She closed her eyes, remembering every nuance of her nursery. Remembering the night she’d packed it all away.
In her mind, she saw a tiny dark-haired girl with her daddy’s flashing blue eyes.
“Take care of our Sophia, Papa,” she whispered, getting to her feet again.
It was time for all these things to come out of the bleak darkness of this storage unit. They were meant to be used, held, played with. They were meant for a baby’s room.
One by one, she carried the boxes to her car. By the time she locked up the storage unit again, it was raining.
Angie couldn’t believe how good she felt. This day had shadowed her horizon for years, blocking out the light.
The nursery. The baby clothes and toys. She’d known that as long as she kept those things, she was somehow stuck.
Now, finally, she was free.
She wished Conlan were here to see her now, after all the times he’d found her sitting on the nursery floor, holding some rattle or blanket or knickknack and crying. There wasn’t an item in all those boxes that hadn’t been watered by her tears.
In fact …
She hit the speed dial on her mounted cell phone.
“News desk.”
“Hey, Kathy,” Angie said into the speaker on her visor. “It’s Angie. Is Conlan in?”
“Sure.”
A minute later Conlan answered. “Hey, there. Are you in town?”
“No. I’m on my way back to West End.”
“You’re going the wrong direction.”
She laughed. “Guess what’s in my trunk.”
“That’s a new line.”
She felt like an alcoholic who’d finally admitted to having a problem. Her AA meeting was in cardboard boxes in the trunk of her car. “The baby stuff.”
There was a pause. Then, “What do you mean?”
“The crib. The clothes. Everything. I cleaned out the storage unit.”
A pause crackled through the tiny black speaker. “For Lauren?”
“She’ll need it.”
Angie knew Conlan heard the distant echo of the other side of those words. And we don’t.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“That’s the amazing thing, Con. I feel better than okay. Remember that time we went helicopter skiing in Whistler?”
“And you didn’t sleep for three nights before?”
“Exactly. I worried myself sick, but once that chopper dropped us off, I flew down the mountain and couldn’t wait to go again. That’s how this feels. I’m flying down the mountain again.”
“Wow.”
“I know. I can’t wait to give her this stuff. She’s going to be so excited.”
“I’m proud of you, Ange.”
There it was: the reason she’d called him, though she hadn’t realized it until just this second.
“We’ll celebrate tomorrow night.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
She was smiling when she hung up. An old Billy Joel song came on the radio. “It’s Still Rock & Roll to Me.” She cranked up the volume and sang along. By the time she drove into West End and turned onto the beach road, she was singing as loud as she could and thumping the steering wheel in time to the music.
She felt like a kid again, driving home from a football game after a home team win.
She parked close to the house, grabbed her purse, and ran inside.
“Lauren!”
The house was quiet. A fire crackled in the hearth.
There was a pause that seemed to last forever, then a rustle of sound. “We’re here.”
Lauren sat up on the sofa. Her pale cheeks glistened with tears. Her eyes were swollen and red. David was beside her, holding her hand. He looked as if he’d been crying, too.
Angie felt a stab of fear. She knew about crying in the middle of a pregnancy. “What is it?”
“David and I have been talking.”
“The baby is okay?”
“Fine. Perfect.”
Angie felt a flood of relief. She’d overreacted, as usual. “Oh. Well, I’ll let you two keep talking.” She started toward the stairs.
“Wait,” Lauren called out, getting awkwardly to her feet. She grabbed a piece of paper from the coffee table and handed it to Angie.
David immediately moved in close to Lauren, put an arm around her.
Angie looked down at the letter in her hands.
Dear Ms. Ribido: We are pleased to offer you admission to the University of Southern California … undergraduate … full scholarship for tuition and housing … respond by June 1 …
“I knew you could do it,” Angie said gently. She wanted to throw her arms around Lauren and twirl her around, laughing, but that kind of enthusiasm was for ordinary girls in ordinary times. This was anything but.
“I didn’t think I’d get in.”
Angie had never heard that sad edge in Lauren’s voice before. It was heartbreaking. Of all the trials Lauren had faced this year, this—the attainment of her dream—had perhaps hurt the most of all. Now a decision would have to be made, and all of them knew it. “I’m proud of you.”
“This changes things,” Lauren said so softly that Angie found herself leaning forward to hear.