The Astonishing Maybe Read online

  “Thank you,” Mom said, interrupting the rush of words from Mrs. Mulroney. She looked down at me, then took a half step back. “We were just sitting down to dinner, so—”

  “Stay!” That came out of me a little too loud. Way too eager.

  “Gideon,” Mom said under her breath. “I’m sure Roona and her mother have plans for their supper.”

  “We don’t,” Roona said. She walked past her mother and right into our house. “Thank you, Mrs. Quinton, we’d love to stay.”

  “Roona—” Her mother looked as flabbergasted as mine did.

  Roona took my arm as she passed me and tugged me toward the kitchen. “Your dad’s grilling, right? Let’s help.”

  I looked back over my shoulder at our mothers, both standing there looking after us. Then I pushed Roona toward the back door.

  It worked. A few minutes later, they both came outside. Harper had the sprinklers running and was standing under them with her hair plastered to her face and her shorts and tank top soaking wet. Roona and I stood at the fringe, where the mist could cool us off.

  It took a couple of minutes for things to situate. Once they were in our house, or our yard anyway, there was no way my parents would say no to feeding Roona and her mother.

  Mrs. Mulroney said, “I’m sorry. We should probably just go. I mean, I don’t know what came over my girl. She’s not usually so forward and this is your family dinner.”

  My dad held up his tongs to stop her. “It’s okay. Really.”

  “I was just going to maybe order a pizza or—”

  “Truly,” my mom finally said, in that tone she has that shuts down an argument in two seconds flat. She would rather not have someone in the middle of a personal crisis at her dinner table, but now that they were there, no one was going to make her be a bad hostess. “We insist. We’ve been meaning to have you over.”

  Quintons don’t have a problem with little white lies, if they’re polite.

  “Okay,” Mrs. Mulroney said. “If you’re sure.”

  My parents exchanged a look while both mothers went to sit on the picnic bench the people who lived in our house before us had left behind.

  We ate dinner on the back patio. My parents let the sprinklers go, turning our backyard into a mud pit, because it was more important to cool things off.

  “I don’t know how you stand this heat,” Dad said.

  “Oh,” she said. “You get used to it. Just wait until August, you’ll wish it was June again.”

  Mrs. Mulroney talked almost nonstop through the chicken and salad. She talked about Logandale and about Roona and about the middle school we were both headed to.

  Neither of my parents spoke much at all. They kept glancing at each other. My plan was working.

  “Should we heat the pie up?” Mrs. Mulroney asked finally. “I think I have some vanilla ice cream at home. I could send Roona over for it.”

  “Oh, I don’t know—” Mom glanced at Dad.

  I knew what was coming. A polite withdrawal from social duty. Don’t bother yourself. We’re so full. Couldn’t eat a bite of pie.

  They couldn’t politely get out of serving Roona and her mother dinner, but they could skip dessert. I was pretty sure Mom wouldn’t pull the gluten card. But she’d say something about Harper needing a bath or what a long day it’d been.

  I stood up before that could happen. “Roona and I will serve it.”

  “Gideon,” Dad said.

  I grinned, probably too wide, and went back into the kitchen, pulling Roona with me.

  The pie sat on the counter. It looked perfect. Like something out of a magazine or a commercial. It smelled wonderful, too. It would have tasted amazing hot, with ice cream melting into it. My mouth watered as I imagined the first sweet-tart bite.

  “Are you sure about this?” I asked. Even though it was my plan.

  Roona’s face looked pale. “No.”

  I wasn’t expecting that. I was the one who second-guessed everything, not her. “What do you mean, no?”

  Cherry juice bubbled up from the little windows in the top crust, thick and red, and I was definitely second-guessing, too.

  “But we have to get my parents to see that you will be better off with us,” I said, trying to convince myself as much as I was trying to convince her.

  “We can’t feed your family this pie, Gideon.” Her voice sounded sad and sort of far away. As if saying that meant she was admitting something about her mom that she wasn’t really ready to face.

