The children’s hair and faces were filthy; their tennis shoes were pocked with holes.
Angie stopped; her breathing felt heavy. The pain welled up again. If it would have done any good, she would have looked up at God and begged, Why?
Why did some women make babies so easily, while others …
She dropped the box of sleeping pills and walked out of the store. Outside, rain hit her hard, mingled with her tears.
In the car, she sat perfectly still, staring through the beaded windshield. In time, the family came out of the store. They piled into a shabby car and drove off. None of the kids put on a seat belt.
Angie closed her eyes. She knew that if she sat here long enough, it would pass. Grief was like a rain cloud; sooner or later, if you were patient, it moved on. All she had to do was keep breathing.…
Something smacked on her windshield.
Her eyes opened.
A pink flyer was on her windshield. It read: Work Wanted. Steady. Reliable.
Before she could read any more, the rain pummeled the flyer, ruined the ink.
Angie leaned toward the passenger seat and rolled down the window.
A girl with red hair was planting the flyers. She moved stoically from car to car, heedless of the rain, wearing a threadbare coat and faded jeans.
Angie didn’t think. She reacted. Getting out of the car, she yelled, “Hey, you!”
The girl looked up.
Angie ran toward her. “Can I help you?”
“No.” The girl started to move away.
Angie reached into her coat pocket and pulled out money. “Here,” she said, pressing the wad of bills into the girl’s cold, wet hand.
“I can’t take that,” the girl whispered, shaking her head.
“Please. For me,” Angie said.
They looked at each other for a long moment.
Finally, the girl nodded. Tears filled her eyes. “Thanks.” Then she turned and ran into the night.
Lauren climbed the dark, shadowy stairs toward the apartment building. Every step seemed to draw something out of her, until, by the time she reached Mrs. Mauk’s front door, Lauren was certain she’d grown smaller somehow. She was so tired of feeling vulnerable and alone.
She paused, staring down at the damp wad of bills in her hand. One hundred twenty-five dollars.
For me, the woman in the parking lot had said, as if she were the one in need.
Yeah, right. Lauren knew charity when she saw it. She’d wanted to turn it down, maybe laugh lightly and say You’ve got me all wrong. Instead, she’d run all the way home.
She wiped the leftover tears from her eyes and knocked on the door.
Mrs. Mauk answered. When she saw Lauren, her smile faded. “You’re soaking wet.”
“I’m fine,” Lauren said. “Here.”
Mrs. Mauk took the money, counted it. There was a small pause, then the woman said, “I’ll just take one hundred of it, okay? You go buy yourself something decent to eat.”
Lauren almost started to cry again. Before the tears could fill her eyes, she turned away and ran for the stairway.
In her apartment, she called out for her mother.
Silence answered her.
With a sigh, she tossed her backpack onto the sofa and went to the refrigerator. It was practically empty. She was just reaching for a half-eaten sandwich when someone knocked.
She crossed the small, messy apartment and opened the door.
David stood there, holding a big cardboard box. “Hey, Trix,” he said.
“What—”
“I called the pharmacy. They said you didn’t work there anymore.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip. The softness of his voice and the understanding in his eyes was almost more than she could take right now.
“So I cleaned out the fridge at home. Mom had a dinner party last night and there were killer leftovers.” He reached into the box and pulled out a videotape. “And I brought my Speed Racer tapes.”
She forced a smile. “Did you bring the one where Trixie saves his ass?”
He gazed down at her. In that single look, she saw everything. Love. Understanding. Caring. “Of course.”
“Thank you” was all she could say.
“You should have called me, you know. When you lost your job.”
He didn’t know how it felt, to lose something you needed so desperately. But he was right. She should have called him. Even at seventeen, as young and immature as he could sometimes be, he was the steadiest person in her life. When she was with him, her future—their future—seemed as pure and shimmering as a pearl. “I know.”
“Now, come on, let’s get something to eat and watch a movie. I have to be home by midnight.”
FIVE
Mr. Lundberg droned on and on, flittering from one contemporary social issue to another like a child chasing soap bubbles.
Lauren tried to pay attention; she really did. But she was more than exhausted.
“Lauren. Lauren?”
She blinked awake, realizing a second too late that she’d fallen asleep.
Mr. Lundberg was staring at her. He did not look happy.
She felt her cheeks grow hot. That was the problem with being a redhead. Pale skin blushed easily. “Yes, Mr. Lundberg?”