David stood on the sidewalk in front of her apartment, holding a bouquet of red roses. The rain pummeled him. "Hey, Trixie."
Love swept through her, hot as a flame, and consumed everything. She ran for him, threw her arms around him. He picked her up, held her so tightly that she could hardly breathe.
He loves me.
That was what she'd forgotten this weekend. She wasn't alone in this. She wasn't her mother.
She slid down to her feet again, smiled up at him, blinking through the rain. "I thought you guys were out of town until tomorrow morning."
"I missed you, so I came back early."
"Your mom couldn't have been too happy about that."
"I told her I had a chem test." He grinned. "We wouldn't want Stanford to change their mind. My future's gold, don'tcha know?"
Lauren's smile faded. His future was golden.
Stanford.
The loneliness came back full force, made her feel older than David and infinitely far away, even though she was in his arms. She had to tell him about the baby. It was the right thing to do.
"I love you, David." She felt herself start to cry; her tears mingled with the rain and were washed away before he could see them.
"I love you, too. Now let's get in my car before we catch pneumonia." He smiled. "There's a party at Eric's house."
She wanted to say, No, not tonight, and take him into her shabby apartment and close the door. But once they were alone, she'd have to tell him the truth, and she didn't want to do that. Not yet, anyway. She wanted one more night where they could be kids. Speed Racer and Trixie, laughing it up with their friends.
So when he held her hand and pulled her toward the car, she followed.
Love can get us through the hardest times.
Please, God, she thought, let it be true.
NINETEEN
ANGIE'S DREAMS THAT NIGHT CAME IN BLACK AND white; faded images from some forgotten family album of the has-been and never-were moments. She was in Searle Park, at the merry-go-round, waving at a small dark-haired girl who had her father's blue eyes ...
Slowly, the girl faded to gray and disappeared; it was as if a mist had swept in and veiled the world.
Then she saw Conlan on the ball field, coaching Little League.
The images were watery and uncertain because she'd never really been there in the stands, watching her husband coach his friends' sons, clapping when Billy Van-Derbeek hit a line drive up the middle. She'd been at home on those days, curled in a fetal position on her bed. It hurts too much, she'd told her husband when he begged her to come along.
Why hadn't she thought about what he needed?
"I'm sorry, Con," her dream self whispered, reaching out for him.
She woke with a gasp. For the next few hours she lay in her bed, curled on her side, trying to put it all back in storage. She shouldn't have tried to go back in time; it hurt too much. Some things were simply lost. She should have known that.
Every now and again she realized that she was crying. By the time she heard a knock at the front door, her pillow was damp.
Thank God, she thought. Someone to keep her mind off the past.
She sat up, shoved the hair from her eyes. Throwing the covers aside, she climbed out of bed and stumbled downstairs. "I'm coming. Don't leave," she yelled.
The door swung open. Mama and Mira and Livvy stood there, all dressed in their Sunday best.
"It's Advent," Mama said. "You're coming to church with us."
"Maybe next Sunday," Angie said tiredly. "I was up late last night. I didn't sleep well."
"Of course you didn't sleep well," Mama said.
Angie knew when she'd hit a wall, and the DeSaria women with their minds made up were solid brick. "Fine."
It took her fifteen minutes to shower and dress and towel dry her hair. Another three minutes for makeup, and she was ready to go.
By ten o'clock, they were pulling into the church lot.
Angie stepped out into the cold December morning and felt as if she were going back in time. She was a girl again, dressed in white for her first communion ... then a woman in white on her wedding day ... then a woman in black, crying for her father. So much of her life had happened beneath these stained glass windows.
They went to the third row, where Vince and Sal had the children lined up by height. Angie sat next to Mama.
For the next hour, she went through the motions of her youth: rising and kneeling and rising again.
By the closing prayer, she realized that something had changed in her, shifted suddenly back into place, though she hadn't known it was out of alignment until now.
Her faith had been there all along, flowing in her veins, waiting for her return. A kind of peace overcame her, made her feel stronger, safer. When the service was over, she walked outside into the crisp, freezing air and looked across the street.
There it was: Searle Park. The merry-go-round from her dream glittered in the sharp sunlight. She'd grown up playing in this park. Her children would have loved it, too.
She walked across the street, hearing laughter that had never been: Push me, Mommy.
She sat down on the cold, corrugated steel and closed her eyes, thinking about the adoption that had failed, the babies who'd never been, the daughter who'd been taken too soon, and the marriage that had been broken.
She cried for it. Great heaving sobs that seemed to crack her chest and bruise her heart, but when it was over, she was dry inside. At last.
She looked up to the pale blue sky. She felt her father beside her, a warm presence in all that cold air.
"Angie!"
She wiped her eyes.
Mira was running across the street, her long skirt flapping against her legs. She was out of breath by the time she reached the park. "Are you okay?"
