Authors: Kristin Hannah
Frankly, this whole table-waiting handicap came as a shock. “It’s humiliating.”
Mira looked up from the napkins. “Don’t worry. Rosa hardly ever calls in sick. Usually she can handle the so-called crowd. And you’ll get better.”
“I know, but …” Angie looked down at her hands. Two bright pink burn spots marred her skin. Fortunately, she’d spilled the hot sauce on herself and not on Mrs. Guiliani. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
Mira folded the thick white napkin into a swan and pushed it across the table.
Angie was reminded of the night Papa had taught her how to turn a plain square of fabric into this bird. When she looked up and saw her sister’s smile, she knew the reminder had been intentional.
“It took Livvy and me weeks to learn how to do that. We sat on the floor by Papa, trying to copy his every
move so he would smile at us and say
Good job, my princesses.
We thought we were doing so well … then you joined us and learned how to fold it in three tries.
This one,
Papa said, kissing your cheek,
can do anything.
”
The memory should have made her smile, but this time she saw more. “That must have been tough on you and Livvy.”
Mira waved off the concern. “That wasn’t my point. This place—DeSaria’s—it’s in your blood, just as it’s in ours. Not being a part of it for all those years doesn’t change who you are. You’re one of us, and you can do whatever needs to be done. Papa believed in you and so do I.”
“I’m afraid.”
Mira smiled gently. “That’s not you.”
Angie turned her head and stared through the window at the empty street. Leaves fell to the ground, skittered across the rough cement sidewalk. “It’s who I’ve become.” She hated to admit it.
Mira leaned forward. “Can I be honest?”
“Absolutely not.” Angie tried to laugh, but when she looked at her sister’s earnest face, she couldn’t do it.
“You’ve gotten … self-centered in the last few years. I don’t mean selfish. Wanting a baby and then losing Sophie … It made you … quiet. Alone somehow.”
Alone somehow.
It was true.
“I felt as if I were hanging on by a thread and there was a huge hole beneath me.”
“Then you fell anyway.”
She thought about that. She’d lost her daughter, her father, and her husband in the same year. That was certainly the fall she’d been afraid of. “Sometimes I think I’m still falling. At night it’s especially bad.”
“Maybe it’s time to look outward.”
“I have the restaurant. I’m trying.”
“What about all the hours when we’re closed?”
Angie swallowed. “It’s hard,” she admitted. “I try to study and make notes.”
“A job can’t be enough.”
Angie wished she could argue with the veracity of the statement, but she’d learned the truth of it long ago, when she’d loved her job and longed for a baby. “No.”
“Maybe it’s time to reach out to someone else in need.”
Angie thought about that. The first image that popped into her mind was of the teenager she’d seen in the Safeway parking lot. Angie had been helped by helping the girl. That night, she’d slept through until morning.
Maybe that was the answer. Helping someone else.
She felt herself start to smile. “My Mondays are free.”
Mira smiled back. “And most of your mornings.”
For the first time ever, Lauren woke up feeling completely safe. David’s arms were around her, holding her close, even in sleep.
She reveled in the feel of it, smiling, imagining a married life that would always be this way.
She lay there a long time, watching him sleep. Finally, she eased away from him and rolled out of bed. She’d make him breakfast and serve it to him in bed.
At his chest of drawers, she paused and opened the top drawer. Finding a long T-shirt, she put it on and went downstairs.
The kitchen was amazing—all granite and stainless steel and mirrored surfaces. The pots and pans shone silver in the light. She scouted through the cupboards and the refrigerator, finding everything she needed to make scrambled eggs, bacon, and pancakes. When breakfast
was ready, she put it all on a beautiful wooden tray and carried it upstairs.
She found David sitting up in bed, yawning. “There you are,” he said, grinning at her entrance. “I was worried.…”
“Like I’d ever leave you.” She crawled up into bed beside him and settled the tray between them.
“This looks great,” he said, kissing her cheek.
