“That’s us. Is Lauren ready?”
That explained the Porsche. She called out Lauren’s name. Within a second she appeared at the top of the stairs.
David gasped. “Whoa,” he said softly, moving toward the stairs. “You look awesome.”
Lauren hurried downstairs and went to David. She looked up at him, her smile trembling. “You think so?”
He handed her a white wrist corsage, then kissed her.
Even from across the room Angie could see the gentleness of that kiss, and it made her smile.
“Come on, you two,” she said. “Photo op. Stand by the fireplace.”
Angie snapped several pictures. It took an act of will to stop. “Okay,” she finally said. “Have fun. Drive safely.”
She wasn’t even sure they heard her. Lauren and David were lost in each other’s eyes.
But at the front door, Lauren threw her arms around Angie, holding on in a death-grip hug. “I’ll never forget this,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
Angie whispered back, “You’re welcome,” but her throat was suddenly tight and she wasn’t sure if her words carried any sound or not.
She stood there as David led Lauren to the car and opened the door for her.
In the amount of time it took to wave, they were gone.
Angie backed into the house and closed the door. The silence seemed oppressive suddenly.
She’d forgotten how quiet her life was. Lately, if she didn’t turn on the stereo, she would hear nothing except her own breathing or the patter of her own footsteps on the hardwood floor.
She felt herself slipping down a slope she knew too well; at the bottom it was lonely and cold.
She didn’t want to go down there again. It had taken so long to crawl up. She wished she could call Conlan right now. He’d once been so good at talking her down from the ledge. But those days were gone, too.
The phone rang. Thank God. She ran to answer it. “Hello?” She was surprised at how ordinary her voice sounded. A drowning woman shouldn’t speak in so certain a voice.
“How did the dance preparation go?” It was Mama.
“Great. She looked beautiful.” Angie made herself laugh, prayed it sounded more natural than it felt.
“Are you okay?”
She loved her mother for asking. “I’m fine. I think I’ll go to bed early. We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”
“I love you, Angela.”
“Love you, too, Mama.”
She was trembling when she hung up. She thought about doing a lot of things—listening to music, reading a book, working on the new menu. In the end, though, she was too tired for any of it. She climbed into her big king-sized bed, pulled the covers up to her chin, and closed her eyes.
Sometime later, she woke up.
Someone was calling her name. She glanced at the clock. It wasn’t yet nine o’clock.
She crawled out of bed and stumbled down the stairs.
Mama stood in the kitchen, her clothes dappled with raindrops, her red-splattered apron still in place. She put her hands on her hips. “You are not fine.”
“I will be.”
“I will be ninety someday. That doesn’t mean getting there will be easy. Come.” She took Angie by the hand and led her toward the sofa. They sat down, cuddled together the way they’d done when Angie was a girl. Mama stroked her hair.
“It was fun helping her get ready for the dance. It wasn’t until later … after she’d left … that I started thinking about …”
“I know,” Mama said gently. “It made you think of your daughter.”
Angie sighed. Grief was like that; both she and Mama knew it well. It would sometimes feel fresh, no matter how long she lived. Some losses ran deep, and time moved too slowly in a lifetime to heal them completely.
“I lost a son once,” Mama said into the silence that fell between them.
Angie gasped. “You never told us that.”
“Some things are too difficult to speak of. He would have been my first.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I couldn’t.”
Angie felt her mother’s pain. It connected them, that common loss, brought them to a place that felt like friendship.
“I wanted to say only hopeful things.”
Angie stared down at her own hands. For a split second she was surprised to see that her wedding ring was gone.
“Be careful with this girl, Angela,” her mother said gently.
It was the second time she’d been given this advice. Angie wondered if she could follow it.
Sunshine on an autumn’s morning was a gift from God himself, as rare as pink diamonds in this part of the world.
Lauren took it as a sign.
She stretched lazily, coming awake. She could hear the hum of cars on the street. Next door, the neighbors were fighting. Somewhere, a car horn honked. In the bedroom down the hall, her mother was sleeping off a late-night bender.
To the rest of the world it was an ordinary Sunday morning.