“So it’s the baby.”
Lauren heard the tiny crack in Angie’s voice when she said baby. “I don’t want to talk to you about it.”
Angie sighed. “I know. And I know why. But I’m not that fragile anymore.”
“Your sisters say you are.”
“My sisters talk too much.”
Lauren looked at her. The understanding in Angie’s eyes was her undoing. “How did you handle it? Losing Sophia, I mean.”
Angie sat back on her heels. “Wow. No one ever asks me that head-on.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“No. We’re friends. We can talk about our lives.”
Angie sidled up beside Lauren, put an arm around her. Together they stared into the crackling fire. Angie felt the old grief move into her again, squeezing her chest until it hurt to breathe. “You’re asking how you live with a broken heart,” she finally said.
“Yeah. I guess.”
Once the memories were there, Angie had no choice but to gather them close. “I held her; did I ever tell you that? She was so tiny. And so blue.” She drew in a ragged breath. “When she was gone, I couldn’t seem to stop crying. I missed her and the idea of her so much. I let the missing become who I was … then Conlan left me and I came back home and that’s when the most amazing thing happened.”
“What?”
“A bright, beautiful young woman came into my life, and she reminded me that there was joy in the world. I started to remember my blessings. I learned that my papa had been right when he used to say This too shall pass. Life has a way of going on, and you do your best and move with it. A broken heart heals. Like every wound, there’s a scar, a memory, but it fades. Finally you realize that an hour has passed without your thinking about it, then a day. I don’t know if that answers your question …”
Lauren stared at the flames. “The old ‘time heals all wounds’ answer, huh?”
“I know it’s hard for a teenager to believe, but it’s true.”
“Maybe.” She sighed. “Everyone wants me to think about adoption.”
God help her, Angie’s first thought was Give me the baby. She hated herself for it. She wished she could say something but her voice seemed to have gone missing. Suddenly, she was thinking about her nursery and all those old dreams. She battled the feelings, put them aside long enough to ask quietly, “What do you want?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to ruin David’s life. My life. All our lives, but I can’t just give away my baby.” She turned to Angie. “What do I do?”
“Oh, Lauren,” Angie said, pulling her into her arms. She didn’t point out the obvious: that Lauren had already made up her mind. Instead, she said, “Look at me.”
Lauren drew back. Her face was ravaged by tears. “Wh-what?”
“I’m here for you.” For the first time, Angie dared to touch Lauren’s stomach. “And there’s this little person who needs you to be strong.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do it alone.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Whatever you decide, you’re not alone.”
The last, short, gray January days dripped into one another. The sky was always bloated with clouds; rain fell in a steady rhythm.
The citizens of West End gathered beneath the giant eaves of the Congregational Church and in the covered walkways along Driftwood Way; their conversations always came around to the weather. Every day, in every way, they were hoping to see the sun.
When January came to a close, they pinned their hopes on February.
On Valentine’s Day, the clouds parted, and though no sun was visible, the rain diminished to a pearlescent mist.
The restaurant was packed. By seven o’clock, both dining rooms were full and a line of people waited along the windows.
Everyone was moving at top speed. Lauren, who had been working full-time since graduating, handled double her usual number of tables. Mama and Mira made triple the number of specials, while Angie poured wine and brought bread and bused the empty dishes wherever she could. Even Rosa was in the spirit of things—she carried two plates at a time instead of one.
The kitchen door banged open. “Angela!” Mama called out. “Artichoke hearts and ricotta.”
“Right, Mama.” Angie hurried downstairs and grabbed a huge jar of artichoke hearts and a container of fresh ricotta. For the next hour, she ran herself ragged. They were going to need to hire another waitress. Maybe two.
She was running to check the reservation book when she ran into Livvy. Literally. Angie laughed. “Don’t tell me you came for dinner tonight?”
“Spend Valentine’s Day at the family restaurant? Not hardly. Sal is working late.”
“So why are you here?”
“I heard you were shorthanded.”
“No. We’re fine. Busy, but fine. Really. You should stay off your feet. Go home and—”