  It smelled so good, still half warm from Mrs. Mulroney’s oven, that I had to stop myself from forking in a bite right then. Roona was right. “What are we going to do?”

  Roona looked at me for a long time, then took a breath and tipped the pie off the counter onto the floor. It landed with a crash that made me cover my ears with my hands. Cherry filling splattered all over the white floor tiles, all over my feet and Roona’s, and splattered the cupboard under the sink.

  Before I could say or do anything, Mom was there. “Oh my God, what happened? Are you okay? Are you both okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said, still staring at Roona. Mom bent and ran her hands up my legs, where thick red goop stuck to my shins. “Mom, I’m okay!”

  Roona’s mom stood in the kitchen doorway with Dad. “I have more pies at home. Roona can run and grab one.”

  “No!” Roona and I said at the same time. All of the adults turned to look at us and I felt my face burn.

  The energy seemed to drain out of Roona’s mother. Like someone had pulled her plug. She reached for Roona and said, “We should probably start home, anyway. Let me help you clean up this mess first.”

  Mom shook her head. “Oh no, no, it’s fine. You don’t have to do that.”

  “Wait,” Roona said. She pulled her arm away from her mother’s grip. “I … I wanted to say that I’m sorry. I’m really, truly sorry for the whole Las Vegas thing.”

  Mom’s mouth puckered. She was holding back whatever she wanted to say in response to Roona’s apology. When she did speak, she said, “Gideon should have known better.”

  “I was hoping that Gideon could come to my house. Maybe tomorrow.” Roona took a breath. “Please.”

  That last word cracked. Dad started to say something, but Mom wasn’t having any of it. “Actually, no, he can’t. You have no idea what might have happened to the two of you. How you would have felt if something had happened to Gideon because you decided—”

  “I know,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, Roona. But Gideon won’t be able to come play with you. At least—not for a while.”

  Roona nodded, then looked up at her mother.

  “This is my fault really,” Mrs. Mulroney said. “It’s all my fault, if you think about it.”

  Neither of my parents argued with her.

  “Maybe in a few days, you can come hang out here,” Dad said. Mom shot him a deadly look. He shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Fourteen

  After Roona and her mother left, my parents cleaned the kitchen, starting with the giant pie mess. I brought dishes in from the backyard. Harper played in the mud, which was a solid sign that things were not normal in the Quinton hobbit-hole.

  Quintons did not get muddy.

  “I’m sorry,” Mom said. “I really am. She’s a sweet girl and I feel for her. But if we can’t trust Gideon to make good choices when he’s with her, then he can’t be with her.”

  “I’m right here, you know,” I said.

  She turned to look at me. “You’re just going to have to do as I say. And trust that I have your safety at heart.”

  I knew she did. That didn’t help. “Roona is my friend. And—”

  “And what, Boss?” Dad asked.

  And I thought she needed help. Like the lifesaving kind. But I’d spit sworn (twice) and if I told my parents how scared I was for Roona, I’d be breaking her confidence in a way I didn’t think she’d be able to forgive.

  They might not believe me anyway.

&n
bsp; Or if they did believe me, they might call the police or—I wasn’t even sure who an adult might call when a kid wasn’t safe. But they would know. And if they called, then Roona might end up in Boise anyway.

  It wasn’t like adults always believed kids or anything.

  I finally decided to tell on myself, instead of breaking my promise to Roona. “I snuck on the computer the other night.”

  Mom turned off the water. “I swear, Gideon—”

  “Roona’s dad is in prison because he almost killed her. He started a fire…” I watched them exchange a look. “You know.”

  “None of this is anything you need to worry about,” Dad said. “None of it is your fault or your problem. Roona’s family will take care of her.”

  “No they won’t.”

  Mom dried her hands. “I talked with Miranda when we went over there to take Roona’s blanket back. Roona’s aunt will be here in a few days to collect her.”

  I clenched my fists against my sides. “Is Mrs. Mulroney going to get some help?”

