“You’ve got to be kidding,” she said to her mother, shaking her head. “We’re going to the theater, not the Oscar ceremony.”
“You are a single woman now,” Mama said, coming out of the bathroom, and though she was smiling, there was a sad knowing in her eyes. Life changes, that look said, whether you want it to or not. “Mr. Tannen at the hardware store said Tommy Matucci was asking about you.”
Angie decided to let that pass. Hooking up with her high school boyfriend was not at the top of her to-do list. “So you think if I dress like an expensive hooker—or a Hollywood celebrity, which is pretty much the same thing—I’ll find my way to a new life.” Angie meant to sound flip, but when she got to the words new life, her smile shook.
“What I think,” Mama said slowly, “is that it’s time to look forward instead of back. You’re doing a great job with the restaurant. Date night is a huge success. You’ve collected enough coats for most of the elementary school children in town. For now, be happy.”
Angie knew it was good advice. “I love you, Mama. Have I told you that recently?”
“Not enough. Now let’s go. Your father says we are late.”
They made it to the theater in less than fifteen minutes. They passed through the doors, showed their tickets, and stepped into the crowded but beautiful lobby.
“He loved it here,” Mama said, her voice thready. “He always bought one of those expensive programs, and he never threw them away. I still have a huge stack of them in the closet.”
Angie put an arm around her mother, held her tightly.
“He would have led us right to the bar.”
“And so we’ll follow him.” Angie led the way to the small area where cocktails were served. Elbowing her way through the crowd, she ordered two white wines. Glasses in hand, she and Mama sipped the wines and walked around the lobby, appreciating the gilded, baroque decor.
At seven-fifty, the lights flickered.
They hurried to their seats in the fourth row and sat down. The theater was filled with hushed noise—footsteps, whispered voices, people moving in the orchestra pit.
Then the show began.
For the next hour, the audience sat, enthralled, as the sad and beautiful story unfurled. At intermission, when the house lights came up, Angie turned to her mother.
“What do you think?”
Mama was crying.
Angie understood. This music did that to you; it released your deepest emotions.
“He would have loved this one,” Mama said. “I would have grown weary of the soundtrack.”
Angie touched her mother’s velvety soft hand. “You’ll tell him all about it.”
Mama turned to her. The old-fashioned glasses magnified her dark, teary eyes. “He won’t talk to me so much anymore. He says, ‘It’s time, Maria.’ I don’t know what I’ll do all alone.”
Angie knew about that kind of loneliness. It hurt, sometimes more than you could bear, but there was no way to avoid it. You simply kept moving until it passed. “You’ll never be alone, Mama. You have children and grandchildren and friends and family.”
“It’s not the same.”
“No.”
Mama’s mouth creased sadly downward. They sat there, silent and remembering, until Mama said, “Would you get me something to drink?”
“Sure.”
Angie sidled down the row of seats and merged into the crowd. At the door, she paused for a moment and looked back.
Mama was the only person left in the fourth row. She looked small from here, a little hunched. And she was talking to Papa.
Angie hurried across the lobby toward the bar. There were dozens of people clustered there.
That was when she saw him.
She drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
He looked good.
Take your breath away and make your heart ache good.
But then, he’d always been the most handsome man she’d ever seen. She remembered the first time she’d ever seen him, all those years ago on Huntington Beach. She’d been trying to learn to surf and doing a terrible job of it. A huge wave had tumbled over her, sucked her under, and turned her around. She’d panicked and flailed, unable to tell which way was up. Then a hand had grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to the surface. She’d found herself looking into the bluest pair of eyes she’d ever seen.…
“Conlan.” She said his name quietly, as if maybe he wasn’t really there and she was imagining him. She moved toward him.
He saw her.
They stared at each other, started to come together for a hug, and then backed off. They were like toys stuck in the pause mode, struggling to move.
“It’s good to see you,” he said.
“It’s good to see you, too.”
An awkward pause settled between them, and suddenly Angie wished she’d never walked over here, never said hello.
“How are you doing? Still in West End?”
“I’m good. It seems I have a knack for the restaurant biz. Who knew?”
“Your dad,” he said, reminding her with those two words how much he knew about her.
“Yeah. Well. How’s the news?”