HAVE A NICE TRIP, by Kaye George

Prissy took great care pulling her salmon soufflé from the oven. It was perfect! Almost perfect, anyway. It had risen beautifully in the center and had only one tiny crack.

“Come and eat, you two,” she called into the den. Trey and Abigail, his mother, sat side by side on the couch.

“The poor boy needs to rest,” chirped Abigail in that annoying singsong she used when speaking of her darling boy. “You look tired, sweetie. Have you been working too hard in the garden?”

Prissy bit back the answer she wanted to give, but couldn’t stifle her laugh. “He hasn’t set foot in the garden for two weeks, Mother Abigail.”

The tomatoes needed tying up and the squash vines almost hid the weeds. The carrots and lettuce looked good, though. Those were what Prissy had spent Saturday morning on.

“The soufflé is ready.” She slid the apple pie into the oven so it would be piping hot when they finished the salmon.

Trey took a couple more crackers with cheese that Prissy had set out, raised his six foot three from the couch, and ambled to the kitchen table.

“Oh, it’ll keep for awhile, won’t it? I haven’t seen Trey for a whole week.”

Prissy should have been getting used to this, but—somehow—she always expected Trey’s mother to show some consideration. She was always disappointed.

When all three were finally seated at the table with the fallen soufflé and Trey had lit the candles, Prissy told Abigail what they were planning for their belated honeymoon trip.

Her eyes glowed as she told her mother-in-law about the deep, white sand beaches, the snorkeling, the coral reefs of the Virgin Islands. “I think we’ll stay on St. Croix, but I want to see the other two islands, too.”

“Isn’t it terribly hot there?”

“It’s tropical. It’s about the same year round, nice and warm.”

“I don’t know why you think you need a honeymoon now.” Abigail turned to her son. “You’ve been married almost a year.”

“That’s why, Mom,” Trey said. “We never had one. Let me show you a picture of one of the beaches. There’s an amazing tropical rain forest in the middle of the island.”

“We can’t wait,” Prissy added. “We’re looking forward to our getaway so much.”

They’d planned to take the trip a few months ago. Prissy had been a nurse for the same doctor for five years, so she had two weeks coming when they got married. After she had gathered a bunch of information on Caribbean islands, plane tickets, and hotel prices, she found out about Trey’s job. Trey’s boss at the car dealership had let him go for not selling enough cars, Trey said. Prissy later learned he hadn’t sold any at all in the year he’d worked there.

Things had changed lately, though. His boss at the hardware store was nicer. Besides, it wasn’t hard to sell things there. Prissy was confident he would hold this job a long time. In fact, the longer he lived out of his mother’s house, the more grown up he acted. He had finally accrued a few leave days. If they used a weekend, they could spend a week.

“When are you going?” Abigail didn’t look pleased about their plans.

Surely she could do without her “darling boy” for a week. Prissy thought Abigail had better get used to it because she intended to take a two-week vacation with the “darling boy” next year.

“Right before the 4th. It’s on a Thursday this year, so we’ll leave Wednesday night,” Trey said, spooning another helping of soufflé onto his plate.

“Be careful,” Abigail said. “That’s awfully rich.”

Prissy noticed she hadn’t eaten more than three bites. “Don’t you like it? Can I get you something else, Mother Abigail?” The form of address that the woman preferred for Prissy to use—she’d made that clear early on—made her sound like the head of a nunnery. If only she were cloistered!

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m not a big fish lover. It can upset my system.”

Prissy had never yet fixed anything that agreed with Abigail’s peculiar system.

“Have some salad.” Prissy passed her the bowl for the second time. Abigail helped herself to two leaves of lettuce.

“Make sure you use sunscreen.” Abigail gave her son a worried look. “That sun can burn you quickly in places like that.” She turned to Prissy. “He’s so fair,” she pointed out, in case Prissy hadn’t noticed Trey was blond.

“Will you have time to put the plants in for me, dear?” Abigail asked Trey.

“What plants?” Trey asked around his mouthful of salad.

Prissy was going to have to work harder on Trey’s table manners. They were all right most of the time, but he reverted when his mother visited. And she was their most frequent mealtime guest.