  “She thinks it will help Roona to be with her aunt,” Mom said, avoiding my question.

  I inhaled as Mom’s words brought up a mental image of the scars on Roona’s back. “She can’t go there.”

  “She’ll be back for school,” Dad said. He glanced at Mom. “And maybe by then, it’ll be okay for you two to hang out.”

  “She can’t go there!” I reached for Dad, put my hands on his arm. “We can’t let her.”

  “It isn’t our business,” Dad said, wrapping his arm around me and lowering his voice. “Try not to worry so much, Boss.”

  “Why can’t she stay with us? Her mom—her mom needs help. She was in the hospital once, for a long time. I think she needs to go again. And Roona can stay with us until Mrs. Mulroney is better.”

  “I want you to go take a shower,” Mom said. “And get ready for bed.”

  “But, Mom—”

  “Now, please.”

  They wouldn’t even consider my plan. I guess I knew that going in, but it still frustrated me. My hands tingled and I opened and closed them. I didn’t know what to do—so I just did as I was told. I took a shower, then crawled into bed.

  * * *

  Roona woke me up early the next morning, knocking on my window. Again. At least she looked like she’d had a shower the night before.

  I opened the window and she said, “My aunt Jane is coming to pick me up. For the summer.”

  I knew that already. “When?”

  “Next week.”

  My heart sank. “We have to tell my parents the truth. Show them your back.”

  “No. You spit swore, Gideon.”

  “Why not? They’ll do something, if they know the truth.” Even as I said it, though, I wasn’t 100 percent sure what that meant. What would they do? “Why is she coming, anyway? Is your mom going to a hospital or something?”

  Roona shook her head. “She grew up on the farm, where Aunt Jane lives now. They moved there when she was our age. She just thinks it will be good for me.”

  “You need to tell her,” I said. “Forget my parents. Tell your mom.”

  “I can’t. What if it makes her like she was before? What if it makes her do something?”

  Something like take too much medicine. Or worse.

  “I’m going to go to Boise,” she said.

  I looked up. “What? No way.”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “Yes you do.”

  “What is it?”

  I sat on the edge of my desk. “I don’t know yet.”

  “Well,” she said. “If you think of something before tomorrow, let me know.”

  I looked up at her. “Truth?”

  She exhaled slowly. “Sure.”

  I was in so far over my head. I had no idea how to even start to have a real plan, because nothing that was happening to Roona would ever happen to me. The plan had to come from her. “What do you wish would happen?”

  She looked a little startled at my question. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, in a perfect world. What do you wish?”

  “I wish my mom never got the Mean Reds.”

  “But I mean, in a perfect world, if your mom does have to have the Mean Reds, what do you wish would happen?”

  She leaned against the windowsill and thought for a minute. “She’d go to a doctor and get help. But they’d probably put her in a hospital, like before. And I’d be in Boise anyway.”

  “Where do you wish you could go, instead of Boise?”

  She bit at her bottom lip. “I don’t know.”

  “There must be someone you wish you could stay with while your mom was getting help. A teacher, maybe? A friend?”

  She took a deep breath, her dark eyes turned up to the sky outside my window, then she said, “Maybe Miss Oberman.”

  “The woman from the old folks’ home?”

  “She was my favorite teacher,” Roona said. “And my mom’s, too.”

  “Do you think she’d let you stay with her?”

  Roona raised one shoulder. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? My mom’s not going to the hospital. I have to go to Boise and she’s going to be here all alone.”

  Tears spilled down Roona’s cheeks. I didn’t think she was faking this time, like she had for the cab driver in Las Vegas. “But you can’t go to Boise. Your aunt—”

  “God, Gideon,” Roona said. “Can’t you see this isn’t about me? My mom’s going to be here all alone. Who’s going to take care of her? Who’s going to make sure she takes her medicine? Who’s going to…?”

  Be there if she takes too much medicine. The reality that Mrs. Mulroney could die in the house next door while Roona was in Boise with an aunt who’d beat her hit me like a truck.

