Other Plans by Constance C. Greene Page B

he was to a place no one else could go.
    â€œIt’s off.”
    â€œOh.” He felt bad, he should’ve known better than to ask. Did that mean Keith wasn’t going to be best man? Or did it mean the wedding had been canceled?
    â€œMy old man got the cold toe.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYeah.” Leisurely, Keith put both arms over his head and stretched. “He chickened out. Called the whole thing off.” Keith pronounced each word slowly, distinctly, clipping off the ends like a tailor biting off threads. “In other words, he couldn’t go through with it. He skipped town. Sent his intended a telegram saying he’d had a change of heart. Or maybe he told her he’d just discovered there was insanity in the family. Or that he had herpes. Or leprosy. My father has a vivid imagination. No telling what ruse he used to get out of it.
    â€œOr it’s possible,” Keith continued in a bitter voice, “he delivered the unkindest cut of all. Maybe he told her he was filing for bankruptcy. Nothing like bankruptcy to put the kibosh on love. He sent me a telegram, too. He always sends telegrams when he freaks out. He hasn’t got the guts to call. Said he was going to South America for a while. Probably going to dabble in real estate there. Or maybe life insurance. They must sell a lot of life insurance down there. All those terrorists, knocking people off like pigeons. Leave the wife and kiddies well-fixed when you’re blown away, amigo.” Keith bit off the end of his fingernail in one piece, like the orange skin, and spit it out on the floor.
    â€œYou should’ve heard my mother,” he said. “She laughed like a hyena. She doesn’t want him, but she doesn’t want anyone else to have him. I think she feels better if she knows he’s not happy. She’s not happy, so she wants him to be miserable, too.” Keith threw out his hands, palms up. “Probably if she landed some rich dude, if she got married again or something, she wouldn’t give a shit about my father. She might even wish him well, who knows?”
    â€œOh,” was all he could think of to say. He thought briefly of telling Keith about his upcoming date with Grace Lerner’s niece, just to lighten the atmosphere. And decided against it. Keith didn’t have a lot of dates, but when he did, they weren’t blind. Maybe that was because Keith’s mother didn’t have friends who had nieces.
    â€œI want you to tell me something off the top of your head.” Keith pushed away his plate and put his elbows on the table. “Which do you think would be easier, to commit murder or commit suicide?”
    â€œWhat kind of question is that?” he said, his voice rising. They stared at each other with a fierce intensity, as if a fight between them was imminent. “How do I know?” Several guys at the next table looked over at them curiously.
    â€œJust off the top of your head. Come on.” Keith leaned toward him, speaking softly now. “Don’t think about it. Give me your gut reaction. Which would be easier?”
    â€œOh, that’s different. Which would be easier. Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” he asked sarcastically. “Well, that’s a cinch. Suicide. Because then you wouldn’t be around to suffer the consequences. You’re out of it. Man, are you ever out of it.” He treated it as a joke, although he knew Keith hadn’t meant it as such.
    â€œIf you commit murder,” he said, “you probably never sleep very well ever again. Ever. That’s the way I figure it.”
    Keith nodded, well pleased with this answer. “That’s an interesting reason for not committing murder.”
    There were times when he knew he bored Keith, but this wasn’t one of them.
    He elaborated. “You’d close your eyes,” and he closed his for maximum effect, “and you’d see the