Angie eased past her and went inside.
Lauren stumbled along beside her. It was impossible not to see the place through Angie’s eyes. Tawdry stucco walls stained from years of chain smoking; cloudy windows that revealed no view except the brick building next door. She couldn’t possibly offer Angie a seat. “You … uh … want a Coke?” she offered nervously, moving from foot to foot. When she realized what she was doing—practically dancing the macarena, for heaven’s sake—she forced herself to stand still.
To Lauren’s utter amazement, Angie sat down on the broken sofa. Not one of those I’m-worried-about-ruining-my-clothes perches either. She sat. “I don’t need a Coke, but thanks.”
“About my job …”
“Yes?”
“I should have called.”
“Yes, you should have. Why didn’t you?”
Lauren twisted her hands together. “It’s been a bad week for me.”
“Sit down, Lauren.”
She didn’t dare get too close to Angie. She was afraid one touch would make her cry. So she grabbed a chair from the dinette set and dragged it into the living room, then sat down.
“I thought we were friends,” Angie said.
“We are.”
“You’re in some kind of trouble, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“What can I do to help?”
That was all it took. Lauren burst into tears. “N-nothing. It’s too late.”
Angie left the sofa and went to Lauren, taking her in her arms and pulling her up from the chair. Lauren’s sobs grew louder. Angie stroked her back and hair, said, “It’ll be okay,” about a dozen times.
“No, it won’t,” Lauren said miserably when the tears eased. “My mom dumped me.”
“Dumped you?”
“She ran off with a guy named Jake Morrow.”
“Oh, honey. She’ll be back—”
“No,” Lauren said quietly. The surprising thing was how much it hurt to admit. After all the years of knowing how little her mother loved her, still it wounded her. “And Mrs. Mauk says I can’t stay here. How am I supposed to earn enough money to pay for my own apartment?” She looked down at the floor, then slowly up at Angie. “That’s not even the worst of it.”
“There’s something worse than that?”
Lauren took a deep breath. She hated to say these words to Angie, but what choice did she have? “I’m pregnant.”
TWENTY-THREE
God help her, Angie’s first reaction was envy. It stung her heart; she felt its poison begin to spread.
“Nine weeks,” Lauren said, looking miserable, and young.
So desperately, impossibly young.
Angie pushed her feelings aside. There would be time, late at night, she supposed, when she was vulnerable and lonely, to think about why the world was sometimes so unfair. She scooted backward and sat on the coffee table. She needed some distance between them. Lauren’s pain was so palpable, Angie wanted to make it go away, but this wasn’t one of those times. A hug wouldn’t do it.
She stared at Lauren. The girl’s red hair was a tangled mess, her round, puffy cheeks were paler than usual, and her brown eyes were steeped in sadness.
If ever a girl was in need of mothering …
No.
“Did you tell your mother?” Angie asked.
“That’s why she left. She said she raised one mistake and wouldn’t do it again.”
Angie sighed. It had, over the years of her infertility and losses, occurred to her often that motherhood was too random. Too many women that shouldn’t raise a child were granted that gift, while others lived with arms that felt empty.
“I tried to have an abortion.”
“Tried?”
“I thought I’d just take care of the problem, you know? Be mature. But I couldn’t do it.”
“You should have come to me, Lauren.”
“How could I come to you with this? I knew it would hurt you. And I didn’t want you looking at me the way you are.”
“How’s that?”
“Like I’m stupid.”
Angie was drawn forward in spite of her best intentions. She tucked a stringy lock of hair behind Lauren’s ear. “I’m not looking at you like that. I’m sad and scared for you, that’s all.”
Lauren’s eyes filled slowly with tears. “I don’t know what to do. David says he’ll bag Stanford and marry me, but it won’t work. He’d start to hate me. I don’t think I could stand that.”
Angie wished there were some string of magic words that would ease this poor child’s heart, but sometimes life backed you into a corner and there was no easy way out.
Lauren wiped her eyes, sniffed, and sat up straighter. “I don’t mean to dump all this on you. I’m just scared. I don’t know what to do, and now I have to find a new place to live.”
“It’s okay, Lauren. Take a deep breath.” Angie looked at her. “What do you want to do?”
“Go back to October and use a condom.”