As they ate breakfast, they talked about ordinary things: the upcoming SAT test, football, school gossip. David talked about the Porsche that he and his father were restoring. It was the only thing he and his dad did together, and so David obsessed about the car. He loved the hours they spent in the garage. In truth, he talked about it so often she hardly listened anymore. He launched into something about gear ratios and speed off the line, and she found her interest waning.
She glanced out the window. Sunlight flooded the glass, and suddenly she was thinking about California and their future. She’d lost track of how often she’d organized her college brochures based on scholarship feasibility. By her calculations, her best shot at a full ride was at private colleges. Of these, her favorite was the University of Southern California. It combined world-class athletics with top-drawer academics.
Unfortunately, it was almost an eight-hour drive from Stanford.
Somehow she
had
to convince David to consider USC. The second alternative was for her to choose Santa Clara. But truthfully, she’d had enough of Catholic school.
“… totally tight. Perfect leather. Lauren? Are you listening?”
She turned to him. “Of course. You were talking about the gear ratio.”
He laughed. “Yeah, about an hour ago. I knew you weren’t listening.”
She felt her cheeks heat up. “I’m sorry. I was thinking about college.”
He picked up the tray and put it on the oversized nightstand to his left. “You’re always worrying about the future.”
“And you never do.”
“It won’t help.”
Before she could answer, he leaned over and kissed her. All thoughts of college and their uncertain future disappeared. She lost herself in his kiss, in his arms.
Hours later, when they finally pushed the blankets back and got out of bed, she’d almost forgotten her worries.
“Let’s go ice-skating over in Longview,” he said, burrowing through his drawers for the shirt he wanted to wear.
Ordinarily she loved it when they went ice-skating. She glanced down at her pile of clothes. Her coat’s raggedness made her wince, and she knew there were holes in her socks. “I can’t go today. I need to find a job.”
“On Saturday?”
She looked up at him. Just then, it felt as if so much more than a few feet of floor separated them. “I know it sucks, but what can I do?”
David moved toward her. “How much?”
“How much what?”
“Your rent. How behind is she?”
Lauren felt her cheeks flush. “I never said—”
“You never do. I’m not stupid, Lo. How much do you owe?”
She wished the ground would open up and swallow her. “Two hundred. But Monday is the first.”
“Two hundred. That’s what I paid for my steering wheel and shift knob.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. For him, that amount of money was pocket change. She broke eye contact and bent down for her clothes.
“Let me—”
“No,” she said, not daring to look at him. Tears burned her eyes. Her shame was almost overwhelming. It shouldn’t be, she knew. He loved her; he told her that all the time, but still.
“Why not?”
She slowly straightened. Finally looked at him. “All my life,” she said, “I’ve watched my mom take money from men. It starts out as nothing. Beer or cigarette money. Then fifty bucks for a new dress or one hundred to pay the electric bill. It … changes things, that money.”
“I’m not like those guys and you know it.”
“I
need
us to be different. Don’t you see?”
He touched her face so gently she wanted to cry. “I see that you won’t let me help you.”
How could she explain it to him, that helping her would be a river that would suck them under? “Just love me,” she whispered, putting her arms around him and holding on tightly.
He pulled her off her feet, kissed her until she was dizzy and smiling again.
“We’re going skating and that’s it.”
She wanted to, wanted to lose herself in the coldness, going around and around with nothing to keep her grounded except David’s warm hand. “All right. But I don’t have enough clothes. I’ll have to stop at home.” She couldn’t help smiling. It felt good to give in, to take the day off from her troubles.
He took her hand and led her out of his bedroom and down the hallway toward his parents’ bedroom.
“David, what are you doing?” She followed him, frowning.
He opened the door and went to the closet, opening that door as well. A light automatically came on.
The closet was bigger than Lauren’s living room.
“Her coats are back there. Pick one.”
Lauren moved woodenly forward until she was standing in front of Mrs. Haynes’s coats. There were at least one dozen of them. Leather. Cashmere. Wool. Suede. Not one showed the slightest sign of wear.
“Pick one and let’s go.”