It was surprisingly easy to smile. "You know what? I am."
"No kidding?"
"No kidding."
Mira sat down beside her. They kicked their feet in the sand, and the merry-go-round started to turn.
Angie leaned back and stared up at the sky. She was moving again.
LAUREN SPENT ALL OF THE NEXT DAY GATHERING HER courage. It was dark by the time she reached Mountainaire. The gate was closed and the guardhouse looked deserted. A man in a tan uniform was stringing Christmas lights along the tall wrought-iron fence that protected the houses within.
She went to the guardhouse and peered through the window. An empty chair sat behind a desk cluttered with car magazines.
"Can I help you?"
It was the man with the lights. He looked irritated by her presence, or maybe it was simply the job.
"I'm here to see David Haynes."
"He expecting you?"
"No." Her voice was barely there. It wasn't surprising. Last night's party had been Thunderdome loud. She and David had had to shout at each other just to carry on a conversation. Later, after he'd gone home--just in case his folks showed up--she'd cried herself to sleep.
This wasn't a secret she could keep. It was ripping her up inside.
In front of her, the gate jerked once, and then arced inward slowly.
Lauren nodded at the guard, though she couldn't see him through the small window. In its square surface all she could see was her own reflection: a thin, frightened-looking girl with curly red hair and brown eyes that were already filling with tears.
By the time she reached David's house--she'd gone the long way, walking up and down several unfamiliar streets--it had started to rain. Not much of a rain, really--more of a mist that beaded your cheeks and made it difficult to breathe.
Finally, she came to his house. The majestic Georgian home looked like a Hallmark Christmas card. The per fect holiday house with lights everywhere, fake candles in the windows, and evergreen boughs draped above the front door.
She pushed through the gate at the perimeter of the lot and walked up the patterned stone path to the front door. When she reached the door, a light automatically came on. She rang the bell. It played a symphonic melody; Bach, maybe.
Mr. Haynes answered the door, wearing a pair of expertly creased khaki pants and a shirt as white as fresh snow. His hair was as flawless as his tan. "Hello, Lauren. This is a surprise."
"I know it's late, sir. Almost seven-thirty. I should have called. I did call, actually. Or I tried to, but no one answered."
"So you came anyway."
"I figured you were on long distance, and I ... really needed to see David."
He smiled. "Don't worry about it. He's just playing that damn Xbox. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you."
"Thank you, sir." She could breathe again.
"Go on downstairs. I'll send David."
The carpet on the stairs was so thick her shoes made no sound at all. Downstairs, the room was big and perfectly decorated. Flax-colored carpeting, an oversized cream suede sectional with gold and taupe pillows, a coffee table made of pale marble. Ornately carved wooden doors concealed a huge plasma screen television.
She perched uncomfortably on the sofa, waiting. She didn't hear footsteps on the stairs, but suddenly David was there, bounding into the room, pulling her up into his arms.
She clung to him.
She would give anything to go back in time, to have nothing more important to tell him than how much she loved him. Adults always talked about mistakes, the cost of doing the wrong thing. She wished she'd listened now.
"I love you, David." She heard the tinny, desperate edge in her voice and she winced.
He frowned down at her, drew back.
She hated that, the pulling away.
"You've been acting weird lately," he said, lying down on the sofa, pulling her on top of him.
She slid sideways, then knelt beside the sofa. "Your parents are home. We can't--"
"Only my dad. Mom's at some fund-raiser in town." He tried again to pull her on top of him.
She wanted to. Wanted to kiss him and let him touch her until she forgot all about ...
the baby.
She gently pushed him back, then sat on her heels. "David." It seemed to take everything she had just to say his name.
"What's up? You're scaring me."
She couldn't stop herself; tears burned her eyes.
He touched her face, wiped her tears away. "I've never seen you cry before." She heard the rising panic in his voice.
She took a deep breath. "Remember the Longview game? The first home game of the year?"
His confusion was obvious. "Yeah, 21-7."
"I was thinking of a different score."
"Huh?"
"After the game we all went to Rocco's for pizza, and then to the state park."
"Yeah. What's your point, Lo?"
"You had your mom's Escalade," she said softly, remembering it all. The way he'd pushed the back seat down and brought out a pale blue blanket and a chenille pillow. Everything except the accessory that mattered most.
A condom.
They'd parked out on the edge of the beach, beneath the dark fringe of ancient cedar trees. A huge silver moon gazed down on them, giving their faces a tarnished, shiny look. Savage Garden's "Truly, Madly, Deeply" had been playing on the radio.
He remembered it, too. She saw the memories move across his face. She knew instantly when the realization dawned. Fear narrowed his eyes. He drew back, frowning. "I remember."
"I'm pregnant."
He made a sound that tore at her heart, a sigh that faded into silence. "No." He closed his eyes. "Fuck. Fuck."