn't think she'd ever used one like it. She picked it up and tried to find the answer button, but there were only numbers.

  "Hello?"

  "Hi, this is Doris."

  Apparently, she didn't need to do anything to turn the phone on.

  "Hi, Doris, it's Libby. Marcie must be out in the yard right now. Do you want me to have her call you back?"

  Just then, Vivian walked into the kitchen, dressed and ready for the day. Her makeup and hair were completely done. Libby glanced down at her shorts and sweat-soaked t-shirt. Had she let herself go that much since being in Colter? Is this what happened in small towns? First, you stop wearing makeup, and then you stop wearing decent clothing? At least the sweat she could blame on carrying the big bag of emu feed. Which probably never would have happened in a bigger city. So she might as well blame that on the small town life too.

  "Oh, don't worry about it, dear. This is Doris from the post office," Doris continued on the phone. "Just let Marcie know her package was delivered late yesterday. She's been asking after it for a while now. It finally got here. I'll be in the office until five if she needs to get it today."

  "Okay, I'll let her know," Libby promised.

  "Thanks, bye!" The phone clicked, and Libby placed the phone back into the cradle.

  Libby found Vivian sitting in the living room with her nose in one of Marcie's books, so she went back into the kitchen. She didn't think Vivian had made the connection that Marcie was the author of the books she loved so much.

  Marcie came downstairs. "Felicia looks nervous. I could see her hiding behind the shed. Let's set some food and water out there for her and see if that makes her more comfortable.

  Libby bent down and began trying to figure out how to open the bag of feed. She found a string with an arrow pointing at it. She pulled on it, and it began unraveling at the top of the bag, giving her an opening to pour out the feed.

  "Doris from the post office called. She said to tell you she had that package you've been waiting for."

  Marcie's eyes fairly twinkled at the news. "Excellent. I'll pick it up before they close today. Now I suppose we ought to get to work trying to feed that bird."

  Libby glanced at the bag of feed and then out the window at the emu who was hiding unsuccessfully behind the garden shed.

  "Should we put some food in a bowl? Is there a special way emus eat?"

  "I suppose so. Do you think she can bend all the way down to the ground, or should we build a feed stand?" Marcie wondered.

  "We could meet in the middle and set it on the patio table so she doesn't have to bend all the way to the ground and then watch to see what she does," Libby suggested.

  "Good idea. I'll go grab a dish."

  Libby had finished tearing open the string from the bag by the time Marcie got back with a china serving platter.

  "That's what you're going to feed her with?" Libby asked.

  "She deserves the best as our new mascot." She swiped a little dust off the edge of the platter with her sleeve.

  They filled the plate with feed then flicked open the deadbolt on the back door. Felicia stood to the side of the garden shed. She was perfectly still. A slight breeze ruffled her feathers, but she continued staring at them with unblinking eyes.

  Libby pulled the door open. "Okay, let's get it over with."

  Marcie followed her out the door and down the steps. Libby set the platter down on the round patio table.

  "Run!" Marcie shrieked as she bolted back up the staircase. Libby couldn't help but admire her agility — until she glanced back to where Felicia was standing.

  Or had been standing.

  Felicia was no longer by the shed. Instead, she was barreling straight toward Libby. Libby leapt up the steps. Unfortunately, she landed on her weak ankle. She went down with a crash. The back door flew open, and two sets of hands grabbed Libby and dragged her inside the house then quickly slammed the door just as Felicia thundered up the porch stairs.

  Li
bby lay on the floor, trying to catch her breath.

  "That was a close one," Vivian said from where she and Marcie stood to peek through the window at Felicia. She held her phone in the air. "Thank goodness I got that on video."

  "That video goes nowhere," Libby said as she sat up — not that she believed Vivian would be able to keep something like that to herself. "I landed on the wrong ankle. It didn't hold my weight. I feel so betrayed."

  "Someone want to tell me why there's an ostrich in the yard?"

  "I thought we needed some animal to liven it up around here. I didn't count on it being a killer bird," Marcie explained.

  "You couldn't have just gotten a cat?"

