Kristin Hannah's Family Matters 4-Book Bundle: Angel Falls, Between Sisters, The Things We Do for Love, Magic Hour

by Hannah, Kristin

  “I’m afraid I can’t do it alone.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Whatever you decide, you’re not alone.”

  The last, short, gray January days dripped into one another. The sky was always bloated with clouds; rain fell in a steady rhythm.

  The citizens of West End gathered beneath the giant eaves of the Congregational Church and in the covered walkways along Driftwood Way; their conversations always came around to the weather. Every day, in every way, they were hoping to see the sun.

  When January came to a close, they pinned their hopes on February.

  On Valentine’s Day, the clouds parted, and though no sun was visible, the rain diminished to a pearlescent mist.

  The restaurant was packed. By seven o’clock, both dining rooms were full and a line of people waited along the windows.

  Everyone was moving at top speed. Lauren, who had been working full-time since graduating, handled double her usual number of tables. Mama and Mira made triple the number of specials, while Angie poured wine and brought bread and bused the empty dishes wherever she could. Even Rosa was in the spirit of things—she carried two plates at a time instead of one.

  The kitchen door banged open. “Angela!” Mama called out. “Artichoke hearts and ricotta.”

  “Right, Mama.” Angie hurried downstairs and grabbed a huge jar of artichoke hearts and a container of fresh ricotta. For the next hour, she ran herself ragged. They were going to need to hire another waitress. Maybe two.

  She was running to check the reservation book when she ran into Livvy. Literally. Angie laughed. “Don’t tell me you came for dinner tonight?”

  “Spend Valentine’s Day at the family restaurant? Not hardly. Sal is working late.”

  “So why are you here?”

  “I heard you were shorthanded.”

  “No. We’re fine. Busy, but fine. Really. You should stay off your feet. Go home and—”

  Someone came up behind Angie, grabbed her shoulders. Before she could turn around, Conlan swept her into his arms and carried her out of the restaurant.

  The last thing Angie heard was her sister saying, “Like I said. Shorthanded.”

  His smile was dazzling as he deposited her in the passenger seat of his car. “Close your eyes.”

  She did as she was told.

  “I like this new Angie. She listens to me.”

  “Only so far, pal.” She laughed. This felt so good. It was cold out, freezing on this February night, but he had the top down anyway and the air stung her face and whipped her hair in a dozen different directions. “We’re at the beach,” she said, smelling it, hearing the roar of the surf.

  He parked, then came around to her side. She heard the trunk whir open and thump shut.

  He picked her up again, carried her forward. She could tell by the heaviness of his steps, the way he started breathing just a little harder, that he was walking in sand.

  “Someone needs to visit a gym more often,” she teased.

  “Says the heavyweight in my arms.”

  He set her down. She heard the snap of a blanket and his curses as he straightened it out. Then he started a fire. The acrid smell tinged the sea air, made her think of every high school beach party she’d ever attended.

  She drew in a deep breath and smelled the whole of her youth. The sand, the sea, the driftwood that was never completely wet or completely dry.

  “Open your eyes.”

  When she did, she was looking up at him.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day, Ange.”

  She leaned up to him. He knelt down to meet her. They kissed like teenagers, with a desperate hunger, and then stretched out on the blanket.

  With a heaven of stars above them and a crackle of firelight beside, they lay there, entwined, kissing and talking and kissing some more. They thought about making love, but it was too damned cold out, and frankly, making out was pretty fun.

  In the blackest part of the night, when the stars were so bright they hurt your eyes and moonlight glowed on the foamy surf, Angie snuggled up alongside him and kissed his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

  “What now?” he asked quietly; the question that was always between them. If she hadn’t been listening for it, the surf would have wiped it away.

  “We don’t have to decide anything, Con. For now, this is enough.” In the weeks since Christmas they’d seen each other now and then and talked on the phone for hours. She’d loved all of it so much, she didn’t want to risk needing more.

