Excerpts

Excerpt from There's Always Plan B
July 2005
by Susan Mallery

“I don’t know why you always have to torture me,” fifteen year old Tiffany Spencer said as she folded her arms over her chest and stared out the passenger door window. “Some moms actually like their children. Some moms care about their happiness. Why can’t you be like that?”

Carly Spencer tightened her grip on the steering wheel and tried to figure out why she’d ever complained about her daughter asking “Are we there yet?” when she’d been younger. Given a choice between that question and the one currently on the table, “Are we there yet” seemed amusingly simple to deal with.

“I care about your happiness,” she said, even though she knew it was a huge mistake to engage her daughter. At this point it was obvious Tiffany simply wanted to be the martyr to all decisions parental.

“Ha! Oh, sure. Because dragging me away from all my friends and my school and Justin Beakly, who looks just like Matt Damon and who was probably going to ask me to the Spring Carnival dance, is going to make me faint with happiness. Here I am. Fainting.”

Tiffany collapsed against the door. Carly hoped her daughter would stay mock-unconscious for at least ten minutes or until the headache remedy Carly had popped a few minutes before had a chance to kick in.

But it was not to be.

“And if we had to leave all that because you’re so determined to ruin my life,” Tiffany said seconds later, “You could have at least let me get my belly button pierced. I mean what’s the big deal? It’s my body. I bet I’ll be the only girl in high school without one here, too. Although maybe not. Have they heard about piercing at the ends of the Earth?”

Her daughter was certainly bright enough, Carly thought as she desperately searched for a silver lining in what felt like the world’s largest dark cloud. Eventually Tiffany would learn to use her highly-developed verbal skills for good instead of mother-abuse.

“I don’t know what they’ve heard,” Carly said cheerfully. “It’s possible they’re still existing with horse-drawn carriages and cooking on an open fire. Maybe we’ll be so modern, they’ll think we’re aliens from another planet and they can worship us like deities.”

Tiffany rolled her eyes. “You’re not helping.”

“Ditto.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You’re not helping either,” Carly said. “This move is tough on me, too.”

“But it’s your fault we have to go.” Tiffany sounded outraged. She turned in her seat and glared. “If you hadn’t made Dad leave, we wouldn’t be doing this.”

Carly drew in a deep breath and counted to ten. When that didn’t work, she counted to twenty, then promised herself no matter what, she would go to the grocery store later, buy a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Cookie Dough ice cream and eat the entire thing by herself.

Tiffany was a still a child, she reminded herself. Under the carefully curled blond hair, the form fitting clothes and too much make-up lurked a young teenager not yet prepared to deal with the realities of the world.

“Your father and I divorced by mutual decision,” she said slowly, going for an “I’m so calm” voice instead of the shrill tone that lurked just under the surface. “There were a lot of issues, some of which are private.”

“He quit his job.” Tiffany sounded both shocked and scared. “Just like that. He says he’s sailing to Hawaii.”

“I heard that, too.” At times she thought her soon-to-be ex was a complete stranger. Other times she hoped he got lost at sea.

“I should have stayed in L.A. with Dad,” Tiffany mumbled. “I could have moved into his apartment and not had to change schools.”

Carly ignored that mostly because she didn’t know what to say. In truth, Neil hadn’t been interested in sharing custody of his daughter. It was as if once he’d decided to leave, his only child no longer existed for him. Carly couldn’t understand that, but in the past few weeks she’d realized that Neil had become a stranger to her. Maybe he always had been. Maybe she’d been fooling herself throughout their marriage.

What she didn’t know was how it was possible to live with a man for sixteen years, have his child, sleep with him, talk to him, plan a future with him and find out she’d been wrong about almost everything. Her mind spun every time she thought about it.

“Are we there yet?” Tiffany asked.

Carly chuckled. At last a question she could answer. “About another forty minutes.”

Now that they were north of San Francisco, Carly found herself studying the changing landscape. The northern California coastline was as rugged as it was beautiful. She remembered the narrow, rocky beaches, the high cliffs, the storms that would blow through. But mostly, she remembered the beautiful Bed and Breakfast/house where she’d grown up.

Chatsworth-by-the-Sea had once been an elegant English manor with a different name. Her great, great, however-many-greats grandfather had made his fortune during the gold rush in the 1850s. Determined to leave a legacy, he’d bought a massive house in England and had had it brought over stone by stone.

