Authors: Kristin Hannah
“Of course,” Mom said. “How could I forget?”
“I told you I was in town for a few weeks. It’s been a month.”
“Oh.” There was a surprising vulnerability in her
mother’s voice. “I knew that. Fun while it lasted and all that.”
“Don’t,” he said softly.
Lauren leaned closer.
“Don’t what?” Mom said.
“I’m no catch, Billie. I’ve done some bad shit in my life. I’ve hurt people. Especially the three women who’ve married me.”
“You think I’m Mother Teresa?”
Lauren heard him cross the room. The mattress pinged beneath his weight. The headboard thumped against the wall.
“You’d be stupid to come with me when I leave town,” he said.
Lauren gasped, heard her mother do the same.
“Are you asking me to come with you?” Mom asked.
“I guess I am.”
“Lauren graduates in June. If you could—”
“I ain’t the waitin’ type, Billie.”
There was a long pause, then her mother said, “It’s too bad, Jake. Maybe we coulda … I don’t know. Made something.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Bad timing.”
Lauren heard him get to his feet and walk toward the door.
She stumbled back into the living room, trying to look as if she’d just gotten home.
Jake came hurrying out of the bedroom. When he saw Lauren, he stopped. Smiled.
It was the first time Lauren had actually seen him. He was tall—maybe six foot three—with long blond hair. He was dressed in biker clothes—worn black leather pants, heavy black boots, and a concho-encrusted black leather coat. His face reminded her of the craggy mountains in the National Forest, rough and harsh. There
was no softness in his face; it was all sharp angles and deep hollows. At his throat, a multicolored tattoo coiled up from the skin beneath his collar. It was a tail. Dragon or snake, probably.
If trouble had a face, this was it.
“Hey, kid,” he said, nodding, already moving past her.
She watched him leave the apartment, then looked back at Mom’s bedroom. She took a few steps toward the door, then paused.
Maybe this wasn’t a good time.
The bedroom door cracked open. Mom came stumbling out of the room, swearing as she brushed past Lauren. “Where are my damn cigarettes?”
“On the coffee table.”
“Thanks. Man, I feel like shit. Too much partying last night.” Mom looked down at a pile of pizza boxes on the counter, smiling when she found her cigarettes. “You’re home early. What gives?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Mom looked up sharply. The cigarette dangled from her mouth, unlit. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
Lauren moved closer. She couldn’t help herself. No matter how often she’d been disappointed in the past, she always believed—or hoped—that
this time
would be different, and right now she longed to be held and comforted, to be told,
It’s okay, honey,
even though she knew it would be a lie. “I’m pregnant,” she said, softer this time.
Mom slapped her across the face. Hard. They both looked stunned by the suddenness of the movement.
Lauren gasped. Her cheek stung like hell, but it was Mom who had tears in her eyes.
“Don’t cry,” Lauren said. “Please.”
Mom stood there, staring at her, that cigarette still dangling from her mouth.
In her pink, low-rise pants and cropped white shirt, she should have looked like a teenager. Instead, she looked like a disappointed old woman. “Didn’t you learn anything from me?” She leaned back against the rough stucco wall.
Lauren went to stand beside her. Their shoulders touched, but neither one reached for the other. Lauren stared dully at the messy kitchen, trying to remember what she’d even hoped her mother would say. “I need your help.”
“Doing what?”
All her life Lauren had felt alone in her mother’s presence, but never more than now. “I don’t know.”
Mom turned to her. The sadness in her makeup-smeared eyes was worse than the slap. “Get rid of it,” she said tiredly. “Don’t let one mistake ruin everything for you.”
“Was that all I ever was? Just your mistake?”
“Look at me. Is this the life you want?”
Lauren swallowed hard, wiped her eyes. “It’s a baby, not … nothing. What if I wanted to keep it? Would you help me?”
“No.”
“No? Just like that, no?”
At last her mother touched her. It was sad and soft and hardly lasted any time at all. “I paid for my mistake. I’m not paying for yours. Trust me on this. Have an abortion. Give yourself a chance in life.”
Are you sure?
The question had kept Angie wide awake last night.
“Damn you, Mira,” she muttered.
“What was that?” Mama said, coming up behind her.
