“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.