For Carly, Chatsworth-by-the-Sea had always been home. With everything going on in her life, she longed to return to the comfortable welcome she’d always found there. And yet she felt unsettled.

“I can’t wait to see the old place again,” she said. “You always liked it, too.”

Tiffany shrugged. “To visit. I never thought we’d live there. Is Grandma going to make us do work and stuff?”

“You’ ll have a few chores, but nothing worse than you had before.” Carly almost said “at home” but stopped herself in time. The last thing she needed was Tiffany in tears again. Her daughter’s blue eyes were still swollen from that morning’s crying jag.

Not that Tiffany was the only one upset about leaving their house in Santa Monica behind. Change was never easy. Given the choice, Carly would have stayed put. But she hadn’t had a choice. The difference was she’d kept her pain and sadness to herself. After all, she was the mom and it was up to her to be the strong one. Carly didn’t mind that so much. What made things really hard was the sense of being trapped by circumstances she couldn’t control.

“Are you going to run the Bed and Breakfast for Grandma?” Tiffany asked.

“That’s the plan. I’ll learn the family business and take over responsibilities. In two years, Grandma will move to Las Vegas.”

Carly’s mother had already bought a townhouse in a complex she liked and was renting it out until she was ready to retire there. After Rhonda left for the wilds of Nevada, Carly would claim the wonderful B&B as her own. She would have a secure job, an income and an inheritance to leave her daughter. It was really the perfect solution for everyone.

Carly knew she should be grateful that everything had worked out so well. She had a job and a place for her and her daughter to live, her mother would be able to move somewhere warm and go to bingo every day.

So why did she feel so lousy? Why did it seem that less than two months from turning forty, her life was already over?

“What would Grandma have done if you and Dad hadn’t split up?” Tiffany asked. “Would we still have moved here to run things?”

“I don’t know what would have happened,” Carly said, which was both true and a lie. She and Neil had never discussed the fate of the B&B because he’d made it more than clear he wasn’t interested. But there was no way Carly would have let her mother sell it. Not after it had been in the family nearly a hundred and fifty years.

“I still would rather live in Santa Monica,” Tiffany said. “It was great there. This is going to be totally gross.”

“Gross is harsh. I know moving to a small town is going to be different for you,” Carly told her daughter. “But there’s still a lot to do. The mall’s not that far away. There are movie theaters and lots of after school activities.”

Tiffany wrinkled her nose, but didn’t speak.

“I had a favorite place high in one of the towers,” Carly continued. “I used to take a book up there and read on rainy afternoons.”

“Oh, yeah, that sounds thrilling.”

So much sarcasm dripped off the words that Carly half expected to see a puddle on the car mat.

“There’s also the ghost,” she reminded her daughter.

Tiffany only looked bored. “I never saw the ghost except for that stupid painting in the dining room. Are you sure it’s real? I don’t think anyone believes in ghosts anymore, Mom.”

“I do. I haven’t seen Mary the past few times we’ve visited, but when I was growing up there, I saw her all the time.”

One of Carly’s favorite memories was of reading up in the tower room and looking up to find Mary sitting nearby, also reading. The ghost was a pale, shimmering essence who seemed to bring light to any room she entered.

“We would talk. Not a lot, but sometimes. She would ask about a particular guest staying at the B&B, or comment on a magazine I’d left in my room.”

Tiffany didn’t look convinced. “Daddy always said it was bogus. Who ever heard of a ghost named Mary?”

“He never came to the B&B, so he wouldn’t know. Besides, we’re in all the ghost registries, including the nation one. They’re very fussy about who they register. Chatsworth-by-the-Sea is famous for our spectral phenomena. We’ve had scientists and ghostbusters visiting for as long as the house has been here. No one has ever been able to prove there wasn’t a ghost.”

Tiffany frowned. “But she’s like nice, right?”

“Of course. You’ll like her.”

“I don’t want her hanging around when I’m getting dressed and stuff.”

Carly grinned. “She’s very polite, I promise.”

The resident ghost also seemed very cheerful for someone who had been dead a while. There was no shrieking or chain rattling, like in the movies, and Mary didn’t seem to want to hurt anyone.

“How did she die?” Tiffany asked.

“I don’t know. We couldn’t find out that information about her. I know your great- grandmother did a lot of research. The theory is she somehow came over with the house. Her clothes appear to be from the Regency era. That’s around 1811. She’s young—maybe twenty-two or so. She likes flowers.”

“How do you know?”

“She told me once. We were talking about the garden and she said she loved spring and summer best because of the flowers.”

