“Have some of this gelato with me. It’s delicious.” It had become a ritual in the past few nights: Angie and Lauren sharing dessert at the end of the evening. Angie actually looked forward to it.
Lauren grinned. “At this rate I’ll have to waddle to the dance.”
Angie laughed. “Funny. Sit.”
Lauren sat down across from her, where Angie had already placed a bowl of the gelato and a spoon.
Angie spooned up a bit of gelato, let it melt in her mouth, “Man, this is good. Too bad we hardly had any customers tonight.” She looked at Lauren. “Your tips can’t be too good.”
“They’re not.”
“The ad for the coat drive hits tomorrow. That should help.”
“I hope so.”
Angie heard the desperate edge in Lauren’s voice. “How much does a homecoming dress cost these days?”
Lauren sighed. “Lots.”
Angie studied her. “What size are you?”
“An eight.”
“Same as me.” The answer was there, plain as the spoon in her hand. “I could loan you a dress. Conlan—my … ex-husband—was a reporter for the Seattle Times. Every now and then we went to some event. So I have a few dresses. One of them might fit you.”
The look on Lauren’s face was easy to read: a combination of longing and shame. “I couldn’t do that. But thanks.”
Angie decided not to push the offer. Lauren could think about it. “You’re going with the boy who picks you up from work?”
Lauren blushed. “David Haynes.”
Angie saw the transformation, knew what it meant. Love. It was no surprise. Lauren was a serious girl, the kind who fell in love hard and didn’t come out of it easily. A good girl, in other words. “How long have you and David been dating?”
“Almost four years.”
Angie lifted her eyebrows. High school years were like those of a dog’s life; four years could be a lifetime.
She wanted to say Be careful, Lauren; love can kill you, but of course she didn’t. If Lauren was lucky, it was a lesson she’d never learn.
The thought made Angie sigh. Suddenly, she was thinking about Conlan and all the years she’d loved him. And how it had felt when it was gone.
She got up from the table quickly, before her sadness could be seen. She stood by the window, staring out at the night. The cold of autumn had come early this year; already a layer of frost was forming on the street. All over town leaves were falling from shivering trees, landing in piles on the sidewalks and along the roadsides. By this time next week, those heaps would be slippery and black. Soon there would be no leaves left.
“Are you okay?”
Angie heard the worry in Lauren’s voice and it embarrassed her. “Fine.” Before she could say more, apologize or perhaps explain, a car pulled up outside the restaurant and honked.
“That’s David,” Lauren said, popping to her feet.
Angie looked at the car out front. It was a classic Porsche Speedster, painted primer gray. The wheels shone with chrome and the tires were obviously new. “That’s some car.”
Lauren came up beside her. “I call him Speed Racer sometimes. You know, from the old cartoon. ’Cause he lives for that car.”
“Ah. A boy and his car.”
Lauren laughed. “If I have to see one more paint chip, I might scream. Of course I don’t tell him that.”
Angie stared down at the girl. Never had she seen such purity of emotion, such blatant adoration. First love. All at once, she remembered how consuming it was. She almost said, You be careful, Lauren, but it wasn’t her place. Such advice was for a mother to give.
“See you Tuesday,” Lauren said, leaving.
Angie watched Lauren go outside. The girl ran across the sidewalk and disappeared into the sports car.
And suddenly she was thinking of a long time ago, back when she’d been head-over-heels in love with Tommy Matucci. He’d driven an old, battered Ford Fairlane; rickety and temperamental as that car had been, he’d loved it.
Funny.
She hadn’t thought of that in years.
They parked in front of Lauren’s building, in their usual spot. She gently eased herself into position. It wasn’t easy in a car this small; the gear shift seemed to take up a lot of space. Still, they’d had years to perfect their technique.
David took her in his arms and kissed her. She felt herself falling into that familiar breathy darkness, that needing. Her heartbeat sped up. Within minutes the windows were fogged up and their privacy was complete.
“Lauren,” he murmured, and she heard it in his voice, too; that needing of her. His hand slid beneath her blouse. She shivered at the touch.
Then his wristwatch started to bleat.
“Shit,” he groaned, pulling his hand from her body. “I can’t believe they make me come home this early. I know eighth graders who can stay out till midnight.” He crossed his arms with a dramatic flourish.
It was all Lauren could do not to smile. He had no idea how childish he looked right now. The great David Ryerson Haynes, pouting. “You’re lucky,” she said, snuggling up to him. “It means they love you.”
“Yeah, right.”