Better Than the Best Plan Read online

  Mom must take my silence for agreement, because she doesn’t wait for an answer. “Well, that social worker said that you’re not allowed to just come home with me.”

  “Mom, there is no home. Our apartment is gone.”

  “Oh, you know that’s not what I meant by home,” she says, brushing off the place we shared for three years like it’s nothing. “I’m staying with Rose at her place. The whole upstairs is finished, you know. There’s a place for you, of course, but that social worker—”

  “Tess,” I say, because I can’t take her snotty tone about the first person to reach out and help me after she left.

  “Right, Tess, she gave me a list of things I need to do before you can come home, all of which seem excessive. I mean, parenting classes? You’re seventeen. I’ll do it to get this all cleared up, of course.” And then she pauses, looking at me for real, for perhaps the first time since she sat down. Her eyes narrow ever so slightly, not angrily, just studying me. She must see it, that this hasn’t been just awful, as she described it.

  “I have a job. I have friends…” I start to tell her, only to trail off, because I had those things before she left. I had those things, and I left them behind. Would I have to do that again?

  “Well, of course, Ritzy. I’m not going to force you to come with me. It’s entirely up to you.”

  “What?”

  “I was serious when I said you were old enough to follow your own path. You are. And you’re certainly old enough to decide if you want to stay with them,” she says, and I know she means Kris and Pete. “It’s up to you, Ritzy.”

  And there it is. Suddenly the mysterious path I’ve supposedly been set upon appears before me, the proverbial fork. It’s finally up to me to actually choose. I can choose to go back with my mom, to my old life, finish school at Southwest with Lainey. Or I can stay with Kris and Pete. And Spencer.

  The conference room door opens, and Tess pops in.

  “Everything going okay in here?” she asks.

  “We’re fine, thank you,” Mom says, and I nod, still trying to take in what she said.

  “Well, time’s up for now, unfortunately,” Tess says. I glance over at Mom and see her gritting her teeth, practically pulling a muscle not to roll her eyes.

  “Yes, I should probably go,” Mom says, rising from her chair, as if this was all part of her plan. “I’m so sorry, Ritzy. You have to know I didn’t mean for all this to happen. I really and truly thought you’d be waiting for me back at the apartment when I got back.”

  “Oh,” I say, the word escaping on a huff of breath. Everything I thought I knew about this summer has just been turned upside down, and I feel like the choice she’s given me keeps it spinning. I have no idea which way is up anymore. I have no idea which way is home.

  “I love you, Ritzy,” she says. I stand up from my chair, and she comes over, throwing her arms around me. I breathe in the smell of patchouli or whatever the herbal scent is that seems to trail her from place to place. My breath catches in my throat as I feel tears well up. I’m still mad at her—so mad—but that smell, and the feel of her arms around my neck. It’s home.

  She pulls back and places her forehead against mine, her hands cradling my face.

  “I’ll see you soon,” she whispers. “No matter what you decide.”

  I nod against her forehead, trying desperately to hold in the tears that spill over onto my cheeks.

  “I love you, too, Mom,” I reply, words finally coming to me just before she’s gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I haven’t seen Spencer for three days. He’s been at a tennis tournament with his dad, some big regional country club thing where the players can only wear white and the prizes are silver platters.

  When he left, I thought his absence would feel like an eternity. But then Tess showed up. And my mom. And I forgot all about how badly I wanted to kiss him.

  But when my phone buzzes with a text letting me know he’s back, I bolt out onto the lawn, full of excitement and anticipation. I settle down into the grass to wait for him and begin combing through it for four-leaf clovers, as is my habit, though I’ve never actually found one.

  “Lose something?”

  I look up to see Spencer striding across the lawn from his house. I stand, and when he gets to me, he winds an arm around my waist, pulling me toward him for a kiss. I rise up on my toes to meet his lips, and for a moment I let myself sink into him.

  He releases me when we hear a throat clearing from behind us. Pete is on the porch holding a bottle of water, back from his run.

  “I see you’re back from the western front,” he says to Spencer, arching an eyebrow.

  “Yes, sir, hope not to be shipped off again till fall,” he replies with a two-fingered salute and that crooked grin I love.

  “You two are too much,” he says. “Save some oxygen for the rest of us mere mortals?” He turns his attention to me. “Kris still isn’t feeling well. You okay to be on your own for dinner? Or I could order a pizza.”

  “You can come to my house,” Spencer says.

  It’s quiet, and I realize it’s because they’re waiting for me to tell them what I want. I could almost laugh at the idea that I’m supposed to make a decision about pizza when I’ve got choices to make about the rest of my life.

  “I’m not hungry,” I reply finally. Pete’s studying me, but he doesn’t say anything about what must be my dour attitude. Then he turns and heads back into the house.

  I’m alone with Spencer now, and beside me I can feel him practically vibrating with energy. On any other day, I’d be excited to see what kind of adventures we’d get up to, but right now I feel like I need to sit down and spill everything that’s happened. But I don’t know how to start this crazy conversation, so I go for something else first.

  “Did you win?” I ask Spencer.

  “Nah, second.”

  “So no platter?”