“When I saw what a nice job you were doing in your flower bed, I decided to put in some annuals.”

“What are annuals?” Trey wrinkled his brow.

Prissy clamped her teeth tight. Trey had never touched the flower beds in the front. “I had fun planting the annuals,” she said, to set the record straight. “Trey doesn’t like to deal with flowers.”

“Oh, they’re flowers,” he said. “Yeah, Prissy does those.”

“And?” Prissy prompted.

“You do the vegetables, too, darlin’.”

Bless him, that’s why she loved Trey. He’d stick up for her when his mother got like that. If he noticed. Being a guy, he was not as quick to see the offensive maneuvers as Prissy was, but his heart was good.

His mother’s heart, on the contrary, was rotten to the core. Prissy had decided that, soon after they were married. Lately, thoughts of what life would be like without Mother Abigail had been running through her head, like warm Caribbean breezes running through palm fronds on a beach. And with the same appeal.

Before Abigail left she insisted on conscripting Trey for Sunday afternoon to plant her annuals. That would serve her right, Prissy thought. He’d probably plant them upside down and sideways. Anyway, it was mid-June, too late to put in annuals. They wouldn’t thrive, Prissy knew. They would be puny for the rest of the summer after such a late start.

When Abigail summoned Trey to weed her garden the next weekend, Prissy wondered how that would turn out. Trey would probably pull up the flowers and leave the weeds. He’d done that in their own garden last year, which was why Prissy took complete charge.

The next weekend, Abigail said she couldn’t come for dinner, but could manage to make it for dessert. Prissy made her best dessert recipe. After all, this was her beloved’s mother. Prissy had perfected fudge brownies from scratch, adding a half a pecan atop each piece.

Mother Abigail, who had devoured a bowl of pecans at their house two months ago, said pecans were not agreeing with her lately. She nibbled the edge of one of Prissy’s gooey, delectable creations and set it on the edge of her plate, wiping her mouth with the corner of a cloth napkin. Prissy shuddered. That dark red lipstick would be hard to get out of the snowy white linen.

“Trey, darling,” Abigail started. Prissy knew it would be a request for him to go to her house, without that bothersome wife, to do another project for her. Sure enough, it was. “Do you think you could come over tomorrow afternoon and help me out with a little project?”

The little project turned out to be putting in a rock garden. Trey returned home Sunday night sore and exhausted.

“You know, she can afford to hire people to do those things,” Prissy said, rubbing Icy Hot on his back.

“I know, but she’s my mom. She doesn’t ask for much.”

No, thought Prissy, she only asks for you to spend every weekend with her. Yes, life would be pleasant if the woman were gone. If she were dead. The tantalizing tropical breezes ideas were beginning to take shape, to form pictures in her mind.

Prissy started packing Sunday night, three full days before their departure.

“I think I need the big suitcase, hon,” she said, gazing up the pull-down stairs into the attic. “Can you get it down for me?”

“Sure thing.”

She stood below and watched his cute butt as he climbed the ladder-like steps. He wrestled the huge suitcase to the opening. The land line phone rang when he was halfway down. Mother Abigail and telemarketers were the only people who used that line, so Prissy ignored it. She stayed where she was, below the steps, ready to catch him if he toppled. But he got it down with minimal grunting.

“Why did you decide to use this one, Priss?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The clothes for the Virgin Islands won’t take a lot of room, but we might come back with souvenirs.”

He hefted the rollie bag onto the bed so Prissy could start filling it. “The phone call was Mom,” he said, looking at the bedside phone.

Of course, Prissy thought. She eyed the suitcase, measuring in her mind.

He called his mother back while Prissy started layering underwear and nightclothes into the suitcase.

“You did?” he said. “When? Will you be all right? We’ll be right over. No, Prissy will come, too. You should have her look at it.”

When he hung up, she stuck her hands on her hips. “What has she done now?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing, hon. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“She slipped on the rocks in the rock garden I just put in.”

“It rained last night. Why was she climbing on wet rocks?”