  "Not unless it was a tiger. Everyone has cats, not everyone has a killer bird in the yard," Marcie declared.

  "Are you crazy or just bored?"

  "Bored. Maybe just a touch crazy. But I've always wanted to experience different things. Besides, Felicia would make a great murder weapon."

  "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Libby said.

  Marcie waved a hand through the air. "Want to know what your problem is?"

  "Not particularly."

  "You never go outside of your comfort zone. Admit it. I've pushed you out of that spot, and you're having fun."

  Libby reclined on her elbows where she still sat on the floor. She liked being comfortable. Having a routine. Being normal. But she had to admit she was having way more fun this summer than she had any other time. Her most memorable college events were spontaneous road trips with Vivian and Evan. Maybe her ten- and fifty-year plans weren't all they were cracked up to be.

  Sure, a plan had helped her get through college. Sure, it was a good, responsible plan. Sure, it would see her well-off all the way through retirement.

  But what would she have to show for it? Why was she in a hurry to work away her life so that she could have a great retirement to enjoy — all alone?

  Did she want to get to the end of her life and say that she had a great retirement fund and hadn't missed a day of work? No family or adventures to speak of? And why was she lying on the floor having such introspective thoughts after nearly being killed by an emu?

  Maybe they were right, and near-death experiences made someone reevaluate their life. If Marcie planned on using Felicia as a murder weapon, then Libby would have a lot more chances to evaluate her life choices.

  LIBBY STOPPED THE CAR in the middle of the road. The gas station was roped off, and a dump truck was adding more gravel to the driveway.

  There hadn't been a single gas station between the freeway and Colter. She'd put her trusty Honda to the test to find out how far it could run on fumes. She kept forgetting about filling it up the few times she'd driven in Colter, because the distance was so small. After Libby caught her breath from being chased by Felicia, she and Marcie decided to run some errands in town, beginning with filling up Libby's empty gas tank.

  "Look, there's Chuck. It's open," Marcie pointed out before she jumped out of the car in the middle of the empty street. Only a few people were out for their morning walks. "Chuck! Do you have any gas?"

  As Marcie had explained earlier to Libby, Chuck's Filling Station was only open some days and often ran out of gas.

  A barrel-chested man wearing greasy coveralls waved a rag at them. His wild, gray-streaked hair pointed in all directions, and the scruff on his chin had a chunk of dirt or grease attached to it.

  Chuck squinted against the early morning sun to see who was calling to him. "Good morning, Marcie! Yes, I've got a little gas, but you can't pull in here. We're finally adding cement next to the pumps." He waved his hands at them, which were dripping with cement, and his knees were clad in kneepads. He came over and stood next to Marcie, careful to hold his hands out to the side.

  Libby rested her forehead against the steering wheel. The man sounded pleased, but she wasn't sure about which: having gas or the improvements he was making on the place.

  Libby fought down a few snarky comments and decided that it would be worth trying to make it to the next town — wherever that could be — when the car lurched and died. In the middle of Main Street.

  It was completely, one hundred percent, and thoroughly out of gas.

  Libby climbed out of the car, and Chuck stepped close to her.

  "Tell you what, grab the gas can out of the shop, and you can carry it to the car. I'd help, but I'm kind of in the middle of something." He motioned at the section of cement he was spreading. The man had more cement on him than he did on the ground. Now that he stood closer to her, she could see that it was a glob of cement stuck to his chin.

  His coveralls were fighting to contain his rampant chest hair, and he leaned close enough to Libby that she could smell the breakfast burrito on his breath.

  Libby hurried toward the shop. "Thanks, Chuck."

  "No problem! You might need a piece of wire to hold your gas tank open. I'm missing a neck on the gas can."

  Why was this not surprising?

  Libby noticed Helen walking over to talk with Marcie on the sidewalk, so she knew it was a good time to get busy.

  Libby was shocked to see that Chuck kept his shop organized — as well organized as a working mechanic could keep a shop — and she was able to find the gas can in under five minutes. That had to be a record for finding something in a mechanic's shop. Maybe she'd be famous for her record-breaking someday.

