It was not what Angie had expected for this first Christmas without Papa. All of them had expected quiet voices and sad eyes to be the order of the day.
Lauren's gift had changed all that. Those old photos, unseen for decades, had brought Papa back to them. Now, instead of talking around old memories, they were sharing them. Right now Mama was telling them all about the trip they'd taken to Yellowstone, and how they'd accidentally left Livvy at the diner. "Three little girls and a dog is a lot to keep track of." She laughed.
The only one who didn't laugh was Livvy. In fact, she'd been quiet all day. Angie frowned, wondering if her sister's marriage was already in trouble. She smiled across the table; Livvy looked away.
Angie made a mental note to talk to Livvy after dinner, then she glanced to her right. Lauren was engaged in an animated conversation with Mira.
When she turned to her left, she found Conlan staring at her.
"She's really something," he said.
"She got to you, too, huh?"
"It's dangerous, Ange. When she leaves ..."
"I know." She leaned toward him. "You know what, Con? My heart is big enough to lose a piece now and then."
Slowly, he smiled. "I'm glad to hear that." He was about to say something else but the ping-ping-ping of a fork hitting glass stopped him.
Angie looked up.
Livvy and Sal stood up. Sal was tapping his fork against his wineglass. When silence fell around the table, he put an arm around Livvy. "We wanted to let you all know that there will be a new baby in the family for next Christmas."
No one said a word.
Livvy's eyes filled slowly with tears as she looked at Angie.
She waited for the pain to hit, stiffened in preparation. Conlan squeezed her thigh. Steady now, that touch said.
But she was steady. The realization made Angie smile. She got to her feet and came around the table, hugging her sister tightly. "I'm happy for you."
Livvy drew back. "You mean it? I was so scared to tell you."
Angie smiled. The pain was there, of course it was, lodged in her heart like a piece of glass. And the envy. But it didn't hurt as much as before. Or maybe she'd finally learned to handle the pain. All she really knew was that she felt no urge to run to a quiet room and cry and her smile didn't have to be forced. "I mean it."
At that, conversations burst to life again.
Angie returned to her seat just as Mama began the prayer. When it was over and they'd listed and prayed for all their loved ones who'd been lost, including Papa and Sophia, Conlan leaned close to her.
"Are you really okay?"
"It's a shock, isn't it?"
He stared at her a long time, then very softly he said, "I love you, Angela Malone."
"WHAT TIME IS IT?" LAUREN ASKED, LOOKING UP FROM her magazine.
"Ten minutes later than the last time you asked," Angie answered. "He'll be here. Don't worry."
Lauren tossed down the magazine. There was no point in pretending to read it anyway. She walked over to the living room window and stared out. Night was slowly falling toward the ocean. The surf was barely visible now, just a thread of silver along the charcoal shoreline. January had come to West End on an easterly wind, its cold breath bending the trees backward.
Angie came up beside her, put an arm around her waist. Lauren leaned sideways. As always, Angie was able to calm her so easily, with just a--
mother's
--touch.
"Thanks," Lauren said, hearing the tremor in her voice. Sometimes it hit her in a breathless rush, the longing that Angie were her mother. It had always made her feel slightly guilty, that longing, but she couldn't deny its existence. These days, when she thought about her mother (usually late at night, in the darkness, when the distant surf was leading her toward the kind of deep peaceful sleep she'd never known before), she mostly felt disappointed. The sharp edge of betrayal had dimmed somehow. She felt sorry for her mother mostly, and for herself, too. She'd glimpsed what her life could have been. If she'd been raised by Angie, Lauren would have known love from her earliest day. She wouldn't have had to go looking for it.
The doorbell rang.
"He's here!" Lauren lurched away from the window and ran for the door, yanking it open. David stood there, wearing his red and white letterman's jacket and a pair of old jeans. He held a bouquet of red roses.
She threw her arms around him. When she drew back, laughing at her own desperation, her hands were trembling and tears stung her eyes. "I missed you."
"I missed you, too."
She took his hand, led him into the cottage. "Hey, Angie. You remember David."
Angie walked toward them. Lauren felt a swell of pride at the sight of her. She looked so beautiful in her black clothes, with her flowing dark hair and movie star smile. "It's good to see you again, David. Did you have a nice Christmas?"
He kept his arm around Lauren. "It was okay. Aspen's great if you wear fur and drink big martinis. I missed Lauren."
Angie smiled. "That must be why you called so much."
"Was it too much? Did I--"
"I'm just teasing you," Angie said. "You know I want Lauren home by midnight, right?"
Lauren giggled. A curfew. She must be the only kid in the world who was pleased by that.
He looked down at Lauren, obviously confused. "What do you want to do? Go see a movie?"
Lauren wanted to be with him; that was all. "Maybe we could play cards here. Or listen to music."
David frowned, glanced at Angie, who said quickly, "I've got work to do upstairs."
