“We … uh … didn’t technically expel Lauren. I merely suggested that girls could be cruel to a girl in her kind of trouble.” She frowned. “I didn’t know about your husband.” She started looking through Lauren’s file.
Angie looked at Lauren. “You worried about the girls being mean to you?”
Lauren shook her head. If she had a voice, she couldn’t find it.
Angie turned back to the counselor. “It was kind of you to think of Lauren’s feelings on this, but as you can see, she’s a tough kid.”
Mrs. Detlas slowly closed Lauren’s folder. Then she said, “I suppose she could finish the semester here and take the finals. There’s only six weeks left in the term, and Christmas break cuts in the middle of it. She could take her finals in January and graduate early, but I really believe—”
Angie stood up. “Thank you, Mrs. Detlas. Lauren will graduate from Fircrest, which is as it should be.”
“You’re welcome,” Mrs. Detlas said, obviously irritated.
“I’m sure you’ll make every effort to help her. And I’ll be sure and tell my uncle how well it all turned out for Lauren.”
“Your uncle?”
“Oh, did I forget to mention that?” She looked right at the counselor. “Cardinal Lanza is my mother’s brother.”
Mrs. Detlas seemed to shrink into her chair. “Oh” was how she answered, but it could hardly be heard at all.
“Let’s go, Lauren,” Angie said, heading for the door.
Lauren stumbled along beside her. “That was amazing,” she said when they got outside.
“And fun. The old bat needed a wake-up call.”
“How did you know what to say?”
“Life, honey. It all comes in handy.”
Lauren smiled. She felt great. Better than great. No one had ever fought for her like that, and the effort strengthened her, made her feel invincible. With Angie on her side, she could do anything.
Even attend classes when she knew people would be staring and talking.
Angie grinned. “I just hope there is a Cardinal Lanza.”
At that, they both burst into laughter.
Angie stood at the corner, watching Lauren walk across campus. She held herself back from shouting: “Bye, honey. Have a good day at school. I’ll be here at six to pick you up.” She was still young enough to know that such a scene would be the height of uncool. And poor Lauren didn’t need any extra attention to come her way. Pregnant in private school was tough enough. A geek wannabe mother might push her over the edge.
Lauren paused at the big building’s double door. Turning slightly, she waved at Angie, then disappeared inside.
Angie’s chest felt tight. “You little witches better be nice to my girl,” she said. Closing her eyes, she said a prayer for Lauren, then she got into the car.
As she was driving home, trying not to imagine the firestorm of gossip at Fircrest Academy, she considered going back, parking by the flagpole, just in case. What if Lauren came out crying, broken by the kinds of petty cruelty that only teenage girls could inflict? She would need Angie …
“No,” she said aloud, taking charge of her negative fantasies. Lauren had to get through this day on her own. There was no other way. The road she’d found herself on was dark and scary; there was no way out except straight through.
The bleating ring of her cell phone saved her. She dug into her purse and found it, answering on the third ring.
“Angie?”
She hadn’t realized until just then, when she drew in a sharp breath, that she’d been waiting for this. “Hey, Con,” she said, trying to sound casual. To be safe, she pulled off to the side of the road. Her heart was going a mile a minute.
“I’ve been thinking about the other night.”
Me, too.
“We need to talk.” “That’s been true for years,” she said. “Do you want to come down to the cottage?” The minute the invitation slipped out, she thought: Lauren.
He would not be happy about the situation.
“Not today, I’m busy,” he said. “Maybe …” His voice trailed into the dark woods of uncertainty. He was reconsidering; she could tell.
“It’s Monday. The restaurant’s closed. I could come up and buy you lunch.”
“Lunch?”
“It’s a meal. Often characterized by sandwiches and soups.” Her joke fell flat. “Come on, Con. You need to eat lunch.”
“How about Al Boccalino?”
“I can be there by eleven-thirty.” She flicked her turn signal and eased back onto the road.
“See you then. Bye,” he said.
“Bye.” Angie wanted to smile, but all she could think about was the girl living under her roof. Conlan would not take this news well.
She made it to downtown Seattle in record time, parked the car, and headed for the restaurant.
Their restaurant.
At least, it had been once.
She was four blocks away when it started to pour. Raindrops the size of golf balls battered the sidewalk in front of her, formed rushing silver rivers along the curb. She popped open her umbrella and headed for Pioneer Square. In the park, dozens of homeless people huddled in pods, passing cigarettes back and forth, trying to keep dry.