“She goes outside?”

“Sure. For all I know she can teletransport around the world.”

“So why don’t you ask her how she died?”

Carly shrugged. “It seemed too personal.”

“She’s dead, Mom.”

“I know, but she’s still entitled to her privacy.”

Besides, Carly wasn’t sure she wanted to know how Mary had died. It was enough that the ghost was like a friend. After all she’d been through, Carly figured she needed all the friends she could get.

As soon as she and Neil had started telling people they were getting a divorce, Carly had been stunned by all the supposed-friends who had disappeared from her life. It was as if she had a contagious disease they were desperate to avoid. Suddenly women she’d known for years weren’t returning her calls and were too busy to have lunch. She’d felt more and more isolated. Then Neil had moved out and Tiffany had gotten even more difficult.

When Carly’s mother had called to offer her the chance to take over the B&B, Carly had accepted. Moving north would give Tiffany a chance to finish her education in an excellent high school in a charming town. Carly could still work full time while being around for her daughter. Both of them would have a chance to start over.

The only potentially troubling aspect of the plan was that Carly and her mother had never exactly been close. There was too much friction between them.

“I’ll make it work,” Carly murmured. She had to. There weren’t a lot of other options.

“Are you talking to yourself?” her daughter asked.

“Yes. Does it make you nervous?”

“No. It’s just weird.”

“Which you expect from me,” Carly said.

“Pretty much.”

Carly nodded. Not a surprise. She’d always wanted to be one of those cool moms, but somehow she hadn’t figured out how. If being cool meant letting her daughter get her belly button pierced or stay out until midnight or date older guys, then Carly was willing to be weird and difficult.

They exited the highway and turned toward the ocean. Chatsworth-by-the-Sea stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Pacific. Wooden steps led down to the beach below. There were beautiful grounds, a few hardy vineyards and some fruit trees, but for Carly, nothing compared with the wonder of being able to watch the ever-changing ocean. She liked storms best, although sunny days were great, too.

“This is going to be a lot of fun,” she said. “You’ll see.”

“Fun for you, maybe. You’re getting everything you want. I’m getting nothing and it’s your fault I don’t have my dad anymore. I hate you.”

The unfairness of the accusation burned Carly down to her bones. As Tiffany began to cry softly into a tissue, Carly had to fight her own pain. Oh, yeah, this was everything she’d ever wanted. Running a bed and breakfast, living with her mother and daughter, trapped in a life that wasn’t the one she’d chosen. She was making the best of a bad situation. She was doing most of this for Tiffany so her daughter could have a sense of place and belonging.

Carly considered several responses, and tossed them all away. Sometimes the better course of action was to suck it up and wait it out, which is what she decided to do. But once, just once, she would like someone to consider her feelings. She would like someone to take responsibility, to do the right thing and let her have the tantrum.

She drove down the familiar street and reminded herself that she would soon be back in the house where she grew up. At least she would have her mother to help. The burdens wouldn’t be hers alone.

“We’re nearly there,” she told her daughter. “If you’re crying, Grandma’s going to have about fifty thousand questions.”

“I know.” Tiffany sniffed, then wiped her face. “I just wish you’d been a better wife.”

As far as knife wounds went, this one cut right to Carly’s heart. But before she could catch her breath, or think of a response, they’d pulled into the large gravel parking lot to the side of the massive four story building that was Chatsworth-by-the-Sea.

Carly parked next to her mother’s Jeep and turned off the engine. The pain faded as she studied the stone structure, the climbing ivy, the old and familiar trees. She could see the first of the towers.

“We’re here,” she said, as if Tiffany wouldn’t notice the big house in front of them. “Let’s go find Grandma.”

Right now what Carly needed more than anything was a hug and a promise that everything would be all right. She wanted to drink cocoa and eat cookies and pretend she was Tiffany’s age and the biggest problem she had was fitting in at school.

“Just leave the luggage for now,” Carly said as she climbed out of the car. “We can get it later.”

The crunch of her feet on the gravel made her smile. The sound was familiar, as was the scent of flowers and sea and something indefinable but old that had always made her think of home. Because it was home. It was simpler, easier times—when the world still made sense.

She led the way through the side yard where herbs and vegetables grew to a wooden door that led through the mudroom into the kitchen. At this time of day, her mother would be preparing the appetizers that were served from four-thirty to six.

“Hi, Mom, it’s us,” Carly called as she walked into the large, airy kitchen.