Lauren loved her for that. "What do you think, David?"
"Sure."
"Okay," Angie said. "There's food in the fridge and pop in the carport. Lauren, you know where the popcorn maker is." She looked pointedly at David. "I will be walking through every now and then."
Lauren should have been irritated by that, but in truth, she loved how it made her feel. Cared for. Cared about. "Okay."
Angie said good night, then went upstairs.
When they were alone, Lauren took the flowers and put them in a vase. As soon as she finished, she got his present from the kitchen and took it to him. "Merry Christmas."
They settled into the big overstuffed sofa, cuddled up to one another. "Open it," she said.
He unwrapped the small box. Inside lay a small gold St. Christopher medal.
"It'll protect you," Lauren said, hearing the catch in her voice. "When we're apart."
"You might get into Stanford," he said, but there was no conviction in his words.
He took a deep breath, then let it out.
"It's okay," she murmured. "I know we'll be apart. Our love can take it."
He looked down at her. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a beautifully wrapped package.
It wasn't a ring box.
She took it from him, surprised at how unsteady she suddenly felt as she unwrapped the present. She hadn't known until just now--this second--that she'd expected a proposal tonight. Inside the box lay a pair of tiny diamond heart earrings, suspended from thread so delicate it looked like fishing wire. "They're beautiful," she said in a shaky voice. "I never thought I'd own diamond earrings."
"I wanted to buy you a ring."
"These are great. Really."
"My mom and dad don't think we should get married."
So they were going to have to talk about it. "What do you think?"
"I don't know. Remember that lawyer my dad wanted to talk to?"
"Yeah." It took everything she had to keep smiling.
"He says there are people who would love this baby. People who would want it."
"Our baby," she said softly.
"I can't be a father," he said, looking so sad and beaten that she wanted to cry. "I mean. I am one. I know that, but ..."
She touched his face, wondering how long the pain of this moment would linger. She felt a dozen years older than him right now. It was clear suddenly that this might ruin them.
She longed to tell him okay, that she'd follow his parents' plan and give the baby away and go on with all the things they'd planned. But she didn't know if she could do it. She leaned toward him. In the firelight, his watery eyes were hardly blue at all. "You should go to Stanford and forget about all of this."
"Just talk to the lawyers, okay? Maybe they'll know something." His voice cracked and that tiny little sound ruined her resolve. He was almost crying.
She sighed. It was a small, tearing sound, like muscle ripping away from the bone. "Okay."
TWENTY-SEVEN
LAUREN CLOSED HER TEXTBOOK AND LOOKED UP AT the clock. 2:45.
2:46.
She let her breath out in a nervous sigh. All around her kids were laughing and talking as they got their things together and headed out of the classroom. There was a lot of energy in school this week. That was to be expected. Finals began on Monday. In different-- normal--times, Lauren would have been as keyed up as the rest of them. But now, in this third week of January, she had bigger worries. By this time next week, while her friends were looking for their new classrooms, she'd be done with high school. A graduate.
She reached down for her backpack and put her book and notebook away. Slinging the heavy pack in place, she headed out of the classroom. Merging into the crowded hallway, she forced herself to smile at friends, to talk and carry on as if this were any other day.
All the while she was thinking: I should have asked Angie to come with me today.
Why hadn't she?
Even now she wasn't sure.
She stopped at her locker and got her coat. She was just about to slam it shut when David came up behind her and tugged.
"Hey," he whispered against her neck.
She leaned into him. "Hey."
He slowly turned her around until she was facing him. His smile was irritatingly bright. This was the happiest he'd looked since she'd told him about the baby. "You look happy." She heard the bitterness in her voice and it made her wince. She sounded exactly like her mother.
"I'm sorry."
But he didn't know why he was sorry or what he'd done wrong. She wondered if from now on he'd start handling her with care. She forced another smile. "Don't be. My moods change faster than the weather. So. Where do we go?"
His relief was as obvious as the confusion had been. He smiled, but there was a new wariness in his eyes, too. "My house. Mom thought that would be more comfortable for you." He put his arm around her, tucked her against his side.
She kicked her locker shut and let herself be swept through the campus and into his car.
In the few miles between Fircrest Academy and Mountainaire, they talked about things that didn't matter. Gossip. The graduation night party. Hookups. Lauren tried to focus on that, the bits and pieces of ordinary high school life, but when David pulled up to the guardhouse, she drew in a sharp breath.
The gate swung open.
She coiled her hands together and looked out the window at the big, beautiful homes.
For the last few years, as she'd come into this enclave of the rich, she'd seen only the beauty of it. She'd dreamed of belonging in a place like this. Now she wondered why people with so much money didn't choose to live on the water, or why they wouldn't want to be in the busy neighborhood where the DeSarias lived. There, the streets seemed alive. Here, everything was too contained, too clipped and perfected. How could real life--and real love--grow in so confined a space?