Short Story: Deleted Scenes Don’t Always Die

by Barbara Conrey

Ever wonder what happens when an editor suggests a scene be deleted from a manuscript before it becomes the book you hold in your hands?

Sure, sometimes those scenes are never heard from again. But sometimes, they resurface.

This is the only scene that was deleted from My Secret to Keep. And my editor was right; it did not move the story forward. But it’s still a fun scene involving Maggie, Anne, and Anne’s attempt to teach Maggie to drive.

The year is 1970, and Maggie is making soup.

***

“I’m making soup.”

Leaning against the kitchen doorway, Anne watched while I pulled out the biggest stockpot I could find. Her eyes glazed over as if she’d never seen the thing before and had no idea what I might want with it.

“You’ll like it. It’s got sausage and beans and tomatoes in it.” I looked at the bags of beans, the fresh tomatoes lined up on the counter waiting for me to chop, the oregano, parsley, and garlic ready to be added when it was time, and I laughed as Anne’s eyes grew wide. “The only way I know how to cook is big. So I need containers for the extras. To freeze.”

“Containers?”

“To put the soup in?” It was like we were speaking two separate languages—and not very well either.

Anne moved from the doorway, opened the nearest cabinet, looked in, moved a few things around, then moved on to the next. “I don’t think we have any,” she said, dusting off her hands as if that settled the matter.

“I already checked. Look, do you know where Ellie Steinmeier lives? I met her when I still owned the bakery. She sells some new plastic containers, has a party or something when she sells them—I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. But I know she also keeps a supply at her house. So why don’t you drive over there and buy some, so I’ll have them for the soup?”

“You mean just show up? Unannounced?”

“That’s what I mean.” I nodded, picking up the stockpot from the counter and banging it onto the stove, maybe a little harder than necessary. “Look, I don’t have her phone number, so I can’t call her.”

“Fine. But you’re coming with me. I’m not going to just show up at her house.”

One look at Anne’s face told me she was serious, so I shoved the sausage back into the refrigerator and washed my hands. On the way out the door, Anne tossed me her car keys. “You can drive.”

I came to a standstill and attempted to toss them back, but they landed on the floor at her feet. “Don’t be ridiculous.” The pitch of my voice shot up a little higher than usual. “I can’t drive. I don’t have a license. I don’t know how.”

Anne picked up the keys, placed them firmly in my hand, and wrapped my fingers around them. “I’ll teach you. Nobody’s going to stop my car. Besides, everybody here learns to drive long before getting a license.”

It was true. Everyone knew Anne’s car, a beautifully restored 1949 candy-apple red Buick Roadmaster convertible. And there wasn’t a policeman in the county who would pull her over. She made her charitable donations anonymously, but everyone knew where the money came from. They liked her money even if they didn’t like what they thought they knew about Anne.

“They’ll stop me if I do something stupid. Besides, today’s not a good day,” I finally stammered, looking out the window. “It looks like it might rain. You don’t want to take your car out in the rain. I bet that car hasn’t been out in the rain in all the years you’ve owned it. Maybe I’ll make soup tomorrow.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s time you learned. You’ve been telling me for months that you want to learn to drive. We’ll drive to this Ellie’s house, and then you can make soup.”

“Go on, get in.”

“I don’t think…”

“Maggie, just get in.”

I shot her one quick look of annoyance before sliding behind the steering wheel and gripping it until my knuckles turned white.

Anne walked around to the other side and slipped into the passenger seat. She closed the door softly behind her. “You need to relax.” Uncurling my hands from the steering wheel and taking the keys from my fingers, she added, “Just keep your hands in your lap for now.”

“Your car is worth thousands of dollars,” I stammered, stating the obvious, leaving the rest unsaid.

“Don’t worry about my car. Just relax. Let’s get you familiar with where everything is. Look,” she said, pointing out each in turn, “here’s the ignition, the lights, the windshield wipers. Before you know it, you won’t even need to look when you turn the lights on or the wipers. Just sit here and look around. Practice turning on the lights. Here’s the button to put the top down.”

Before I could say another word, Anne flung open her door and headed back toward the house. “I need a picture of you sitting behind the wheel. I’ll be right back.”