  “I really want to tell my parents,” I said.

  “All it will do is break your promise. I’ll still wind up in Boise.”

  “Stop that!” I leaned against the window, my hands on the sill. “Just stop it, okay? Stop acting like it’s hopeless. If we tell, someone will do something. They won’t make you go back there.”

  “You really believe that, don’t you?”

  I did. “Yes.”

  “Of course you do. Your life is so perfect.”

  “No it’s not.” But compared to hers, maybe it was. My biggest problem until I met her was not being allowed to cross the street with my bike. Even now, my biggest problem was not being able to hang out with her.

  “What if my aunt says that my mom hit me? My mom’s sick. People will believe Aunt Jane.”

  I blinked. I’d never thought about adults lying. “Would she do that?”

  “She’s got eight kids. She’s not going to just admit to it. Anyway, what if they do believe me, and my mom gets in trouble for sending me someplace where someone hit me? What if I end up in foster care, living with someone even worse than Aunt Jane and Tucker? What if…?”

  “Stop!” I grabbed her arm, but she yanked it away.

  She ran away from my window, back toward her house. I went out into the backyard about a hundred times that day, but I never saw her. When I threw stones at her window, she either ignored me or didn’t hear.

  * * *

  Mom and Dad took us to Pop Arnie’s for dinner.

  That’s what they did to try to make things feel normal. They took us out for cheeseburgers, no bun or French fries for Mom, and pretended like nothing weird or bad or scary ever happened to the Quintons.

  It was kind of comforting.

  I dipped my French fries in my chocolate shake, which was an extra treat that meant they were really, really trying to be a fun, non-weird family.

  Roona said my life was perfect. She might have been right.

  If something happened to my parents, I knew exactly what would happen to me and Harper. And it did not involve going to live on a farm in Boise with a creepy cousin and a mean aunt who kept a stick under her bed.

  We’d go to Grandma Ellen.

&n
bsp; And if Grandma Ellen couldn’t take care of us, we’d go to Mom’s brother, Uncle Brad, and his wife. And if they couldn’t, Dad’s sister Julie.

  As I ate, I ticked off the list of aunts and uncles and cousins and family friends.

  There would have to be some kind of worldwide major catastrophe before my sister and I had to even worry about foster care.

  Roona didn’t have that.

  There was no Plan B if her mom couldn’t take care of her. And her mom couldn’t take care of her now.

  Would Miss Oberman take Roona in?

  She seemed like a nice person. She’d probably been a teacher for about a hundred years, so she must like kids.

  A new plan started to form in my head. A Plan B for Roona.

  * * *

  The next morning, Harper was practically busting-out-of-her-skin excited for her playdate with Isabella. They were going to the park, even though it was about a thousand degrees outside, because it was Sunday and everything in Logandale except the grocery store was closed on Sunday, apparently. Even the gas station.

  “Gideon, I think you should come with us,” Mom said before they left. “It would make me more comfortable.”

  “I really don’t want to.” I settled back into the couch. Dad was at work, catching up on the day he missed to pick me up in Las Vegas. I felt bad, but it was perfect. I needed a few hours alone. “I’ll just be here reading.”

  I held up my copy of The Hobbit, which I’d actually already finished.

  Harper yanked on her arm. “Mama, let’s go! Isabella is probably already there.”

  “Hang on.” Mom kept her focus on me. “I want your word you won’t go next door.”

  I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. It was tough. “I promise, Mom.”

  “We’ll probably stop at the grocery store after the playdate. There’s turkey in the fridge. Make a sandwich for lunch if you get hungry.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t answer the phone. Unless it’s me.”

  I wasn’t allowed to have a cell phone, even though literally every kid I knew in Wildwood had one. She’d call the house phone, let it ring twice, hang up, then call back.

  “I promise.” I opened my book and started to read a random page, to prove that I was just going to go on an adventure with Bilbo Baggins while she was at Harper’s playdate.