There Is Always A Plan B

CONTENT WARNING: This story alludes to domestic violence and potential self harm.

The neon yellow paper skitters along the park path, dodging people, their pets, anything along its way. Her EarPods serenade her. Lost in the sounds of a favorite song, the last verses of Eleanor Rigby, it catches her eye. Without a conscience thought, she sings in tune, “All the lonely paper, where has it all come from?”

She knows about loneliness too well to suit her. She fools the world that she has her stuff together as she carries her Hermes bag, looking chic with her scarf casually draped over her cashmere duster. Like Ms. Rigby, she spends her life waiting for love, or at least companionship. She wonders if she will die with no one to mourn her. Does it really matter if she does?

The breeze shifts and the paper trips its way and lands at the toe of her Alexander McQueen sneakers. Rubbish finds the discarded people in the world attractive, a natural solidarity; she thinks. Picking it up to toss in the bin, the pen markings pull her in. Cursive, not overly flouncy, but nicely executed.

“If you don’t arrive at our spot by four this afternoon, I will have my answer and act accordingly. All my love, T.” 

The flip side is blank. No date, no full name, no coordinates for which to find the meetup spot. Though slightly crumpled, the paper is clean, not at all like it has tumbled around town for days or weeks. It has a freshness to it, still crisp, as though just dropped moments before it wandered its way on the breeze to her. Tossed on purpose, or lost through a hole in a pocket? She scans the passersby to see if anyone appears to be searching for something. Then again, if they read it, understood it, there was no need to keep it. Message delivered, action decided, and the note becomes an afterthought. But why not dispose of it? It troubles her that someone would be so thoughtless to litter. The note has taken on a life and meaning to her, though. Suddenly, the problems she hoped to sort out while in this park are fading into the bushes behind her, and she has a new purpose. The message on this paper has a story; one she believes she can decipher.

***

The writer and the recipient have had a falling out. They have been close in life, close enough for a special place that requires no specifics for each other to find. Both would know exactly where to go. Lovers whose affections for each other have faded. One of them has been unfaithful, maybe has committed an act of infidelity. The cheating could be the culmination of other acts of betrayal, ones that leave scars. Ones that require carefully applied makeup and suitable stories of clumsiness to explain away the telltale marks to well-meaning colleagues. Until the final blow left no doubt that it has to end, whatever the cost.

Of course, it started out as all star-crossed relationships do. Champagne sipped under misty moonlight nights. Flowers, attention, compliments. Next came the prose and promises for a lifetime of happiness. Soon, the passion shifted from sensual pleasures to a fury, rage set off by the smallest of annoyances. Excuses mounted, coverups created, while one repeatedly asked for forgiveness. More promises made to improve and to cease unacceptable behavior. When finally, there was no other choice but to put an eventual stop to the madness. One of them must move on to survive, but the other wants reconciliation or redemption, that will never come to be.

Is the note writer the wrongdoer or the victim? If only she could speak to the sufferer, she could assist. She could provide counsel to help ensure their safety and prosperity. Tell them to secure evidence if it exists. If not too late, squire away funds, creating a small nest egg to aid in the escape. Learn how to disappear, change an identity to hide, and begin a new life. She would offer solace, knowing how lonely hiding will be and how to overcome the obstacles. A better life awaits those with the tenacity to find opportunities and take them. She would advise to insulate yourself with education, hard work and to earn lots of money. Enough money to keep people out of your life that have no business being in it. Under no circumstances would she advise a meetup with the perpetrator. They plead for forgiveness, yet it is meaningless. They always go back to their hurtful ways.

***

The scraping sound of approaching footsteps breaks her concentration.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

She slides herself over, signaling an unspoken invite to join her on the bench. He gives his thanks and stares off into the park. His clothing is suitable for a person his age, but not on trend. It is more classic and gentlemanly, as are his features. He wrings his hands and spins the gold band that glints in the sun, while checking his watch several times. She thinks it is nice that some men still wear watches rather than always glaring at their cellphones. She notices the time display on his wrist, and it is three-forty-five. For her, time had slipped by as she pondered the mysteries of the note. She unfurls her hand, exposing the fluorescent-colored paper that has consumed her. He notices and his gasp confirms his recognition.

“Where did you find that?”

“Blowing in the wind.”

“May I?”

She hands it to him and tries to read his face as he scans the note. His fingers slide across the written words, tracing them perfectly to the last period. Then he hands her back the paper, now dampened by the single tear that escaped his face.

“Who are you waiting for?” She dared to ask.

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Do you think they dropped it accidentally or threw it away?

“Please, I would rather not discuss this with you?”