  “No, I got one. But it’s probably only big enough for a side salad. Definitely not a whole Thanksgiving turkey.”

  I nod, because I don’t know what else to say. My brain has only been focused on one singular thought since yesterday: Stay here? Or go back?

  “You okay? You seem sort of … absent,” Spencer says.

  “Yeah,” I reply, then grab a fistful of grass and pull. The feeling of it breaking free in my hand is only temporarily gratifying. “No. Actually, no I’m not.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “My mom is back.”

  “I thought your mom was in Mexico.”

  “Apparently not anymore. She’s all trained up to be a life coach or something, and she wants me to come live with her. Or her and her friend Rose, the palm reader who has space in her house.”

  “But she can’t just do that, right? I mean, there are courts involved?”

  “Yeah, but there’s a way for her to do some things, classes and counseling and stuff, and then I can go back to live with her.” I pause, letting the grass fall out of my hand into a little pile on the ground. “If I want to.”

  “Well, obviously you don’t.”

  My head snaps up to meet his gaze. He sounds so sure. How can he be so sure?

  “Why is it obvious?” I ask.

  “Um, because she abandoned you? And instead of going to live with a palm reader or whatever, you can stay here.” He gestures to Kris’s house and around to the ocean, like he’s showing me the grand prize on a game show. “I mean, this is an upgrade, right?”

  I don’t know why, but that stings. “This isn’t like getting bumped to first class or something, Spencer. We’re talking about my mom.”

  “Yeah, who left you alone to get scooped up by a social worker. What kind of person does that?”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” I tell him, but of course he’d have no idea why my mom did what she did, even if I explained it to him. Money is something he’s never had to worry about, something he’s probably never even had to think about. W
hich can tend to make life a little more cut-and-dried. But when you don’t have it, suddenly things get murky. Like, leave your daughter to go pursue a job opportunity in Mexico murky.

  “Why are you making excuses for her?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “Stop it, Spencer.”

  “No, seriously. Why are you ignoring the fact that she totally abandoned you? Why would you want to go back to that when you have the opportunity for something so much better?”

  “Just because you have a shitty relationship with your dad doesn’t mean you have any idea of what my life is like,” I snap.

  He scoffs. “Oh, please, like you have any perspective on what a family is really all about.”

  The words land between us like a grenade. “That was…,” I start, but I can’t figure out a way to convey what I’m feeling. Is that really what he thinks of me?

  He realizes right away that he’s gone a step too far.

  “Come on, Maritza. You said a shitty thing.” Okay, so not an apology. Just an excuse.

  “Yeah, and then you went and said a nuclear shitty thing.”

  My voice cracks, the tears starting to spill. He flinches but seems to get himself back quickly. He’s not done being mad at me. He’s holding on to it, just like he holds on to his anger with his dad. I want to say something final, maybe something devastating, but no words come. So instead I stand up and brush the grass clippings off my butt. Then I turn and stride across the lawn toward Kris’s house. I want to turn and look to see if he’s watching, and also I don’t.

  In the end, I don’t glance back. Neither option would make me feel better anyway.

  * * *

  The house is silent when I go in. I figure Pete must be in his post-run shower, while Kris is upstairs recovering from whatever is ailing her. I tiptoe up the stairs, not wanting to run into anyone to have to talk about what just happened with Spencer.

  When I get to the top of the stairs, I hear voices coming from the study. I pause just before I pass. It’s Pete and Kris, who seems to have recovered.

  “You don’t need to pretend this didn’t happen,” Pete says. “You’re allowed to be sad.”

  Is he talking about me? About my mom coming back? Kris has been strangely quiet since our visit to DCF. I didn’t tell her about my mom’s offer. I figure Tess probably told them my mom wants me to come back with her, but I don’t really want to talk about it with Kris. I don’t know what I’m going to do yet, and I’m worried that talking it over with her might make Kris feel worse. She said the first time I left it nearly broke her. It sounds like it’s happening again.

  “I’m not pretending it didn’t happen,” Kris says. “I spent the last day crying about it. I’m done now. I’m ready to do something else.”

  “I don’t think a day is enough. I think built-up stress is part of the problem here, but okay. Let’s go with your plan. Why don’t we talk about what we’re going to do next?”

  “What do you mean?” Her tone says she’s trying very hard to stay distant. It’s a practiced disengagement. I recognize it from all the times I’ve been trying to avoid a conversation.

  “I think it’s clear that the fertility treatments aren’t going to work. But we still have the number of the adoption lawyer,” Pete says. “And you’re obviously still in the foster system.”

  I have to cover my mouth to suppress the gasp.

  “We couldn’t start all that. We have Ritzy.” She tosses it off like he’s an idiot for not considering me, whatever that means.

  “So you’re saying we put this on hold for eighteen months? We put our family on hold?”

  And then I realize what’s going on. This wasn’t a surprise. The prescriptions and the tension. Kris going from happy to miserable so quickly. They want a baby. Because of course they do. And they were trying to have one before I came back. And now they’re having to talk about other options. Because my arrival and the subsequent stress caused a hiccup in that plan.

