“Yes.”
She turned around, saw Angie’s worried face. “Oh,” Lauren sighed shakily. Then she burst into tears.
Angie stood there forever, holding her, stroking her hair.
When Lauren finally drew back, shuddering, she saw that Angie had tears in her eyes, too. “Is it contagious?” Lauren asked, trying to smile.
“It’s just … you’re still a little girl sometimes. I take it David is going to the grad night party alone.”
“Not alone. Just not with me.”
“You could have gone.”
“I don’t belong there anymore.” She pulled free and went to the porch swing and sat down. She wanted to tell Angie that lately it felt as if she didn’t belong anywhere. She loved this house, this family, but once the baby was born, Lauren wouldn’t belong here anymore.
What had the lawyer said to her?
A baby needs one mother.
Angie sat down beside her. Together, they stared down the tangle of overgrown yard to the sandy beach below.
“What happens after?” Lauren asked, leaning forward. She was careful not to look at Angie. “Where will I go?” She heard the fissure in her voice; there was no way she could sound strong.
“You’ll come back here. To the house. Then, when you’re ready, you’ll leave. Con and I bought you an airplane ticket to school. And one to come home for Christmas.”
Home.
The word was a dart that pierced deep in her heart. This wouldn’t be her home anymore, not once the baby was born.
All her life Lauren had felt alone. Now she knew better. Her mother had been there, and when Mom ran off, Angie stepped in. For these last few months Lauren had felt as if she finally belonged somewhere.
But soon she’d know what truly being alone felt like.
“We don’t have to follow someone else’s rules, Lauren,” Angie said. There was a tinny, desperate edge to her voice. “We can create whatever family we want.”
“My counselor doesn’t think I should be here after the baby’s born. She thinks that would be too hard on all of us.”
“It wouldn’t be too hard on me,” Angie said slowly, drawing back slightly. “But you need to do what’s best for you.”
“Yeah,” Lauren said. “I guess I’ll be looking out for myself from now on.”
“We’ll always be here for you.”
Lauren thought of the adoption plan they’d come up with—the letters and photographs and consent agreements. It was all designed to keep the two of them at arm’s length.
“Yeah,” Lauren said, knowing it couldn’t be true.
THIRTY-ONE
Conlan, Angie, and Lauren sat at the scarred, old dining table, playing cards. The music of Angie’s youth pounded through the speakers, forcing them to yell at one another. Right now, Madonna was trying to remember how virginity felt.
“You guys are in trouble now,” Lauren said, taking the trick with the eight of diamonds. “Read ’em and weep.” She slapped down a ten of hearts.
Conlan glanced at Angie. “Can you stop her?”
Angie couldn’t help grinning. “Nope.”
“Aw, shit,” Conlan said.
Lauren’s laughter rang above the music. It sounded young and innocent, and at that, Angie felt a catch in her chest.
Lauren shot the moon, then got to her feet and did a little victory dance. It was slow and ponderous, given her stomach, but it made them all laugh.
“Gee. I think I should go to bed now,” Lauren said with a wide-eyed innocence.
Conlan laughed. “No way, kiddo. You can’t dump us with all those points and then just walk.”
Lauren was halfway across the room when the doorbell rang.
Before they’d even wondered who it was, the door opened.
Mama, Mira, and Livvy stood there. Each of them held a big cardboard box. They rushed into the cottage, already talking, and went straight to the kitchen, where they set down the boxes.
Angie didn’t have to go over there to know what was in the boxes.
Food, frozen in Tupperware, ready to be heated at a moment’s notice and served. No doubt each of them had been cooking double dinners for a week.
New mommies didn’t have time to cook.
Angie’s chest tightened again. She didn’t want to go over there and see the evidence of what was coming. “Come on over,” she yelled to her sisters and mother. “We’re playing cards.”
Mama walked across the room and snapped off the stereo. “That is not music.”
Angie smiled. Some things never changed. Mama had started turning off Angie’s music in the late seventies. “How about some poker, Mama?”
“I hate to take advantage of you all.”
Mira and Livvy laughed. Livvy said to Lauren, “She cheats.”
Mama puffed up her narrow chest. “I do not.”
Lauren laughed. “I’m sure you would never cheat.”
“I’m just very lucky,” Mama said, pulling up a chair and sitting down.
Before Mira got to the table, Lauren said, “I’ll be right back. I have to go to the bathroom for about the fiftieth time today.”