  She found it next to a table that had a jar of pickled eggs and pigs’ feet in it. She ran out of the shop before she retched at the thought of pickled pigs’ feet and carted the metal gas can to the pump.

  The sun was shining down on her back, warming her against the brisk morning chill. She turned to face the opposite direction when the gas can was half full. She wanted to be sure she was getting an even tan while she was filling the rest of it.

  Once it was full, she went to the car where Marcie was now holding a neighborhood convention with the middle-aged couple she recognized as owning one of the junk stores.

  Libby smiled and greeted them before turning to the task of getting gas into her car. She unscrewed the gas cap and tipped up the awkwardly round gas can. Gas sloshed down the side of the car and splashed onto her flip-flop-clad feet. The gasoline soaked through her toe socks.

  She looked at her gas tank again. She hadn't thought about how to get the gas into the tank when there wasn't a nozzle on the gas can. That must have been why Chuck had told her to grab a wire. With the old-fashioned gas can, there was no way to get the gas into the tank without something to push open that small flap.

  She marched to the back of the car and began unscrewing her broken antenna.

  "Is everything okay?"

  She glanced over her shoulder to see a young man standing there, smiling a perfect white-teethed smile at her. It was the antique man who had almost eaten lunch with her and Marcie.

  "I'm just putting gas in the car."

  "Ah, I'd forgotten about Chuck's big renovation. Can I help?" He stepped toward her to show he was serious about it.

  She looked at him wearing his khaki pants and a white polo. He looked like he'd just walked off a golf course – or a teeth-whitening commercial.

  "No thanks, I've got enough gasoline on me already. I might as well finish the job," she laughed as she shoved the antenna into the tank to prop it open while she poured the gas inside.

  "You look like an old pro at this," he continued.

  "Necessity is the mother of invention, as they say," Libby laughed.

  They stood quietly for a few minutes while Paul, the police chief, drove by and waved, seemingly unperturbed that Libby's car was broken down in the middle of Main Street.

  "I've got to ask," Libby started. "How did you become a junker?"

  He smiled. "The short answer is that I had an unhealthy obsession with the Antique Road Show as a child."

  Libby smirked. "My aunt used to turn that show on when she wanted me to take a nap.”

  He chuckled. "I know,
it's strange, but I love it. It's like modern day treasure hunting."

  "So, why Colter?"

  "There are a lot of retired people in Colter. The older generations are a lot more sentimental than millennials; there are a lot of antiquities to be found. I sell the majority of my merchandise online as I'm sure you would have guessed."

  Libby wouldn't have guessed. She didn't have the first clue about antiques or collectible items, and she didn't want to.

  "That sounds...interesting," she managed.

  The poor man looked thrilled that she thought so. "You're interested in antiques, too?"

  Libby clanged the last of the gas into the tank. "To be honest, I don't think I'd even know one if I saw one." She grinned sheepishly.

  The antique man laughed. "At least you're honest."

  Libby smiled at him as she screwed the cap back onto the gas can.

  "So, I know you've only met me a couple times," he started as he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, "but would you want to grab dinner this weekend?"

  Libby debated for a minute. She could quickly come up with an excuse not to go out on a date with him, but he was nice — and cute. Besides, it would be a great first step in getting over her unhealthy obsession with Evan.

  "Sure! Sounds fun."

  The antique guy smiled a genuine smile, and Libby realized that if he ever decided the antique business was a bust, there would be a hundred modeling agencies after him.

  "Do you have plans for dinner on Friday?"

  "No plans for Friday," she said as she tried to screw the lid back onto the gas can but ended up cross-threading it. She snapped it on in frustration.

  "I heard there's a new Italian restaurant opening up in the old library building. Want to give it a try?"

  "I love Italian. I'm game," she agreed. Libby didn't know where the old library was, but Italian sounded great.

  "I'll pick you up at seven." He grinned and walked off toward his antique store, smiling.

  Libby shook her head. People were a little strange in Colter. She was beginning to worry she might become one of them.

  Marcie stormed away from Helen and told Libby before she climbed into the car, "Let's stop by the market on our way back home. We're running low on food in the pantry, and we need more waffles."