“What have you done?”

His face flushes crimson at her boldness.

“Really, how rude of you to think me guilty of something. Perhaps you could find another bench and leave me alone. I need to be here, but you do not.”

A slight amount of guilt washes over her. He is visibly upset, and she might get more out of him by being nice, sympathetic rather than her usual brash nature. She is curious and does not want to leave until this thing plays out.

“You are right. I was rude and I apologize for that. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“On second thought, give me back my note.”

She hands it over, and he slips it into his breast pocket.

“Despite my earlier behavior, I am a good listener, if you change your mind about talking.”

He tries not to look her in the eyes, but she leans forward to connect with his face. He wonders if he should trust her, confide in a stranger, and what harm it would cause. Minutes pass before he relents.

“I have disgraced myself and my wife. I lost everything and now I am worth nothing. It’s all my fault.”

“Gambling?”

“No! My god, do you always think the worst of people?”

She does, but that is not the issue right now. She softens her tone and drips a little honey into her conversation.

“I lost everything once, too. I know how devastating it can be. Can you tell me what happened?”

He explains how a woman, blessed with the right bloodline, influential connections, and countless advantages, found herself irresistibly drawn to a simple man who had none of those things. But she adored him, and he treated her like the treasure she was to him. Her family protested, she persisted, and they wed. He could never measure up in their eyes, though he tried every day. He worked tirelessly to support her. Though his means were not as extravagant as her family's, the couple still found happiness together.

Then an opportunity presented itself. A business venture that could catapult him into the same circle as her family, earn him the respect he deserved. He risked big for big rewards, but trusted a partner that would eventually cheat him, set him up for wrongful accusations of fraud, and other crimes and misdemeanors. It wasn’t just the loss of their money. It was the humiliation brought upon her and her family to be associated with him.

As dire as his situation sounded, a smart lawyer might get him off or, at best, reduce the charges. Maybe he’d pay a fine or do some community service. Going to jail would crush any chance of their happiness. If only he could afford such a lawyer. Her family refuses to help and seized the opportunity to do what they always wanted. Get rid of him. His wife is bending towards their way of thinking as they continue to poison her with their haughty persuasions. They forced her to leave him, to come home to the estate for a while to avoid the scandal.

He wrote to her requesting she plead his case to her family. Help him so that they can remain together. If freed, he will work hard again to bring honor to his name…her name. She needed time to think; she told him. He sent this note by messenger, paid for with the meager remains of his cash. Now, time was ticking away.

“The note is here, which means she was here. Where did she go and what am I to make of all this? She won’t answer my calls.”

The woman felt empathy for the man, whose story had inadvertently revealed the identity of all the pertinent parties. She had heard the news, knew of the family and his wife. The same wife she saw passing her on the path, earlier that afternoon as she arrived at the bench. Why did she come and not stay? Lost her nerve to defy her family, perhaps? Or decided he was not worth the trouble? The woman never thought much of the wife or the family, but she thought little of just about everyone, so nothing new there.

“She’ll be here. I know she loves me and we need to be together. I’m just rushing things. She has time.”

Both the woman and the man move their heads to check the time on the watch and both sink a little in their seats as they realize it is four-thirty.

“In your note, what did you mean by…act accordingly?”

The woman needed to know. This was one question he did not wish to answer out loud. Allowing the thought to inhabit his mind caused him enough pain. He ignored the woman.

“If you win the case, do you think she will come back? Should you take her back? I mean, she sent you quite the message by not being here for you, didn’t she?”

Winning the case was not an option he could imagine. Wrapping his head around the fact that his wife had left him like some unwanted trash was unbearable. Even if he sat there all night, the situation would not improve. By the end of the day, two things will happen. His heart will end up broken and his life, as he knew it, would end.

“Thank you for listening. I need to go.”

With that, he rose, his body language expressing the slump of defeat as he walked away.

“Thomas, wait. Let me help you.”

He stiffened with surprise at her statement. “How do you know my name? I never said.”

“Your story. It is newsworthy and I keep up with legal cases such as this. When I first read about it, I smelled something fishy and thought maybe you weren’t as guilty as all would think. It seems the winds of fate brought us together today. I am one of the best lawyers this town will ever see. I will take on your case at no cost to you, on one condition. Please don’t do what you have running around in your brain right now. Please do not ‘act accordingly.’ I want to help you.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because we are both discarded people and we belong on the same team.”

They regard each other for a minute, then move to close the gap between them. She extends her hand, and he takes it in his. After a gentle shake, an alliance forms, and she invites him to her office.

“My name is Eleanor. Come with me, Thomas. Let’s go win your life back.”

THE END