They were in Mama’s kitchen at home now, making pies for Thanksgiving.
“Nothing, Mama.”
“You have been muttering since you got here. I think you have something to say. Put those pecans on neatly, Angela. No one wants to eat a pie that’s a mess.”
“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” Angie tossed the bag of pecans on the counter and went outside. On the deck there was dew everywhere, clinging to the rails and floorboards. The lawn was as thick and soft as a layer of Christmas velvet.
She heard the sliding door open. Close.
Mama came up beside her, stood at her side, looking down at the bare rose garden. “You weren’t talking about the pecans.”
Angie rubbed her eyes and sighed. “I saw Conlan in Seattle.”
“It’s about time you tell me.”
“Mira blabbed, huh?”
“
Shared
is the word I would use. She was worried about you. As I am.”
Angie put her hands on the cold wooden railing and leaned forward. For a second, she thought she heard the ocean in the distance, then she realized that it was a jet flying overhead. She sighed, wanting to ask her mother how she’d gotten to this place in her life, a thirty-eight-year-old single, childless woman. But she knew. She’d let love slip through her fingers. “I feel lost.”
“So what will you do now?”
“I don’t know. Mira asked me the same thing.”
“She has brilliance in her genes, that girl. And?”
“Maybe I’ll call him,” she said, allowing herself to think it for the first time.
“That would work. Of course, if it were me, I’d want to look in his eyes. Only then can you know.”
“He could just walk away.”
Mama looked stunned. “You hear this, Papa? Your Angela is being a coward. This is not the child I know.”
“I’ve taken some hits in the past few years, Mama.” She tried to smile. “I’m not as strong as I used to be.”
“That’s not true. The old Angela was broken by her losses. This new daughter of mine isn’t afraid.”
Angie turned, looked into her mother’s deep, dark eyes. The whole of her life was reflected back at her. She smelled Mama’s Aqua Net hair spray and Tabu perfume. It was comforting suddenly to be standing here on this deck, above this yard, with this woman. It reminded her that however much life changed, a part of it stayed the same.
Family.
It was ironic. She’d run all the way to California to put distance between her and her family. She should have known that such a thing was impossible. This family was in her blood and her bones. They were with her always, even her papa who’d gone away … and yet would always be on this deck on a cold autumn morning.
“I’m glad I came home, Mama. I didn’t even know how much I missed you all.”
Mama smiled. “We knew. Now get those pies in the oven. We have a lot more baking to do.”
The waistband of Lauren’s school uniform was as loose as usual; still, it didn’t fit somehow. She looked at herself in the mirror and tried to tell herself that no one could tell. She felt like Hester Prynne, only the letter was a scarlet P on her stomach.
She washed and dried her hands and left the bathroom.
Classes were just getting out for the day. Students rushed past her in laughing, chattering pods of red-and-black plaid. On the last school day before a holiday, it was always this loud. She lost track of how many kids called out to her. It seemed impossible they couldn’t see how different she was now, how separate.
“Lo!” David called out to her, loping forward, his backpack dragging on the ground beside him. He dropped it when he reached her, pulled her into his arms for a hug.
She clung to him. When she finally drew back, she was trembling.
“Where were you?” he asked, nuzzling her throat.
“Can we go somewhere to talk?”
“You heard, didn’t you? Damn it, I
told
everyone I wanted to surprise you.”
She looked up at him, noticing suddenly how bright
his eyes were, how broad his smile. He looked ready to start laughing at any moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really?” If possible, his smile grew. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along behind him. They ran past the cafeteria and the library, then ducked into a shadowy alcove near the music room. The marching band was practicing. The staccato notes of “Tequila” stuttered onto the cold afternoon air.
He kissed her hard, then drew back, grinning. “Here.”
She stared down at the envelope in his hand. It had been ripped open. The upper edge was tattered. She took it from him and saw the return address.
Stanford University.
She barely breathed as she withdrew the letter and read the first line.
Dear Mr. Haynes: We are pleased to offer you a place of admission …
Tears made it impossible to read the rest.
“Isn’t it great?” he said, taking the letter from her. “Early decision rocks.”
“It’s so early … no one else knows yet.”
“I guess I’m just lucky.”
Lucky. Yeah.