“I don’t know. Are you coming with me or not? She thinks she broke her ankle.”

When they got there, Prissy felt Abigail’s ankle. It wasn’t hot or swollen. Prissy wondered if she had fallen at all. “It might be sprained,” she said, though she doubted even that.

“How can you tell?” Abigail asked. “It feels like it’s broken.”

“I’m sure it hurts.” Prissy went to Abigail’s freezer to see if she had a cold pack. Trey followed her into the kitchen.

“What do you think?” he said.

“I don’t think anything’s wrong with her ankle at all. It feels fine.”

“I’d better go to the hospital and get x-rays,” Abigail said as they came back to the den. The woman sat in the recliner with her leg cradled in a pillow on the raised footrest.

“If you’d like, but I can feel that the bones aren’t broken.” Prissy had gotten a package of frozen peas from the freezer and wrapped them in a clean dish towel. “You may have a hairline fracture, but I don’t think it’s worth an emergency room visit on a Sunday night.”

She held out the improvised cold pack to Abigail, who looked at it as if it were a dead rat. Prissy positioned it on Abigail’s ankle herself. “Leave this on twenty minutes or so.”

“Would you mind setting the timer in the kitchen?” Abigail said.

“Do you have a portable timer? You should stay off your foot as much as possible until you see if you have a stress fracture. Even if it’s just sprained, you should keep it elevated and put ice on it off and on the rest of the day.” If Abigail wanted to pretend she had injured her ankle, Prissy could play along.

“I don’t need a portable timer. You can turn it off. Or, if you have to go, Trey can do it.”

“Mom, Prissy and I need to start getting ready for our trip. I’ll be back later tonight to check on you.”

“Your trip? I don’t understand. You’ll have to stay home now that I’m injured. I’ll need your help.”

“Let’s see what your doctor says tomorrow.” Trey’s voice sounded strained.

“I need to go to the emergency room now, Trey.”

Trey gazed at his mother with an unreadable look for several seconds. Then he picked up her phone and dialed 911.

“What are you doing?” Abigail shrieked.

“I’m calling you an ambulance.”

“Put that phone down this instant. You’ll take me to the emergency room. I’m not having an ambulance.”

“Suit yourself.” Trey’s jaw was tight. “Prissy says your ankle is fine.”

“Oh pooh, what does she know? She’s not a doctor. She’s just making it up. Nurses don’t know anything.”

“Mother, do not talk about my wife that way.”

Prissy felt a glow inside at Trey’s loyal defense of her.

“But she’s not a doctor. And she doesn’t like me. I’ve always known that.”

The glow faded as Prissy gritted her teeth to keep from saying something to the hateful woman.

“Do you want to go to the emergency room?”

“Yes. Please help me to your car.”

“I’ll call an ambulance. I’m not taking you. I don’t have time.”

“You don’t have time for your poor, injured mother?”

“I’ll take you to your doctor tomorrow.” Trey spun and walked out of the house.

Prissy, stunned, followed him. In the car, she was silent for a few seconds as Trey started the engine. “You know, if she did hurt herself, someone should stay with her.”

Trey turned the car around. “She’s faking. She’s trying to ruin our vacation.”

“I think you’re right, but…”

“I grew up with her, you know.” He stopped the car three doors down from his mother’s house. “Come on, we’ll do some diagnostic testing.”

Prissy followed him as he crept up to the den window on the side of the house. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed his mother’s land line. They both watched as she jumped up and hurried to the phone.

“Mother,” he said when she answered, “how did you get to the phone on the second ring?” He held the phone so Prissy could hear the answer.

“I’m hobbling along,” Abigail whined. “I’m using an umbrella for a crutch.”

The woman was doing no such thing. She had trotted to the phone on two healthy legs and was standing on both of them without aid.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Trey cut the connection and they returned home to resume packing.

Monday morning, Abigail’s ankle was miraculously better and she called off the visit to her doctor.

On Monday night, Trey started pulling underwear from his drawer so he could pack it. Prissy had spread out her three bathing suits, trying to decide which two to take. Trey stopped what he was doing and looked over at her suitcase.