Rhonda Washington stood at the wide center island, cutting slices of cheese. She glanced up when her daughter and granddaughter entered, smiled and put down her knife.

“How was the drive? You made excellent time. Tiffany, you’re growing up to be so beautiful. Did your mom feed you something decent or have you been living on junk food all day?”

“Hi, Grandma.”

Tiffany stepped into the offered hug and didn’t answer the question. Carly ignored the flash of irritation and told herself that her mother hadn’t meant it as a criticism. Not really.

To distract herself, she studied the different generations of women, noting that Tiffany was a couple of inches taller, but that they shared both bone structure and eye color.

Rhonda had been born blond. Over time the color had darkened to a light brown, only to fade into gray. Tiffany’s pale blond had yet to darken at all although Carly suspected it would with time. But the similarities didn’t end there. Both of them had the same smile and ability to speak their minds in a way that left her dodging bullets.

A small price to pay for sanctuary, Carly reminded herself.

Rhonda kissed her granddaughter on the cheek, then turned to Carly. “How’s my baby girl?”

“Good, Mom. I’m doing okay.”

“Are you sure?”

Eyes as blue as her own studied her face. Carly offered a smile she was pretty sure looked sincere and even normal, then stepped into her mother’s embrace. Familiar scents and memories enveloped her. Her mother’s insistence on wearing Chanel Number Five perfume every single day of her life. The warmth in the hug.

“It’s good to have you here,” Rhonda said.

“It’s good to be here.”

They straightened. Carly noted there were a few more lines around her mother’s eyes and mouth, a slight drooping at her shoulders, but otherwise, she looked much as she always had. The Washington women seemed to have sturdy genes, a fact Carly appreciated as she stood less than two months from turning forty.

“Let’s get you two settled,” Rhonda said. “I’m so excited that we’re going to be living together. Three generations in the same house. It will be like the Waltons.”

“The who?” Tiffany asked as she snagged a slice of cheese.

“Some old show on TV,” Carly told her. “A big family living in one house. They all said good night to John-boy. You sort of had to be there.”

Tiffany didn’t look convinced by the thrill of the experience. “So where do we sleep? I have my own room, right? I mean I have to. I’m fifteen, Grandma.”

“I know. It’s amazing how fast you’re growing. Of course you have your own room. Two rooms, really. I picked them out especially for you. I think you’ll really like them. They’re in the tower.”

Tiffany stiffened. “The one with the ghost?”

Her grandmother drew her eyebrows together. “No, dear. Not by the ghost. What a silly question. Carly, honey, you’re on the third floor in one of the older rooms. You can pick something else, if you’d like.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Carly said, knowing that “older room” wasn’t a euphemism. No doubt the room her mother had picked for her hadn’t been refurbished in close to a hundred years.

While the working section of the B&B had twenty-five bedrooms and five suites, the house had closer to forty. Some were too small to be used for guests. Others were in noisy areas, or didn’t get any light. In addition, when the house had been converted from a private residence to a B&B in the 1930s, some bedrooms had been held back for family.

Carly followed her mother to the old-fashioned elevator that took them to the third floor. From there they had to walk to the tower staircase.

“Are you going to be comfortable here on your own?” Carly asked her daughter.

Tiffany’s response was to roll her eyes and sigh heavily.

“She’s not a child,” Rhonda said crisply. “She’s an independent young woman who needs her privacy.”

“See,” Tiffany said as she raised her chin. “Grandma doesn’t think I’m a child.”

Carly knew there was no point having that conversation. She went up the stairs to the narrow door that led to the tower rooms.

“Isn’t this terrific?” Rhonda asked as she opened the door and stepped inside.

Originally three rooms had made up the tower. The smallest had been converted into a bathroom. The other two consisted of a small bedroom and a sitting room.

“I brought up a desk so you have a place to study,” Rhonda said. “The bedspread is new and the wallpaper is only a few years old. Of course we can replace it all if you’d like.”

Tiffany walked through the rooms. “They’re great,” she said, sounding delighted and surprised.

Carly agreed with both assessments. This tower faced south, so it got a lot of light. There were windows in both rooms, with the one in the sitting area looking out over the ocean.

The bright floral print wallpaper provided a cheerful color palate played out in the rooms. The bedspread was lavender, the desk chair cushion pink and the club chair and ottoman had been done in periwinkle. Thick carpeting covered what had been hardwood floors.