Lauren couldn’t seem to move. Her heart was beating too quickly; it made her slightly breathless. She felt vulnerable suddenly, laid bare by her neediness. She backed away, turned to David. If he noticed how bright her eyes were or how brittle her smile, he gave no indication. “I just remembered. I did bring my coat. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“Of course. I’ll just borrow one of your sweaters. Now, let’s go.”
Angie followed the coast road to the edge of town. On her left, the Pacific Ocean seemed to be gearing up for an autumn storm. White surf battered the cement-colored sand, sent trees sprawling onto land. The sky was an ominous gunmetal gray, and wind whistled through the branches along the shore and clattered against her windshield. The rain was so heavy she had her wipers set on high, and still they couldn’t keep up.
At Azalea Lane, she turned left and found herself on a small, narrow street that once had been paved. Now the potholes seemed to come more often than the asphalt. Her car wobbled down the uneven road like a drunkard.
Help-Your-Neighbor House was at the very end of this dilapidated street, in a pale blue Victorian house that stood in sharp contrast to the faded mobile homes that made up the rest of the neighborhood. While most of the other fences had
Beware of Dog
signs out front, here it simply said
Welcome.
She pulled into the gravel parking lot, surprised to find a crowd of cars and trucks already there. It was not yet ten o’clock on a Sunday morning, yet the place was busy.
She parked next to a battered red pickup with blue doors and a gun rack in the window. Collecting her
donation—canned goods, some toiletries, and several turkey gift certificates from the local grocery store—she followed the gravel path up to the brightly painted front door. A ceramic gnome grinned up at her from the corner of the porch.
Smiling, she opened the door and stepped into pandemonium.
The entire downstairs of the house was full of people talking and moving around. Several children were clustered together by the window, playing with Legos. Women with tired faces and ragged smiles sat along the wall, filling out forms on clipboards. In the far corner, a pair of men were unloading canned goods from boxes on the floor.
“May I help you?”
It took Angie a moment to realize that she was being addressed. When it sunk in, she smiled at the woman who’d spoken. “I’m sorry. It’s so busy in here.”
“A circus. It’ll be like this through the holidays. We hope, anyway.” She frowned at Angie, tapping a pen against her chin. “You look familiar.”
“Hometown girls usually do.” She stepped around the toys on the floor and took a seat opposite the woman’s desk. “I’m Angie Malone. Used to be DeSaria.”
The woman thumped her hand on the desk, rattling the fishbowl. “Of course. I graduated with Mira. Dana Herter.” She offered her hand.
Angie shook it.
“What can we do for you?”
“I’m home for a while …”
Dana’s ruddy face creased into Sharpei-like folds. “We heard about your divorce.”
Angie struggled to keep smiling. “Of course you did.”
“Small town.”
“Very. Anyway, I’m working at the restaurant for a
while and I thought …” She shrugged. “As long as I’m here, maybe it would be good to do some volunteer work.”
Dana nodded. “I started here when Doug left me. Doug Rhymer? Remember him? JV wrestling captain? He’s living with Kelly Santos now. Bitch.” She smiled, but it was shaky and didn’t light her eyes. “This place has helped me.”
Angie sat back in the chair, feeling strangely boneless.
I’m one of that group,
she thought. The unmarrieds. People would assume things about her because she’d failed at marriage. How had she not realized this? “What can I do to help?”
“Lots of things. Here.” Dana reached into the drawer of her desk and pulled out a two-color brochure. “This outlines our services. Read it and see what appeals to you.”
Angie took the brochure and flipped it open. She had just started to read when Dana said, “Could you go give your donations to Ted—over there? He’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”
“Oh. Sure.” Angie carried her box of donations over to the two men, who took them with a smile and went back to work. She headed back to the lobby and sat down on one of the molded plastic seats in the makeshift waiting area.
She flipped through the brochure, reading about the services offered. Family counseling. A parent and child center. A domestic violence treatment program. A food bank. There was a list of fund-raising events—golf tournaments, silent auctions, bicycle races, dance marathons.
Every day the generous citizens of our community stop by with donations of food, money, clothing, or time. In this way we help ourselves and one another.
Angie felt a shiver of something move through her just
then. When she realized that it was hope, she looked up, smiling, wishing there was someone she could tell.