Behind Door Number Two

“All righty, then. Show then door number two!” The announcer yelled and swept his arm towards the middle of three closed entries.

Nothing happened.

“Susan?” he hissed through perfect teeth. “Sus—”

“Oh!” Susan snapped to and sashayed past the announcer, her gaze still lingering on that odd, plain couple on stage—again. For the fourth time. This week. She pivoted, bent low over the knob and jerked the door open, finishing with her other hand held high—feet and ankles locked together. Nailed it, she thought. And flashed her glistening teeth. Flipped her flaxen hair.

And there it was—their prize. “It’s a NEW car!” Yelled the announcer over the explosion of applause and screaming.

Sara’s jaw dropped to her knees, quickly buoyed by a grin so big her eyes shut and her scrunched nose leaked.

“Oh, no,” Joe stammered. Sara groped but his slack hand fell from hers. “Oh, no. Not another new car. Why? Why couldn’t we just spend the wheel for cash or…”

“Honey! C’mon!” Sara clutched at her flowered collar and patted her perm as she wobbled over to the bright red Ford Fiesta. “Lord have mercy! I can’t believe our luck these days!”

Joe followed, adjusting his Bass Pro cap and glancing at Susan as he passed. Not at her cleavage, but at that tiny mole on her wrist. At that bracelet. Susan’s eyes followed his. “Creep,” she mouthed. Joe looked away and shuffled after his giggling wife.

The audience cheered non-stop. Susan beamed and strutted around to the other side of the car. She waved her hand the length of the bumper. She drug her finger one way over the streamlined roof and then the other way. She rested one heel on the front tire, then—“Susan? Open the door and show the lovely couple the dashboard of the most fuel efficient American made model in the country!”

“You got it, Ted!” Susan beamed uncertainly at Sara and Joe, now wrapped in each other’s arms. At least Sara’s arms were encircling what she could of Joe’s waist. Susan indicated for them to back up a little. As she opened the front passenger door, her bracelet caught on the door handle and fell to the marble floor. “Oh! Sorry, let me—”

“Wait,” whispered Susan. She held up her splotchy, plain hand. Susan paused in mid-stoop.

“Honey?”

“Hush, Joe. Lookee there.”

“Ma’am? Let me just take that. Okay?”

“Hush, now.” Sara’s knees popped as she bent to pick up the gold chain. So thin, it looked like a child’s. She turned it over and over again in her course fingers. “Oh, my stars,” Sara choked, and looked at the buxom model, now speechless and staring back. “Susan? Susan Grace?”

“Mama? Is...is that you?”

“Yes.” Sara clutched the bracelet to her chest and turned to Joe. “You…knew. You knew, right?”

“Yes, baby.” Joe adjusted his hat. “I knew the first time we came.”

“Why not just say…” Sara broke down and sobbed as the announcer tried to quiet the confused audience with jokes. She reached way up and cupped her plain hand against her daughter’s flawless cheek. “What are we gonna do with all these cars, Joe?”

Susan placed her hand over her mother’s and squeezed.

“Who cares, Honey. We’ve got our little girl back. And she can have her pick of Ford Fiestas.”