The Reasons to Stay - Laura Drake

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nice one, over Hollister Drugs. You know where that is?”

      What, did she think he was an idiot? He nodded.

      “I already talked to your school. I’ve got to work so the bus will drop you off about two blocks from the drugstore. I should be home about the time you get there, but if I’m not...”

      When she didn’t say more, he had to look at her.

      “You’re to wait for me outside, on the sidewalk. Got that?”

      “Yeah.”

      “I’ll have to take you in and introduce you to the landlord and his mother when I get home from work today. They don’t exactly know about you yet, so...” She chewed her lip. “Just wait for me when you get home from school, okay?”

      He rolled his eyes. “I’m not retarded.”

      When she smiled she looked a little like his mom and a little like one of those elf queens in the Lord of the Rings. “Noted. Buckle your seat belt.” After he did, she handed him a bag from the floorboard then cranked the engine. “I figured you didn’t get breakfast.”

      He opened it. A McMuffin. Sweet. “Thanks.” He ignored the foil-covered cup of orange juice and dug in.

      “What do you think of this town?” She talked loud, over the wind.

      “It blows.”

      “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

      “Then don’t ask me a question after I take a bite.”

      She looked over at him. “So you’re not tied to this place?”

      He snorted. “I want to go to a city. Like a real city—like L.A. or something.” They had real gangs there. He could take his pick.

      She smiled. “Then you’re going to like living with me. I move around.”

      It might be cool, getting to see places. “I can hang with that.”

      “Great. Then when you get out of school in June, we’ll hit the road, okay?”

      “Cool.” Actually, it was cold but he didn’t care. The wind whipped by, making it feel like they were going a hundred instead of thirty-five. People in other cars stared. He rested his arm on the door and squinted at them. This part might not be too bad.

      Ten minutes later, Priss pulled into the circle in front of his school. Cars ahead and behind them dropped off kids. More kids hopped off the buses parked at the curb. Others milled on the sidewalk, yelling, running. A typical day.

      He spotted Diego and almost waved like a butt-wipe second grader. He stopped himself in time. But Diego saw him, and elbowed Joe. Nacho took his time gathering his backpack so they could get a good look at his wheels. It was a beater, but it was a drop-top. With raised shocks and some painted flames—

      “We’re clear, right, Nacho? You’re going to wait for me in front of the store after school?” She looked worried.

      “I got it.” He hopped out and slammed the door, hard, to show her what he thought of her rules.

      “Okay, you have a good day, Nacho. See you this afternoon.”

      He crossed the sidewalk to his real family. The one he got to choose.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      PRISS WATCHED NACHO stride to the sidewalk and slap hands with two Hispanic boys. Well, that went about as well as I could expect.

      When a horn bleated behind her, she moved up ten inches.

      A tingle of consequence shivered down her spine and she shifted on the seat. She felt as if today she’d stepped through a door, a demarcation that would separate her life into before and after. She shook it off. Widow’s Grove was a way station, a branch to rest on before she flew off to the next adventure.

      She wondered how she’d look back on this time. What kind of mother—no, guardian—would she be? She inched Mona forward a few feet. Well, she’d be a better one than her mother, that was for sure. Nacho would never have to lie awake, afraid in the dark. She would be what she’d wished her mother had been: attentive, understanding and present. She’d also make sure that Nacho felt comfortable talking to her about anything.

      In fact, because she wasn’t his mother, maybe they could just be friends. Sure, she’d be the one setting down the rules, but somebody had to. He’d understand that.

      Good friends. Yeah, that’s what I want.

      They could take day trips on the weekends, exploring the area. Maybe they’d learn to parasail—or even surf! With happy thoughts she inched her way to the exit, hung a right and headed back to town.

      Her shift at the bar didn’t start for an hour and a half, and she had one more chore to complete. Ms. Barnes had turned over the papers for Nacho, along with the key to her mother’s apartment. Apparently the state had decided Cora Hart’s belongings wouldn’t help them out of their fiscal crisis. Now Priss had to clear out the rest of the stuff, or pay rent for another week. As much as she was dreading going back there, she didn’t have a choice.

      And that made her feel trapped. Again.

      She rested her arm on Mona’s door. The sun winked through the morning cloud cover, then disappeared.

      A scene flashed in her mind. One of the last scenes of a long and depressing movie.

      Her mom stood at the stove smoking a cigarette, stirring potatoes frying in a cast-iron skillet. “You’re going to like him, Priss. He’s sweet, employed, and—”

      “He’s married, Ma.”

      “Well, he’s had a tough go of it. The marriage is not good. He’s going to file for a divorce. Soon.”

      “So, in the meantime, he’s going to move in here? Do you realize I go to school with his kids, Ma?”

      It was hopeless. All a guy had to do was ask and if Cora Hart wasn’t involved with someone else, she was his. She’d done stupid stuff before, like when she hooked up with that sleaze who had cleaned them out two years earlier. But this was a new low. She’d never messed with a married man before. “Do you know what’s going to happen when this gets around school?”

      Her mother tapped the cigarette on the ashtray, put it back in her mouth and turned the greasy potatoes with the spatula. “You’ll like him. We’ll make a great family. You’ll see.”

      Priss pulled Mona to the cracked curb in front of the so-called apartments. The tired paint and robust weeds didn’t look any better today. She sat a moment, staring at her memory that had slipped into the present. Something inside her firmed, like clay hardening in the sun.

      It’s not going to be like that for Nacho. I’m going to listen to him. He’s going to know he has a say in what happens. It’s going to be him and me first, then everything and everyone else second.

      At least for as long as she was here.

      She slid the strap of her bag over her shoulder, checked the side mirror for traffic, then stepped out of her car. She strode to the back alley where she’d spied Dumpsters on the way by. Luckily one was empty. She muscled it across the alley and pushed it under the back window of her mother’s apartment.

      Piece of cake. You can do this.

      Today she didn’t need the scent of underprivileged that enveloped her when she walked in the door to take her back to those dark days. The ghost of her mother stood in the kitchen, stirring potatoes.

      She ignored the vision and stepped into the tiny bedroom where Nacho had slept. Might as well start there. She opened the window, stripped the bed, and tossed the sheets out. She opened a plastic bin that had held his clothes, and filled it with anything that looked personal. There wasn’t

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