Her mom seemed to still, and in the sadness of her look, Lauren saw a glimpse of the beauty her mother had once had. “Yeah. I know.”
They stared at each other. Lauren found herself leaning forward, waiting. Say you’ll go to work tomorrow.
“I gotta go,” Mom said at last. Without a backward glance, she left the apartment.
Lauren tucked away the ridiculous disappointment she felt and followed her mother out. By the time she reached the picturesque heart of West End, the rain had stopped. It was only five o’clock, but at this time of year night came early. The sky was a pale purple.
Her first stop was the Sea Side, a booming tourist stop that featured microbrews and local oysters.
A little over an hour later, she had made her way from one end of downtown to the other. Three restaurants had politely taken her résumé and promised to call her if a job came up. Another two had not bothered with false hopes. All four of the retail shops had told her to come back after Thanksgiving.
Now she stood in front of the last restaurant on the block.
DeSaria’s.
She glanced at her watch. It was six-twelve. She was going to be late to David’s house.
With a sigh, she climbed the few steps to the front door, noticing that they were rickety. Not a good sign. At the door, she paused to look at the menu. The highest priced item was manicotti at $8.95. That was not a good sign, either.
Still, she opened the door and went inside.
It was a small place. The walls were brick. An archway separated the space into two equal-sized rooms, each of which held five or six tables that were draped in red-and-white fabric. An oak-manteled fireplace dominated one room. Pictures hung in wooden frames on the rough walls. Family pictures, by the look of them. There were also framed prints of Italy and of grapes and olives. Music was playing. An instrumental version of “I Left My Heart in San Francisco.” The aroma was pure heaven.
There was one family having dinner. One.
Not much of a crowd for a Thursday night.
There was no point in applying here for a job. She might as well give up for tonight. Maybe, if she hurried, she could get home, change her clothes, and make it to David’s by seven o’clock. She turned and headed back outside.
As she walked to the bus stop, it started to rain again. A cold wind swept off the ocean and roared through town. Her tattered coat was no shield at all, and by the time she got home, she was freezing.
The front door stood open, but even worse, the dining room window was open, too, and the apartment was freezing.
“Shit,” Lauren muttered, rubbing her cold hands together as she kicked the door shut. She hurried to the window. As she reached for it, she heard her mother’s voice singing, “Leavin’ on a jet plane … don’t know when I’ll be back again.”
Lauren paused. Anger rippled through her, made her bunch her fists. If she’d been a boy, she might have punched the wall. She hadn’t found a job, she was late for her date, and now this. Her mother was drunk and communing with the stars again.
Lauren climbed through the window and up the rickety fire escape.
On the rooftop, she found her mother sitting on the ledge of the building, wearing a soaking wet cotton dress. Her feet were bare.
Lauren came up behind her, taking care not to get too close to the edge. “Mom?”
Mom twisted slightly and smiled at her. “Hey.”
“You’re too close to the edge, Mom. Move back.”
“Sometimes you gotta remember you’re alive. C’mere.” She patted the ledge beside her.
Lauren hated times like this, moments where her need ran alongside fear. Her mother loved to live dangerously; she always said so. Lauren moved cautiously forward. Very slowly, she sat beside her mother.
The street below them was almost empty. A single car drove past, its headlights blinking through the rain, looking insubstantial, unreal.
Lauren could feel her mother trembling with the cold. “Where’s your coat, Mom?”
“I lost it. No. I gave it to Phoebe. Traded it for a carton of smokes. The rain makes everything look beautiful, doesn’t it?”
“You traded your coat for cigarettes,” she said dully, knowing it was useless to be angry. “They’re predicting a cold winter this year.”
Mom shrugged. “I was broke.”
Lauren put her arm around her mother. “Come on. You need to get warmed up. A bath would be good.”
Mom looked at her. “Franco said he’d call today. Did you hear the phone ring?”
“No.”
“They never come back. Not to me.”
Even though Lauren had heard it a thousand times, she still felt her mother’s pain. “I know. C’mon.” She helped her to her feet and guided her to the fire escape. Lauren followed her mother down the iron-grate stairs and into the apartment. Once there, she convinced her mother to take a hot bath, then went into her own room and changed her clothes. By the time she was ready to leave, her mother was in bed.
Lauren went to her, sat on the edge of the bed beside her. “You’ll be okay while I’m gone?”