“Priss, can you possibly use a smaller suitcase?” he asked.

“Well, sure, but… how much are you taking?”

“I thought I’d, well, take the beach towels in my suitcase.”

“You don’t have to take towels. They have them there.”

“Look, I need that suitcase.”

“Fine.” She knew he couldn’t possibly need it. So close to their departure, though, she wasn’t going to start an argument. She couldn’t help but take her clothes out more forcefully than necessary. Why on earth did Trey think a guy would ever need that much room? That suitcase was big enough to hold a person. In fact, that thought had been possessing her.

Prissy stopped what she was doing and allowed herself to envision Abigail stuffed inside the rollie bag. She smiled as she pictured herself buying a ticket to Madagascar, checking the bag, and waving bye-bye to Mother Abigail. Maybe that would happen some other time.

After she emptied it, she slid the suitcase across the bed to Trey. He put a few socks and t-shirts in it.

The idea of putting Mother Abigail into the suitcase stayed with her at work the next day. She would have to talk Trey out of using that suitcase. She’d talk to him as soon as she got home.

She had to work late because a family brought five children in, all with strep throat. When she insisted on examining the parents, the mother had it, too. It had been an exhausting day. When she pulled her Smart Car into the driveway, she found Trey sitting in his Toyota.

“I have to run an errand,” he said, starting the engine.

“Have you heard from your mother?” Prissy asked. It was about time for her to try another trick to ruin their good time.

“She’s fine. She said to have a nice trip.”

That would be the day. Prissy watched him drive up the block and around the corner. Something was up. He acted nervous and his mother would never, ever tell them to have a nice trip. She had never distrusted Trey, but now she was uneasy. This didn’t make sense. What should she do? She followed him.

Tailing a car wasn’t all that hard. She knew a bit about it from watching cop shows and reading mysteries. She stayed two or three cars back. He didn’t seem to suspect she was there. Soon, however, he turned into the large park at the edge of the city. The park bordered the river on both sides with a bridge across it in the middle of the grounds.

Prissy couldn’t follow him into the park. He’d be sure to see her bright yellow Smart Car. She stopped at the entrance, parking at the side of the road, pondering what to do. Trey was acting very strange.

She strolled to the river bank and breathed the fresh, fishy air. She closed her eyes, envisioning lying on the beach, baking in the sun, far away from Abigail. When she opened her eyes, she glanced upriver and saw a Toyota stop on the bridge. It was too far away to tell for sure, but she thought it might be Trey’s car.

The driver got out, looked to his left and right, then darted to the back of the car. He wrestled a huge suitcase from the trunk. It looked extremely heavy. He extended the handle and rolled it to the railing. With a struggle, he tipped it up onto the railing and over, into the water.

Her breath caught and her hand flew to her mouth. No, he hadn’t! Had he?

She sped home and got herself into the house before Trey got back. She quickly slapped some peanut butter sandwiches together and hacked up an apple. Maybe he’d think that had taken her a lot more time than it had.

He wandered into the kitchen and sat to eat. She didn’t ask where he’d gone and he didn’t volunteer any information. After they ate, they both went to the bedroom to finish packing for the flight the next day.

The big suitcase was gone. He was stuffing his clothes into the duffel bag. Prissy finished filling the medium-sized one. Should she say anything about the other one being missing? She caught his eye across the bed. He held her glance for two seconds, then looked away.

* * * *

After two awkward, tense days, they settled in and their much delayed honeymoon was relaxing and restful. Prissy wasn’t going to mention the big rollie bag unless Trey did. And Trey didn’t. Ever.

They returned to their everyday life, tanned and serene. Two weeks went by without anyone asking about Abigail. Prissy thought it was sad that the woman hadn’t had any friends who missed her. After another week, Trey reported his mother missing.

The plans Prissy had begun for a two-week getaway were put on hold. They decided they wanted to stay home and relax instead.

Eventually, they sold Abigail’s house. The real estate agent said she would play up the appeal of the rock garden, even though the biggest rocks seemed to be missing. After the house sold for a nice amount, the agent said the new owners loved everything, but especially that rock garden.