Instead of a closet, each room had an armoire. The bathroom was tiny but functional. There were bookcases, shelves and what signified true joy in any teenager’s life—a phone.

“I love it!” her daughter said happily as she moved from one room to the other. “I love everything about it.”

Carly winced. She was happy that Tiffany was pleased, but a little wounded that she couldn’t be the one to provide the joy.

Rhonda pointed to the phone. “Your own line. I wrote the phone number down somewhere.” She checked the pad on the desk and pointed to the top sheet. “Here it is. I got you a plan that gives you fifty dollars worth of long distance a month so you can stay in touch with your old friends.”

Tiffany’s eyes filled with tears, but for once they were happy ones. “Oh, Grandma, you’re the best.” She hugged Rhonda.

Carly sighed with relief. She’d been afraid her daughter would hate everything about the house and the move, but finding such great digs at the end of the trip would go a long way to setting things right.

We may just survive this after all, she thought happily. Wouldn’t that be great?

“Want to see your room?” her mother asked.

“Sure.”

They went back the way they’d come, taking the stairs down a floor. A large set of double doors closed off the guest section of the floor from the private part of the house. Rhonda went through one of them and walked to the end of the corridor.

Here the house was much older and not nearly so shiny. There was dust in the corners and bits of backing showing through the carpet.

“I picked a corner room to give you more light,” her mother said as she opened the last door on the right.

Carly stepped into a big room with windows on two walls. The furniture was old—original art deco style— which she loved. The bedspread looked new and out of place with the gleaming wood, but she figured she could change that later. There was a big armoire, a desk in the corner and a chair pulled up in front of the window facing the ocean.

“It’s great,” she said.

“Are you sure?” Her mother sounded worried. “I know it’s not new. Usually when you visit you stay in one of the guest rooms and they’re much nicer.”

“It’s fine,” Carly assured her. “I’ll enjoy the quiet.” She knew her mother kept a suite of rooms on the first floor.

“Good.”

Tiffany glanced around. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Down the hall,” Rhonda said. “But she doesn’t have to share it.”

“Cool. I’ll go get my stuff and start taking it upstairs,” Tiffany said as she bolted for the door. “When will the truck arrive?”

Most of their furniture had been sold, but they’d kept a few things.

“Tomorrow,” Carly told her. “Think you can survive without your TV until then?”

“Oh, Mom. Of course I can. I’m not totally worthless.”

Tiffany ran down the hallway toward the elevator. Carly walked to the window and stared out.

“It’s the same view,” she said, feeling the pain and uncertainty fade away. Coming back to the B&B had made sense. Of the very few choices open to her, this one had the most opportunity for success. If it wasn’t the life she would have chosen, so what? At least she had a place to go and someone to help her get back on her feet.

“I’m glad you’re here,” her mother said.

“Me, too. The last couple of months have been a nightmare, but it’s all behind us now. Tiffany and I can start over. I really appreciate the opportunity, Mom.”

“Yes, well, this has always been your home. I’m just glad you wanted to come here so I didn’t have to sell the place.”

Carly turned to her mother. “You wouldn’t really have done that, would you?”

“Oh, it’s so big and a lot of work. I’m not getting any younger.”

“But you have your staff. It’s not as if you’re cleaning rooms yourself.”

“I know, but there are responsibilities.” Her mother cleared her throat. “People aren’t traveling the way they used to. In my day, travel was an adventure. Now most folks would rather sit home and watch cable.” She shrugged. “But that’s all right. Now that you’re here, we’ll get things on track.”

Carly didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”

“There have been a few lean years. I’ve wanted to make some repairs, needed to, really, but I couldn’t. This is your legacy, Carly. It makes sense to invest in it.”

The cold, dark panic of the past two months returned. Invest? What did she mean invest? “What are you talking about, Mom? Is the B&B in financial trouble?”

Rhonda avoided eye contact, instead giving the bedspread an unnecessary tug. “Just a little. But with your divorce settlement we can get on our feet financially.”

If Carly had been able to breathe, she would have laughed. As it was she could only stare in disbelief. She’d come here seeking safety and security, but apparently that was not to be.

“You had all the equity in the house,” Rhonda continued. “Neil had that great job for all those years. I know you probably don’t want to tap into your savings, but you’ll earn it back. Plus you have the alimony and child support. We’ll be fine.”

Carly’s chest tightened. “Mom, there’s no money. No savings, no house equity. I got half of everything, including half of the debts. I couldn’t afford to stay in L.A. That’s why I came here.”

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