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  • Floor Plan
  • Caedra Scott-Flaherty (bio)

The Driveway

The gravel gurgled and spit pebbles up at the car. David parked between the BMW and the neighbor’s snow-tipped lawn.

“Welcome to The Country,” Danielle drawled.

It was a familial code, a joke deemed not funny outside of their tight circle of three. Like calling their corner bodega Le Market, and their apartment building’s basement Duh Dungeon. Except suburban Boston was a bit like the country for Danielle, David, and Tess. It was quiet at night, there were no streetlights, and last year a mouse joined them in the living room to ring in the New Year.

“Mommy?” Tess’s voice was even harder to hear surrounded by upholstery.

“What, honey?”

“Never mind.” She closed her book and rubbed her puffy hair into a clump.

“Why don’t we get the luggage,” Danielle said to David. A marital code, a signal, deemed not noteworthy outside of their compact partnership.

As David unhooked Danielle’s new red bag from the roof, she wiped the accumulated slush onto the ground with the sleeve of her coat. “We need to set aside some time to talk tonight,” she said.

“Tonight? We had all morning, the whole trip.” He threw the straps over to the other side, and shifted the bag handle towards the edge.

“I know. But . . .” she tilted her head towards their unbuckling daughter.

“Fine,” he said. “What’s—just give me a preview. Is it about yesterday’s appointment?”

Tess knocked on the glass and made a hurry-up motion with her hand. A rolling, weary gesture ahead of her time, as so many of her gestures were. The marital code was wearing thin.

“Yeah,” Danielle said. “It is.”

“What’s going on, Danny? Enough sneaking around.”

“I know.” Danielle reached up and grabbed her bag from the rack and then shook her hand away like she’d been bitten. Red dye streaked her fingers. “You’re fucking kidding me.” [End Page 141]

The Front Door

“Happy New Year, everyone!” Sarah stood in the tiled entryway, making a celebratory Y with her rounding body.

“Not yet.” Jim took the luggage from David, everything except the red bag which Danielle kept at her feet, and set it by the white winding staircase.

“You’re right, sweetie,” Sarah rubbed her husband’s shiny head as he passed her.

“Always am,” he called over his shoulder.

“Happy New Year in two days, everyone.” She went straight to Danielle, hugging her friend in a rocking motion. Then she wrapped around Tess—“Hello, Miss Soon-To-Be-Ten-Year-Old!”—and then David—“Welcome.”

Happy New Year?” Danielle said. “Doubt it. Pleasant? Maybe.”

David sighed. “It will be happy.”

Danielle flashed a close-lipped smile at her husband. “David seemed to think my bag full of clothes, and other important things, was waterproof.”

“It is waterproof,” David said.

Tess stepped out from the corner. “That’s what the magazine ad said, Mom.”

“Hey, Tess,” Sarah leaned down. “Rachel’s waiting upstairs for you. Why don’t you go on up there and play?”

The girl grabbed her bag and trotted up the wooden stairs, glancing down and behind her at every curve.

“So, it snowed and sleeted all the way here.” Danielle tried to split her glances evenly between Sarah and Jim. “And David insisted on strapping my bag to the roof of the car for some godforsaken reason—”

“Well, the trunk was full of who-knows-what,” David said. “And that bag’s waterproof, Danielle.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

“And I have a feeling, I just have a feeling,” she held up her streaked hand as evidence for the jury, “that this bag wasn’t quite waterproof enough. So let’s see, David. Let’s all see.” She leaned down and unzipped her luggage. Red dye, only slightly lighter than the color of the bag, streaked her puddled clothes. She lifted a previously white shirt and wrung it out, for good measure. It dripped thin scarlet.

Sarah cupped her mouth, catching a laugh in her plump palm. Jim put his hand on David’s shoulder. “Let’s get...

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