Ms. Becker shakes a few curls off her face and then takes a deep breath. “Okay. Options. Vance, I assume you’re headed off to college in the fall?”
My brother and I steal a look before he responds. “Well, it’s complicated,” he says.
She grins. “Complicated is my specialty.”
“I have a plan,” he says and then stops.
Ms. Becker and I wait.
Vance buries his face in his hands and loses it.
Ms. Becker and I wait.
Crying doesn’t faze her. I like that. Truthfully, at this point, crying doesn’t faze me either—even when Vance does it. So we let him get it out. I stare out the window over Ms. Becker’s shoulder, and she begins to fill out papers. It’s all very patient, very civilized.
He grabs the box of tissues and mops off. “That was one of the last things I said to my dad. I never got to tell h-him…” He’s unable to finish.
Ms. Becker says, “I know this is rough. Do you need a few more minutes?”
“No.” Vance blows his nose. “I’m good.”
“There is no rush. I can wait,” she says.
He shakes his head. “College. Yeah. Complicated. I lost my full ride to Drexel on account of blowing out my knee. I played lacrosse. My big plan was to commute and take a few classes at Drexel, not go full time, get them under my belt, and then maybe my knee would get stronger, and I don’t know, maybe I could get my scholarship back.” He sighs. “Now that I say it out loud, it sounds pretty stupid. Without the scholarship, Dad said I had to pay for college on my own. I don’t even know what I want to major in. My whole world was lacrosse. It’s all stupid.”
Ms. Becker tilts her head and smiles. “Stupid? That was the exact path I took after graduating from high school. Applied late, took some classes at West Chester University, got in as a full-time student, had no clue what I wanted to study, remained undecided for a whole year. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Vance. You’ve got a lot on your plate right now.”
Ever since Vance’s surgery, he’s been different. Not like, whoa, Vance is suddenly volunteering at the homeless shelter and being kind to everyone. It has been a subtle, quiet difference. Actually, he was quieter. His anger still bubbled just below the surface, but it was like his voice and his overt aggression were yanked down a level. I steal side-eyed glances at my brother. I think Ms. Becker is right. Vance has been rough on himself.
I simply failed to notice.
A thin string of regret ties around my heart. And tightens.
Ms. Becker thumbs through Dad’s will. “According to this document, you both have college funds. Looks like each account has one hundred and fifty thousand in it.”
My eyebrows pinch together. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars? Each? Why hadn’t Dad told us he’d put away so much? Was he planning on surprising us or something?
“W-what did you say?” Vance sputters.
She tucks a curl behind her ear. “I’m guessing from your reactions that you were unaware these accounts existed.”
“No, we knew about them. I had no idea they contained that much,” Vance says. He turns to me. “Did you know?”
I mouth, “No.”
She says, “Well, if I’ve learned anything doing this job for the past ten years, it’s that parents are mysterious creatures. Sometimes in a good way. Sometimes not so much.”
“This is a good way, right? I mean, one hundred and fifty thousand dollars for each of us? That’s unreal. Why didn’t he tell us?” Vance rambles.
“I’m sure he had his reasons,” she says.
Vance and I lock eyes, and he repeats, “This is…unreal…”
“Agreed,” I say.
Ms. Becker brings our attention back to Vance’s options. “So, you don’t have to be Oscar’s legal guardian. He turns eighteen”—she shuffles through papers—“in November, which is only seven months away. If you decide you want to go away to college, like, full time, Vance, especially now that you can pay for it, we can place Oscar with foster parents.” She turns and looks at me. “I don’t mean to speak of you like you’re not sitting directly in front of me, Oscar. I apologize. This is your life as well.”
“Did you say foster parents?” Vance asks.
I answer for her. “She did.”
“Like, he would have to live with strangers for seven months? In their house?” he clarifies.
“Yes, that’s how foster care works. But I know of an incredible couple here in Chester County. They live on three acres with a pond and a barn. They are wonderful people. They’ve been foster parents for fifteen years. Kids lucky enough be placed with them keep in touch. They take a Christmas card photo in front of the pond every year with the children they’ve fostered. I think they’re up to twenty, maybe twenty five. And they have space. Right now.”