“Lauren Ribido, you stop right there.” Angie surprised herself. She hadn’t known she had the Mom voice in her.
Lauren slowly turned to face Angie. “What do you want from me?”
Angie heard a well of pain in the girl’s voice. She recognized every nuance of that sound. “I care about you, Lauren. Obviously you’re upset. I’d like to help.”
Lauren looked stricken. “Don’t. Please.”
“Don’t what?”
“Be nice to me. I really can’t take it tonight.”
It was the sort of thing Angie understood, that kind of fragility. She hated that someone so young should be in such pain, but then again, what was adolescence if not acute confusion and overwhelming emotions? The whole thing was probably over a bad test score. Unless … “Did you and David break up?”
Lauren almost smiled. “Thanks for reminding me it could be worse.”
“Put your coat on.”
“Am I going somewhere?”
“You are.”
Angie took a chance. She headed back to the kitchen for her coat. When she returned, Lauren was standing by the door, wearing her new green coat. Her backpack was slung over one shoulder.
“Come on,” Angie said.
They walked side by side down the dark street. Every few feet an ornate iron streetlamp tossed light down on them. Normally, these streets would be deserted at ten-thirty on a weeknight, but tonight there were people everywhere, readying downtown for the holiday festivities. The chilly air smelled of burning wood and the ocean.
Angie stopped at the corner, where women from the local Soropotomist Club were giving away cups of hot cocoa.
“Would you like marshmallows?” the woman asked brightly, her breath a feathery white plume.
Angie smiled. “Sure.”
Angie cupped her hands around the insulated cup. Warmth seeped into her fingers; steam wafted toward her face. She led Lauren into the town square. They sat on a concrete bench. Even from this distance, you could hear the ocean. It was the heartbeat of the town, steady and even.
She glanced sideways at Lauren, who was staring gloomily into the cup. “You can talk to me, Lauren. I know I’m a grown-up, and therefore the enemy, but sometimes life throws you a curveball. It can help to talk to someone about your troubles.”
“Troubles.” Lauren repeated the word, made it sound small somehow. But that was part of the teen years, Angie knew. Everything seemed big.
“Come on, Lauren,” Angie urged. “Let me help you.”
At last, Lauren turned to her. “It’s about David.”
Of course it was. At seventeen, almost everything was about a boy. If he didn’t call often enough, it could break your heart. If he talked to Melissa Sue at lunch, it could make you cry for hours.
Angie waited. If she had spoken, it would have been to tell Lauren that she was young and that someday David would be a fond memory of first love. Not what a teenager wanted to hear.
Finally, Lauren said, “How do you tell someone bad news? If you love them, I mean?”
“The important thing is that you’re honest. Always. I learned that the hard way. I tried to spare my husband’s feelings by lying to him. It ruined us.” She looked at Lauren. “It’s college, right?” Angie softened her voice, hoping it would take the sting out of her next words. “You’re afraid you and David will be separated. But you haven’t even heard back from the schools yet. You need all the facts before you react.”
Overhead, the moon came out from behind a bank of clouds. The silvery light fell across Lauren’s face, making her look older suddenly, wiser. Her plump cheeks were planed by shadow; her eyes seemed impossibly dark and full of secrets. “College,” she said dully.
“Lauren? Are you okay?”
Lauren looked away quickly, as if to hide tears. “Yes. That’s it. I’m afraid we’ll be … separated.” The word seemed almost too much for her.
Angie reached out, placed a hand on Lauren’s shoulder. She noticed that the girl was trembling, and she didn’t believe it was from the cold. “That’s perfectly normal, Lauren. When I was a senior I was in love with Tommy. He—”
Lauren jumped up suddenly, pushed Angie’s hand away. Moonlight traced the tear tracks on her cheeks. “I gotta go.”
“Wait. At least let me drive you home.”
“No.” Lauren was crying now and not trying to hide it. “Thanks for the pep talk, but I need to get home now. I’ll be at work tomorrow night. Don’t worry.”
With that, Lauren ran into the night.
Angie stood there, listening to the girl’s footsteps until they faded away. She’d done something wrong tonight, either by commission or omission; she wasn’t sure which. All she knew was that it had gone badly from the start. Whatever Angie had said, it was wrong.
“Maybe it’s a good thing I never had kids,” she said aloud.