  I turn and slowly creep back down the stairs, realizing they think I’m with Spencer. They didn’t count on me coming home. They didn’t count on me showing up here in the first place, but that’s another story, one that caused enough stress on Kris to make whatever planning they had going fail. I did that. I ruined their plan. I ruined their family.

  I’m not thinking about what to do next or where to go. I just walk out the front door and start down the road toward town. I want to put as much distance between me and the house as I can. I should have known the notion of that being my home was an illusion. It’s felt real, but like all good Hollywood special effects, it’s completely fake. I’m not part of that family. I’m the thing keeping those two people from having their own family—their own kid. I’m just a tourist here.

  I walk until I find myself in downtown Helena, which is enjoying its usual Saturday bustle. People are walking dogs, eating lunch, toting shopping bags. All of them belong here, but I don’t.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I don’t know where to go. I want off this island, but I’m too scared to just walk over the bridge. I don’t have my phone. It’s back in my room at the house. I was supposed to be hanging out with Spencer. I wasn’t supposed to overhear that. It wasn’t supposed to all fall apart.

  I sit down on the curb in front of Heather’s shop. I have no phone, no wallet, and nowhere to go.

  “You look sad.”

  A skinny little shadow falls over me, just barely shielding me from the sun. I look up and see Ryan standing over me.

  “I am,” I say.

  He wrinkles his nose.

  “Want me to tell you a joke?”

  I can’t tell a seven-year-old that my problems are too big to be fixed by a joke, so instead I say sure.

  He plops down on the curb next to me, thinking for a minute, clearly searching for the perfect joke that he thinks will turn my frown upside down.

  “Okay, I got one,” he says finally. “Why did the scarecrow win an award?”

  “Why?”

  “For being outstanding in his field!” And then, like all kids telling jokes, he dissolves into fits of laughter at his own hilarity. And maybe it’s the total badness of the joke or the sight of him laughing, but I laugh, too.

  “Are you still sad?” Ryan asks when he’s caught his breath.

  “Yeah, but that helped,” I say. “Thanks, Ryan.”

  “Did Spencer make you sad?”

  I look up at him sharply. “What makes you think that?”

  “Because he’s been a major butt-face today.”

  “Oh? How come?”

  “He keeps fighting with my dad. It’s so dumb.”

  “What do they fight about?”

  “Ugh, everything,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Mom says it’s because they’re so much alike.”

  I find that hard to believe. Granted, I’ve only known them a short time, but I’ve never seen any shades of similarity between Spencer and Mr. Ford, at least not in personality. Until today, that is.

  “How so?” I ask.

  “Stubborn,” Ryan says. “They’re both really stubborn. And Mom says they don’t deal with it very well. They both get really grumpy and mean. It sucks.”

  “You shouldn’t say sucks.”

  “Okay, it stinks,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, if Spencer said something mean, he didn’t mean it. Sometimes he does that. Mom says it’s because he forgets to get out of his own head. He’ll say he’s sorry. He always does to me.”

  I think back to the night on the tennis court. He was definitely in his own head that night. And the time he nearly left me at the Pen. Believe it or not, this seven-year-old’s psychological assessment of his older brother is pretty spot-on.

  “Ryan, you ready?” I glance up and see Mrs. Ford coming out of Heather’s shop, a lavender bag on her arm. “Oh, hi, Maritza. Are you okay?”

  I try to give her a smile to reassure her, but from the look on her face, I think it only makes it worse. “I’m fine,” I t
ell her, but she’s clearly not buying it.

  “Do you need a ride?”

  I shake my head.

  “Are you sure? Because I can take you anywhere.”

  There’s only one place that I can think of that I want to go right now. One person I want to see.

  “Actually, there is someplace you could take me,” I say. “It’s kind of far, though.”

  She hits the button on her keys, and the Suburban two spaces down beeps. “Get in.”

  * * *

  “You know I’m going to tell Kris about this,” Mrs. Ford says when we’re nearly there.

  “I know.” Leaving wasn’t about trying to punish her or freak her out. In fact, leaving felt like a thing I could do for her, a thing she might need. But I still don’t want her to worry, so I’m glad Mrs. Ford will be there to fill her in.

  I give her directions, finally sending her onto Vineville Road. It’s dotted with a motley collection of shotgun homes and bungalows, many in various stages of disrepair. There are bent chain-link fences, overgrown lawns, and cars that haven’t run since sometime in the last decade. More than one house is completely boarded up, with official and angry-looking NO TRESPASSING signs nailed to the front door.

  “Do you live here?” Ryan sounds incredulous, and a glance in the rearview mirror shows him with his nose pressed to the window, taking in every passing bit of scenery.

  “Ryan,” Mrs. Ford says, a subtle admonishment in her tone.

  “What? It’s really far away,” Ryan says. “I like you living next door. I bet Spencer would be sad if you lived here.”

  “Now him I don’t have to tell, if you don’t want me to,” she says, her eyes on the road, but she keeps glancing back at my reddened, tearstained face in the rearview mirror.

  “Yeah, I won’t tell either,” Ryan chimes in from the back.

  I give her a grateful smile. “I’ll talk to him soon. We just need…” I trail off, not actually sure what we need. “Some time” is what I finally settle on.