“Morning.” He kissed her gently and drew back. “What now?”
She couldn’t help smiling. It was so Conlan-like. The whole we-have-no-road-map-anymore theory didn’t work for a man who made his living looking for answers. She knew the answer for her. She’d known it the minute she saw him at the theater in Seattle, and probably long before that.
But they’d already failed once, and that failure had marked them, damaged them. “I guess we just see what happens,” she said.
“We’ve never been too good at that sort of thing. You know us. The plan-makers.”
Us.
That was enough for now. It was more than she’d had yesterday.
“We need to be different this time, don’t we?” she said.
“You have changed.”
“Loss will do that to a woman.”
He sighed at the mention of their loss, and she wished she could take the words back. How did you undo years, though? Once, their love had been characterized by hope and joy and passion. They’d been young then, and full of faith. Could two grown people ever really find their way back to that?
“I have to be at work by noon.”
“Call in sick. We could—”
“No.” He pushed away from her and got out of the bed. He stood there, naked, staring down at her through unreadable eyes. “We were always good in bed, Ange. That was never the problem.” He sighed, and in that sound was the reminder of all that had gone wrong between them; he bent down for his clothes.
While he was dressing, she tried to think of what to say to stop him from leaving. But the only words that came to her were: Twice I came into his office and found him crying.
She’d broken his heart. What could she say to him now that would matter? Words were such impermanent things; there and gone on a breath.
“Come back,” she finally said as he walked toward the door. “Sometime. When you’re ready.”
He paused, turned to look at her. “I don’t think I can. Good-bye, Angie.”
And then he was gone.
Angie was distracted at work. Mama noticed her behavior and remarked on it more than once, but Angie knew better than to say anything. Gossip as juicy as I slept with Conlan would burn through the family. She didn’t want to hear sixteen opinions on what had happened, and more important, their fear would taint it. She wanted to hold on to the hope that he’d come back to the cottage sooner or later.
Instead, she focused on more immediate worries. Like the fact that Lauren had missed another shift and hadn’t bothered to call. Angie had left several messages, but none of them had been returned.
“Angela.”
She realized that her mother was speaking to her, and put down the phone. “What, Mama?”
“How long are you going to stand there, staring at the telephone? We have customers waiting.”
“I’m afraid she’s in trouble. Someone needs to help her.”
“She has a mother.”
“But sometimes teenagers don’t tell their parents everything. What if she’s feeling all alone?”
Mama sighed. “Then you will rescue her. But you be careful, Angie.”
It was good advice. Common sense. It had kept Angie away from Lauren’s house for two days. Each day the worry had grown, though, and Angie was beginning to have a bad feeling.
“Tomorrow,” she said firmly.
Every day it was harder to fit into the ordinary world of high school. Lauren felt as if she were an alien, plopped down on this planet without any skills that would allow her to survive. She couldn’t concentrate on her classes, couldn’t keep a conversation going, couldn’t eat without throwing up. Baby … baby … baby ran through her thoughts constantly.
She didn’t belong here anymore. Every moment felt like a lie. She expected the news to break any second and the rumors to start.
There’s Lauren Ribido
poor girl
knocked up
ruined
She didn’t know if her friends would rally around her or cut her loose, and the truth was she didn’t know if she cared. She had nothing in common with them anymore. Who cared about the pop quiz in trig or the scene that Robin and Chris made at the dance? It all felt childish, and though Lauren felt trapped in the gray world that wasn’t yet womanhood but had moved beyond childhood, she knew she’d never really be young again.
Even David treated her differently. He still loved her; she knew that without question, thank God. But sometimes she felt him pull away from her, go off in his own place to think, and she knew that in those away times he was contemplating all that their love had cost him.
He would do the right thing. Whatever the hell that was. But it would cost him Stanford and all the benefits that came from a school like that. Most of all, it would cost him his youth. The same price that she’d already paid.
“Lauren?”
She looked up, surprised to realize that she’d laid her head down. She hadn’t meant to. Now her teacher, Mr. Knightsbridge, was standing by her desk, looking down at her.
“Am I boring you, Lauren?”
A ripple of laughter moved through the room.