As they ate breakfast, they talked about ordinary things: the upcoming SAT test, football, school gossip. David talked about the Porsche that he and his father were restoring. It was the only thing he and his dad did together, and so David obsessed about the car. He loved the hours they spent in the garage. In truth, he talked about it so often she hardly listened anymore. He launched into something about gear ratios and speed off the line, and she found her interest waning.
She glanced out the window. Sunlight flooded the glass, and suddenly she was thinking about California and their future. She’d lost track of how often she’d organized her college brochures based on scholarship feasibility. By her calculations, her best shot at a full ride was at private colleges. Of these, her favorite was the University of Southern California. It combined world-class athletics with top-drawer academics.
Unfortunately, it was almost an eight-hour drive from Stanford.
Somehow she had to convince David to consider USC. The second alternative was for her to choose Santa Clara. But truthfully, she’d had enough of Catholic school.
“… totally tight. Perfect leather. Lauren? Are you listening?”
She turned to him. “Of course. You were talking about the gear ratio.”
He laughed. “Yeah, about an hour ago. I knew you weren’t listening.”
She felt her cheeks heat up. “I’m sorry. I was thinking about college.”
He picked up the tray and put it on the oversized nightstand to his left. “You’re always worrying about the future.”
“And you never do.”
“It won’t help.”
Before she could answer, he leaned over and kissed her. All thoughts of college and their uncertain future disappeared. She lost herself in his kiss, in his arms.
Hours later, when they finally pushed the blankets back and got out of bed, she’d almost forgotten her worries.
“Let’s go ice-skating over in Longview,” he said, burrowing through his drawers for the shirt he wanted to wear.
Ordinarily she loved it when they went ice-skating. She glanced down at her pile of clothes. Her coat’s raggedness made her wince, and she knew there were holes in her socks. “I can’t go today. I need to find a job.”
“On Saturday?”
She looked up at him. Just then, it felt as if so much more than a few feet of floor separated them. “I know it sucks, but what can I do?”
David moved toward her. “How much?”
“How much what?”
“Your rent. How behind is she?”
Lauren felt her cheeks flush. “I never said—”
“You never do. I’m not stupid, Lo. How much do you owe?”
She wished the ground would open up and swallow her. “Two hundred. But Monday is the first.”
“Two hundred. That’s what I paid for my steering wheel and shift knob.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. For him, that amount of money was pocket change. She broke eye contact and bent down for her clothes.
“Let me—”
“No,” she said, not daring to look at him. Tears burned her eyes. Her shame was almost overwhelming. It shouldn’t be, she knew. He loved her; he told her that all the time, but still.
“Why not?”
She slowly straightened. Finally looked at him. “All my life,” she said, “I’ve watched my mom take money from men. It starts out as nothing. Beer or cigarette money. Then fifty bucks for a new dress or one hundred to pay the electric bill. It … changes things, that money.”
“I’m not like those guys and you know it.”
“I need us to be different. Don’t you see?”
He touched her face so gently she wanted to cry. “I see that you won’t let me help you.”
How could she explain it to him, that helping her would be a river that would suck them under? “Just love me,” she whispered, putting her arms around him and holding on tightly.
He pulled her off her feet, kissed her until she was dizzy and smiling again.
“We’re going skating and that’s it.”
She wanted to, wanted to lose herself in the coldness, going around and around with nothing to keep her grounded except David’s warm hand. “All right. But I don’t have enough clothes. I’ll have to stop at home.” She couldn’t help smiling. It felt good to give in, to take the day off from her troubles.
He took her hand and led her out of his bedroom and down the hallway toward his parents’ bedroom.
“David, what are you doing?” She followed him, frowning.
He opened the door and went to the closet, opening that door as well. A light automatically came on.
The closet was bigger than Lauren’s living room.
“Her coats are back there. Pick one.”
Lauren moved woodenly forward until she was standing in front of Mrs. Haynes’s coats. There were at least one dozen of them. Leather. Cashmere. Wool. Suede. Not one showed the slightest sign of wear.
“Pick one and let’s go.”
Lauren couldn’t seem to move. Her heart was beating too quickly; it made her slightly breathless. She felt vulnerable suddenly, laid bare by her neediness. She backed away, turned to David. If he noticed how bright her eyes were or how brittle her smile, he gave no indication. “I just remembered. I did bring my coat. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“Of course. I’ll just borrow one of your sweaters. Now, let’s go.”
SEVEN