“And you’ll be waiting.” Mrs. Mauk made the words sound pathetically sad.
What could Lauren say to that? All of her life, she’d been waiting for her mother’s love. There was no way she could simply put her hope aside. It was a part of her, that faith, as ingrained as the beat of her heart or the flutter of her pulse. But it didn’t hurt as much anymore; the sense of her loss was duller, almost distant.
She glanced down at Angie again, who was waiting to take her home.
Home.
Then she looked at Mrs. Mauk and said, “I’m okay now.”
“You’re a good kid, Lauren. I’ll think good thoughts.”
“Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“I hope not, Lauren. Once you’re out of this part of town, you stay out. But I’ll be here if you ever need me.” With a last smile, Mrs. Mauk said good-bye.
In the hallway, Lauren grabbed her suitcase off the floor and hurried outside and down the steps.
“You want me to get the rest of it?” Angie asked, moving toward her.
“This is everything,” Lauren said, patting the suitcase.
“Oh.” Angie stopped. The merest of frowns darted across her brow, then she said, “Well, then. We’re off.”
On the drive through town and along the beach and up the hill, Lauren stared out the window, saying nothing. Every now and then the moonlight hit just right and she found herself staring into her own reflection. She couldn’t help but see a smiling girl with sad eyes. She wondered if they’d always be sad now, always see the chances she’d lost. That had certainly happened to her mother.
She cast a sideways glance at Angie, who was humming along with the radio. Probably she didn’t know what to say either.
Lauren closed her eyes. She tried to imagine her life with Angie as her mother. Everything would have been softer, sweeter. Angie would never slap her pregnant daughter or run out on her in the middle of the night or …
“Here we are. Home sweet home.”
Lauren’s eyes popped open. Maybe she’d fallen asleep for a minute there. It all felt like a dream, that was for sure.
Angie parked next to the house and got out. All the way to the front door and into the house, she talked over her shoulder to Lauren, who hurried along, dragging her suitcase.
“… oven’s about twenty degrees hotter than the indicator. No microwave. Sorry. These rusty old pipes …”
Lauren tried to take it all in. Besides the information Angie was giving her, she noticed a few other things. The windows needed to be washed, for instance, and there was a rip on the sofa’s arm. These were jobs Lauren could do to help out.
Angie kept talking as they went upstairs. “… great water pressure. I recommend lashing yourself down or you’ll fly out of the shower. The pipes ping a little at first, and definitely don’t flush the toilet just before your shower.” She stopped, turned. “It’s okay to share a bathroom, isn’t it? If not—”
“It’s fine,” Lauren said quickly.
Angie smiled. “I thought so. Good. Well, here’s your room. All of us girls used to sleep here.” She opened the door at the end of the hall.
It was a big, beautiful room with a steeply sloped ceiling and timber beams. Pink wallpaper—tiny rosebuds and vines—covered the walls. Matching bedspreads were on the two sets of bunk beds. A small oak writing desk was tucked in one corner; to its left three expansive rectangular windows looked out over the ocean. Tonight moonlight tarnished the silvery waves. “Wow,” Lauren said.
“The sheets haven’t been washed in a while. I can do that now—”
“No.” Lauren sounded harsh. She hadn’t meant to. It was just … overwhelming. “I can do my own sheets.”
“Of course. You’re an adult. I didn’t mean to imply that you didn’t know how to do laundry. It’s just that—”
Lauren dropped the suitcase and ran to Angie, throwing her arms around her. “Thank you,” she said, burying her face in the warm, sweet crook of Angie’s neck.
Slowly, Angie hugged her back. When Lauren felt herself start to cry, she tried to pull back, but Angie wouldn’t let her. Instead, she stroked Lauren’s hair, murmured that it would be okay. Over and over, It’s okay now, Lauren. It’s okay.
All of her life Lauren had waited for a moment like this.
“WHAT?”
The word was spoken in unison. Shouted, actually.
Angie fought the urge to step back. “Lauren moved in with me.”
Her sisters and Mama stood in a line in Mama’s kitchen. They were staring at Angie.
“This is you being careful with the girl?” Mama demanded, slamming her hands on her hips.
“I think it’s great,” Livvy said. “They’ll be good for each other.”
Mama waved her hand impatiently. “Be quiet. Your sister isn’t thinking straight.” She took a step forward. “You just don’t go around inviting redheaded strangers into your home.”
“She’s hardly a stranger,” Livvy said. “She’s been working in the restaurant. She’s good, too.”