“Yes. It can end. It can also build a family and last forever.”
Lauren knew nothing about the kind of love that stayed firm in shaky years. She did know how David would react to news of their baby, though. His smile would vanish. He would try to say it didn’t matter, that he loved Lauren and that they’d be okay, but neither one of them would believe it.
“Did you love your husband?” Lauren asked.
“Yes.”
Lauren wished she hadn’t asked the question; that was how hurt Angie looked right now. But she couldn’t stop herself. “So he stopped loving you?”
“Oh, Lauren.” Angie sighed. “The answers aren’t always so clear when it comes to things like that. Love can get us through the hardest times. It can also be our hardest times.” She looked down at her bare left hand. “I think he loved me for a long time.”
“But your marriage didn’t last.”
“We had big issues, Lauren.”
“Your daughter.”
Angie looked up, obviously surprised. Then she smiled sadly. “Not many people dare to bring her up.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be. I like talking about her sometimes. Anyway, when she died, it was the beginning of the end for Con and me. But let’s talk about you. Have you and David broken up?”
“No.”
“So it must be college-related. You want to talk about it?”
College.
For a second she didn’t understand the question. College seemed distant now, not like real life at all.
Not like a girl who was pregnant.
Or a woman who would have given anything for a child.
She looked at Angie, wanting to ask for help so badly the words tasted bitter. But she couldn’t do it, couldn’t bring this problem to Angie.
“Maybe it’s more serious than that,” Angie said slowly.
Lauren threw back the blanket and got to her feet. Walking toward the railing, she stared out at the dark backyard.
Angie came up behind her, touched her shoulder. “Is there some way I can help you?”
Lauren closed her eyes. It felt good to have someone offer.
But there was no way anyone could help. She knew that. It was up to her to take care of it.
She sighed. What choice did she have, really? She was seventeen years old. She’d just sent out college applications and paid every dime she had for the privilege.
She was a teenager. She couldn’t be a mother. God knew she understood about mommies who resented their babies. She didn’t want to do that to a child. It was a painful legacy that she’d hate to pass on.
And if she were going to take care of it—
Say it, her subconscious demanded. If you can think it, identify it.
And if she were going to have an abortion, should she tell David?
How could she not?
“Believe me,” she whispered, seeing her breath in lacy white fronds, “he’d rather not know.”
“What did you say?”
Lauren turned to Angie. “The truth is … things are bad at home. My mom is in love with yet another loser—big surprise—and she’s hardly working. And we’re … fighting about stuff.”
“My mom and I went at it pretty good when I was your age. I’m sure—”
“Believe me. It’s not the same thing. My mom isn’t like yours.” Lauren felt that loneliness well up in her throat again. She looked away before Angie could see it in her eyes. “You know how we live.”
Angie moved closer. “You told me your mom is young, right? Thirty-four? That means she was just a kid when she had you. That’s a tough road to walk. I’m sure she’s doing the best she can.” She touched Lauren’s shoulder. “Sometimes we have to forgive the people we love, even if we’re mad as hell. That’s just how it is.”
“Yeah,” Lauren said dully.
“Thanks for being honest with me,” Angie said. “It’s hard to talk about family problems.”
And there it was—the feeling worse when you thought you’d hit the bottom. Lauren stared out at the darkness, unable to look at Angie. She tried to think of something to say but nothing came to her except a soft, thready “Thanks. It helps to talk.”
Angie put an arm around her, squeezing gently. “That’s what friends are for.”
EIGHTEEN
So he stopped loving you? For the whole of that night, Angie found herself thinking about Lauren’s question. It stayed with her, haunted her. By morning it was all she could think about.
So he stopped loving you?
He had never said that to Angie. In all the months it had taken to dismantle their marriage, neither one of them had said, “I don’t love you anymore.”
They’d stopped loving their life together.
That wasn’t the same thing at all.
The tiny seed of what if took root, blossomed.
What if he still loved her? Or if he could love her again? Once she had that thought, nothing else mattered.
She called her sister. “Hey, Livvy. I need you to work for me today,” she said without even bothering to say hello.
“It’s Thanksgiving weekend. Why should I—”
“I’m going to see Conlan.”
“I’ll be there.”