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| Image by Arek Socha from Pixabay |
It was six in the morning and already I could hear voices outside. Not wanting to move the curtains, I peered through the slit in the center. There they were, with their vans and cameras, notepads and microphones, swarming the sidewalk like ants that have found the remnants of a chip bag.
Sliding back into the darkness of the living room, I dialed a number that I knew by heart. It rang through to the voicemail and I hung up. Before I could dial again, my phone lit up.
“Hello?”
“It’s May 19 again, isn’t it?” He had a drawl that lulled you into thinking of iced tea and buttered corn.
“Meriweather, I don’t know why, but they’re here at my house,” my pulse jumped in my neck, pulsing against the hand that held the phone.
“Don’t you watch the news? It’s the thirtieth anniversary of the LEAP disaster.” There was the jingle of a belt buckle.
“Where are you?”
“Well, I was in bed. Now I’m putting my chaps and spurs on.”
I didn’t find that funny. “I’m supposed to be at work in a half-hour.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen.”
“I’ll be late.”
“Then call your boss.”
I hung up on him. There was no reason for pleasantries. “The least you can do,” I didn’t finish my sentence. Instead, I took off my coat and made another cup of coffee.
Meriweather Thomas was the former CEO of LEAP. If anyone was responsible for the disaster that killed both my parents, it was him.
When they were launching, there would be an unmistakable whine. Even from miles away it shook me, rattling my molars and tingling the bottoms of my feet.
With repeated use, the cooling system had started to fail. Instead of taking the system off-line, on May 19, thirty years ago, Meriweather Thomas had approved an exception. They could delay maintenance to stay on schedule.
There was a knock at the door and I ignored it. It was too soon for it to be Meriweather, and I didn’t hear any shouting. The doorbell rang. I tried not to watch the clock.
I had never said anything to the press, and I didn’t intend to start now. Instead, I poured myself another cup of coffee. I liked it black, Meriweather liked it with powdered creamer. While I sipped, I dug in the back of my pantry. There was sugar-free sweetener, a box of petrified raisins, and then my hand closed on an hourglass-shaped tube. It was half-full, and the contents were clumpy. I gave it a vigorous shake.
The traffic picked up outside, and I took another peek. The reporters were still there, one standing on my lawn as a cameraman filmed her. I didn’t even notice Meriweather until he stomped right up to her.
Even from inside, I could hear him.
“This lawn is private property. You have now been advised that you are trespassing. If you do not leave, the police will be called and we will file all necessary paperwork.”
I couldn’t hear her response, only Meriweather’s.
“Who am I? Y’all don’t know? I thought you were supposed to be reporters.”
This time when there was a knock, I answered the door. Meriweather stood on the welcome mat, his blonde hair thinning. He had gained around the middle, but his blue eyes were still bright. “Can’t believe these people,” he brushed past me, “Hope you made some coffee. I’m getting too old for this nonsense.”
I slammed the door behind him, engaging the lock. Leaning against it, I let out a sigh, “I’m going to be late to work.”
“You’re just like your parents,” he opened my cabinets, searching for the mugs.
“No, I’m not,” I opened the right one and passed him a mug. “Return it this time, please. It’s part of a matched set.”
“Reliable. Responsible. Predictable. How’s that not you?” He filled his cup from the carafe. Opening the creamer, he wrinkled his nose.
I put my jacket on, “Sometimes I wonder how two brilliant scientists had me. Maybe I was switched at birth.”
“It’s the law of averages. You’re lucky you aren’t dumb as a bag of rocks,” he spooned some creamer in his coffee.
“Thanks a lot.”
“Nothin’ wrong with being normal. Nothin’ wrong with being stupid, either. You take those reporters out there, for example,” he took a sip of coffee. The creamer must not have been too bad, because he let out a contented sigh. “They weren’t expecting the ex-CEO of LEAP to be here, so they just didn’t see me.”
“How can anyone not see you?” I grabbed my keys and my purse, “Back door?”
“Yeah, but I’ll go out the front and make a stink. You go through your neighbor’s yard, go down the street. Meet me at that Thai restaurant.”
I unlatched the back door. A fence stretched between the two properties. Over it, I could make out the back of my neighbor’s house and the netting for a large trampoline. Pulling a folding step-stool out of the shed, I placed it against the fence and hefted myself over.
The neighbor’s yard was silent. Only the dandelions saw me, and they weren’t supposed to be there either. I slipped through the fence, then turned a sharp right.
I was going to be really late to work.
Meriweather was parked in the five-minute loading zone, his scooter buzzing. “Sorry about the ride,” he handed me a helmet, “Someone bankrupted me thirty years ago.”
The helmet smelled musty. I tried not to breathe through my nose. Sitting behind Meriweather, I wrapped my arms around his waist. The scooter strained to a start, the motor surging underneath us. We drove past my house, reporters still swarming the sidewalk. They didn’t look up as we buzzed past. Like Meriweather said, it wasn’t what they were expecting, so they didn’t see us.
We pulled up to the curb outside the bakery. I could see my boss inside, working the register. “Ugh,” I took off Meriweather’s helmet.
“You’re welcome,” he called after me.
Pulling open the door, I skirted the line of customers. “Good morning, Ella,” I gave her a wave and slipped in the back. Tossing my purse in a corner, I donned an apron and washed my hands.
“Get me a dozen jelly rolls,” Ella turned to the espresso machine.
“Yes, ma'am,” I took out a doughnut box and popped it into shape.
The TV in the corner flashed images of the LEAP disaster. I tried not to look at the funnel-shaped cloud and the blank look of shock on the faces of observers. Instead, I bent to open the pastry case.
“And now, thirty years later, this man says he will go back in time and prevent the LEAP disaster from happening. Isn’t that nice, Jet?” The announcer gave a botoxed smile.
“Not nice at all,” I mumbled.
The screen flipped and I dropped a jelly roll.
It was Meriweather. He looked the way he had thirty years ago, and I knew, before I even saw the gun, what he intended to do.
Bursting out of the doughnut shop, I caught his scooter turning a corner. I ran, jelly splattering, apron flapping. The scooter continued into traffic, its seat unmanned.