I sat, frozen, with my hand on the lever to turn on the windshield wipers. It wasn’t raining yet, but I would be ready when it did. I heaved a sigh of relief when she returned, even if she did have that damn camera in her hands.

Standing outside my window, she pointed the camera at me. “Come on, smile. Look like you’re having fun.” Then she got back in the passenger seat and continued with her lesson. “Put your foot on the pedal. Good. The point is to make sure you can easily reach everything. See? Here’s where you can adjust the seat. Does that feel comfortable?”

I nodded, even though I knew I would never be comfortable behind the wheel of her car.

“The right pedal’s the gas. The left one’s the brake.”

My right foot was resting lightly on the gas pedal, so I moved my left foot to the brake.

“No, no, you only use your right foot. You need to move it back and forth from the gas to the brake when you want to start and stop.”

Learning to drive was more complicated than learning how to use a sewing machine. And I didn’t need to worry that a sewing machine would take off by itself. I rested my head on the steering wheel and closed my eyes. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Anne chuckled. “Yes, you can. It’s not that hard. But you need to relax.”

By the time I slipped the key into the ignition and turned on the car, my forehead was slick with sweat, and my right foot had a cramp that practically curled my toes up out of my shoe. And I guessed that would be a problem since I needed that foot.

Fortunately, Anne always backed into the garage, so I was faced in the right direction when I inched down the length of the driveway.

“How do I turn this thing off?’ I moved my right foot to the brake, and we both lurched forward even though the car was probably only moving a little faster than I could walk. I should have thought to ask that question before I needed to know the answer.

“Why do you want to turn it off? We need to go to Ellie’s house. Remember? Plastic containers? Soup?”

“I changed my mind. I don’t want to make soup. Just tell me how to stop the damn thing!” I grasped the steering wheel as if my life depended on it.

Anne placed her hand on mine. “Just relax. If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to. You can go back in the house and start the soup, and I’ll drive over to Ellie’s. Or you can come with me. I’m not going to make you do something you don’t want to do.”

My hands automatically relaxed on the wheel. “Really?”

Anne nodded and explained how to turn off the car. “Hold your foot steady on the brake and put the car in Park, then pull the emergency brake on. We’ll change places, and I’ll drive to Ellie’s, and you can hop out when we get there and see if she has any containers. Okay? We can try this again another day.” Anne leaned across the seat and kissed me on the cheek. “Maybe when it doesn’t look like it’s going to rain.”

Grinning, I followed Anne’s directions then looked through the window at the cloudless blue sky. “I guess it’s not going to rain today.”

Anne opened her car door to change places with me. “Wait. Ellie lives on Cherry Street, right? Tell me how to get there.”

Closing the door, Anne settled back in the passenger seat. “You sure?”

I nodded, not quite trusting myself to speak, just knowing that sooner or later, I had to cross this hurdle.

“All right. Turn left, drive to the end of the street, and then put your foot on the brake pedal. Slowly. You’re doing fine. Flip the turn signal up so you can make a right turn.”

I answered through gritted teeth, “Why?”

“Because we need to turn right to get to Cherry Street. Flip the turn signal up, keep your foot on the brake, look both ways twice, and then slowly remove your foot from the brake and lightly touch the gas. Very lightly. Go on. You can do this.”

The sweat ran down my face. I slipped my shoe off to relieve the cramp in my foot, but my toes still pointed upward. I couldn’t move.

Anne reached past the steering wheel, placed my hand on the turn signal lever, and pushed upward. A slight click-click-click sound filled the car. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then, concentrating on the feel of Anne’s hand on mine, knowing she wouldn’t put me in danger, I took another breath and smiled. It was the first I’d smiled since Anne had tossed her car keys to me.

“Okay. This is where you look right, then left, then right, then left again, and if you don’t see any other cars, people, or little kids on the street, you look right one more time and slowly move your foot from the brake to the gas. Just touch the gas pedal lightly. Go.”

The turn signal made its click-click-click, the car inched forward, my cramp disappeared, and my smile grew wider.

It took thirty minutes to reach Cherry Street from Anne’s house, a distance of maybe four miles. There wasn’t another car on the road, but I did it. I kept thinking I could have learned to cook small, but instead, I learned how to drive.