“Wow,” she said, unable to look at him. There was no way she could tell him now.
“This is the beginning, Lauren. You’ll get into USC or Berkeley, and we’ll be on our way. We’ll be together every weekend. And holidays.”
She finally looked up at him. It felt as if miles separated them now, a distance as big as an ocean. Different colleges hardly seemed to matter. “You’re leaving tonight, aren’t you?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded dull, wooden.
“Thanksgiving at Uncle Frederick’s.” He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly, whispering, “It’s only through the weekend. Then we can celebrate.”
She wanted to be happy for him.
Stanford.
It was what he’d dreamed of. “I’m proud of you, David.”
“I love you, Lauren.”
It was true. He loved her. And not in that silly high school I-just-want-to-get-laid way, either.
Yesterday that would have been enough; today she saw things differently.
It was easy to love someone when life was uncomplicated.
Last week Lauren’s biggest fear—and it had seemed Incredible Hulk big—had been not getting in to Stanford. Today that was the least of her worries. Soon, she would have to tell David about the baby, and from that moment on, nothing would be easy. Love least of all.
Somehow Lauren made it through her Wednesday shift at the restaurant. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure how she did it. Her mind was crammed so full, it didn’t seem possible that she could remember a single order, let alone dozens.
“Lauren?”
She turned, found Angie standing there, smiling at her with a worried look in her eyes.
“We want you and your mother to come to Mama’s house for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Oh.” Lauren hoped her longing didn’t show.
Angie moved closer. “We’d really like you to be there.”
All her life she’d waited for an invitation like this. “I …” She couldn’t seem to say no. “My mom isn’t one for parties.”
Unless you’re offering gin and pot.
“If she’s busy, come by yourself. Just think about it. Please? Everyone will get to Mama’s around one o’clock.” Angie handed Lauren a slip of paper. “Here’s the address.
It would mean a lot to us if you were there. You work at DeSaria’s. That makes you family.”
On Thanksgiving, when Lauren woke up, her very first thought was:
You work at DeSaria’s. That makes you family.
For once, she had somewhere to go on this holiday, but how could she go there now, ruined and stupid? Angie would take one look at her and know. Lauren had been dreading that moment from the second she found out she was pregnant.
She was still pacing the apartment at eleven when the phone rang. She answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Lauren? It’s Angie.”
“Oh. Hi.”
“I wondered if you needed a ride today. It looks like it might rain and I know that your mom’s car isn’t running.”
Lauren sighed. It was a sound of pure longing. “No. Thanks.”
“You’ll be here at one o’clock, right?”
The question was asked so softly Lauren couldn’t say no. She wanted it too much. “Sure. One o’clock.” When she hung up, she went to her mom’s room and stood by the door, listening. It was quiet. Finally, she knocked. “Mom?”
There was the pinging of bedsprings, then footsteps. The door opened. Mom stood there, bleary-eyed and ashen-skinned, wearing a knee-length T-shirt that advertised a tavern. The slogan was
Alcoholics serving alcoholics for 89 years.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Thanksgiving, remember? We’re invited to dinner.”
Mom reached sideways for a pack of smokes. Lit one up. “Oh, yeah. Your boss. I thought you weren’t sure.”
“I … I’d like to go.”
Mom glanced behind her—at the man in the bed, no doubt. “I think I’ll hang around here.”
“But—”
“You go. Have a good time. I’m not one for big to-dos, anyway. You know that.”
“They invited both of us. It’ll be embarrassing to show up alone.”
Mom exhaled smoke and smiled. “No more embarrassing than showing up with me.” She looked pointedly at Lauren’s stomach. “Besides, you’re not alone anymore.”
The door closed.
Lauren walked back to her bedroom. By twelve-fifteen, she’d pulled out three outfits and changed her mind on each one. The truth was, she was thankful for the distraction of clothes. It kept her mind occupied, gave her something to think about beside the pregnancy.
Finally, she ran out of time and wore the outfit she had on: a flowing Indian print gauze skirt, a white T-shirt with black lace at the neckline, and the coat Angie had given her. She straightened her hair and brushed it back into a ponytail, then dabbed on a tiny amount of makeup, just enough to give her pale cheeks and even paler eyelashes some color.