Lauren gasped. “For me?”
It was almost exactly the coat Melissa Stonebridge wore. The richest, most popular girl at Fircrest. Lauren couldn’t help reaching for it, touching the soft fur. “You shouldn’t have. I mean … I can’t …” She drew her hand back. Mrs. Mauk couldn’t afford this.
“It’s not from me,” Mrs. Mauk said, her mouth forming into a sad and knowing smile. “A woman from Help-Your-Neighbor brought it by. Her name was Angela. She’s one of the DeSarias—you know, from that restaurant on Driftwood. I’d say she could afford it.”
Charity. The woman somehow had seen Lauren and pitied her.
“This coat is too old for me,” Mom said from the other room. “What does yours look like, Lauren?”
“Take it,” Mrs. Mauk said, pushing the coat toward Lauren.
She couldn’t help herself. She took it, slipped it on, and suddenly she was warm. She hadn’t realized until just then how long she’d been cold. “How do you say thank you for something like this?” she whispered.
Mrs. Mauk’s eyes filled with understanding. “It’s hard,” she said quietly, “being the one who needs help.”
“Yeah.”
They stared at each other a moment longer. Finally, Lauren tried to smile. “I guess I’ll go to the restaurant and see if I can find her … say thank you.”
“That’s a good idea.”
Lauren glanced down the hallway. “I’ll be back in a while, Mom.”
“Bring me a better coat,” Mom yelled back.
Lauren didn’t dare look at Mrs. Mauk. They walked out of the apartment and down the stairs together, neither one speaking.
Outside, Lauren waved good-bye to Mrs. Mauk who, although hidden, was always at her curtains, watching what happened on her street.
In less than thirty minutes Lauren was at DeSaria’s Restaurant, opening the door.
The first thing she noticed was the aroma. The place smelled heavenly. She realized how hungry she was.
“I guess you found me.”
Lauren hadn’t even noticed the woman’s arrival, and yet they were standing almost face-to-face. The woman was only an inch or so taller than Lauren, but she was a commanding presence. First of all, she was beautiful—movie-star beautiful—with her black hair and dark eyes and big smile. And her clothes looked like something out of an expensive catalogue. Black pants with flared legs, high-heeled black boots, and a pale yellow scoop-neck sweater. There was something familiar about her.
“Are you Angela DeSaria?”
“I am. Angie, please.” She looked at Lauren, and there was an almost liquid softness in her brown eyes. “And you’re Lauren Ribido.”
“Thank you for the coat.” Her voice snagged on the sentiment, sounded thick. She realized suddenly where she’d seen this woman before. “You’re the woman who gave me money.”
Angie smiled, but it seemed off somehow, not quite real. “You probably think I’m stalking you. I’m not. It’s just … I’m new in town and kind of at loose ends. I saw you and wanted to help.”
“You did.” Lauren felt it again, the emotion thickening her voice.
“I’m glad to hear that. Is there anything else I could do?”
“I could use a job,” Lauren said quietly.
Angie seemed surprised by that. “Have you ever waitressed before?”
“Two summers at the Hidden Lake Ranch.” Lauren fought the urge to squirm. She was sure that this beautiful woman saw every flaw that Lauren tried to hide—the hair that needed a trim, the shoes that leaked in the rain, the backpack worn thin.
“I don’t suppose you’re Italian?”
“No. At least not that I know of. Does that matter?”
“It shouldn’t.…” Angie looked back at a closed door. “But we’ve always done things a certain way.”
And you’re not it. “I understand.”
“You saving up for college?”
Lauren started to say, “Yes,” but when she saw the understanding in Angie’s dark eyes, she found herself saying, “I need a dress for the homecoming dance.” The minute she said it, she blushed. She couldn’t believe she’d revealed something so intimate to a stranger.
Angie studied her for a moment longer, neither smiling nor frowning. “I’ll tell you what,” she finally said. “You sit down at this table, have something to eat, and then we’ll talk.”
“I’m not hungry,” she said, just as her stomach grumbled.
Angie smiled gently. Lauren felt wounded by that smile somehow. “Eat dinner. Then we’ll talk.”
Angie found Mira standing outside the back door, sipping cappuccino, both her hands curled around the porcelain mug. Steam mingled with her breath and formed a mist in front of her face. “Winter is going to come early this year,” she said as Angie sidled up beside her.
“I used to hide out here as soon as it was time to do dishes,” Angie said, smiling at the memory. She could almost hear Papa’s booming voice come through the brick walls.