  “The old Angie liked to set goals and achieve them. She wasn’t so good at ‘let’s wait and see.’ ”

  “The old Angie was young.” She kissed him, long and hard and with every scrap of love in her heart. When she drew back, she was trembling. In his eyes, she saw a shadow of the old fear, the uncertainty that they could make it a second time when they’d already failed once.

  “We’re acting like a couple of kids.”

  “We were grown-up for too long,” she said. “Just love me, Con. That’s enough for now.”

  His hands slid down her back and slipped under her skirt. “I can do that.”

  She grabbed the blanket and pulled it over them. “Good” was all she managed to say before he kissed her.

  The drizzly February days melted into one another, forming a monotonous gray blur of passing time. It wasn’t until the last night of this shortest month that Angie had the baby dream again. She woke with a start and rolled over in bed, searching in vain for her husband’s strong and comforting presence. Alone, she crawled upright and switched on the bedside lamp, then sat there, with her knees drawn up, as if holding herself could somehow make her arms feel less empty.

  The good news was there were no tear marks on her cheeks. She’d felt like crying, but she hadn’t. Progress, she thought; it came in the tiniest increments when the sun went down.

  It didn’t surprise her that she’d had the dream again. Living with Lauren sometimes churned up the past. There was no way to avoid it, no way to step aside. Especially now; in the past week, the teenager had finally begun to gain weight. There was an almost imperceptible roundness to her waist. A stranger wouldn’t notice it, but to a woman who’d spent so much of her adult life seeking that very thing, it shone like a neon sign. And today they had a doctor’s appointment scheduled; that wouldn’t be easy.

  Angie finally gave up trying to sleep and reached for the pile of work on her nightstand. For the next few hours, she busied herself with payroll and accounts receivable. By the time the gentle sun tapped on her window, she’d found her peace again.

  There would simply be days like this—nights like the one she’d just endured.

  Now and then in the coming months, she would be pulled up short by loss and longing. She’d known that when she offered Lauren a place to live. Some dreams did not go away easily, and undreaming them could last a lifetime. This she knew.

  She threw back the covers and headed for the bathroom. After a long, hot shower, she felt better again. Ready to face the difficult day ahead. And there was no doubt that it would be difficult.

  For Lauren’s sake, she would get through it. She was making her bed when she heard Lauren call out her name.

  Angie went to the bedroom door, opened it, and yelled, “What?”

  “Breakfast is ready.”

  She hurried downstairs and found Lauren in the kitchen, stirring oatmeal.

  “Good morning,” Lauren said brightly.

  “You’re up early.”

  “It’s not early.” Lauren looked up. “Did you have another bad night?”

  “No. No,” Angie answered quickly, wishing she’d never mentioned that sometimes sleep evaded her.

  Lauren smiled, obviously relieved. “Good.” She carried over two bowls of oatmeal and set them on the table, one on each blue placemat, then sat down opposite Angie. “Your mother told me I needed to eat more fiber and taught me how to make oatmeal.”

  Angie doctored her bowl in the DeSa
ria way—brown sugar, maple syrup, raisins, and milk—and tasted it. “Fabulous,” she declared.

  “Of course Mira told me to eat lots of protein and Livvy took me aside and said that carbohydrates would make the baby strong. I guess I’m supposed to eat everything.”

  “That’s my family’s answer to every question in life: Eat more.”

  Lauren laughed. “My doctor’s appointment is at ten o’clock this morning. The bus leaves—”

  “What on earth makes you imagine I’ll let you take a bus to see the doctor?”

  “I know this is hard for you.”

  Angie considered a smart-ass answer, but when she looked into Lauren’s earnest face, she said, “Life is full of hard choices, Lauren. I want to go to the doctor’s with you.”

  After that, their conversation veered back onto familiar, everyday roads. As they stood side by side, washing dishes, they talked about the restaurant, the weather, the schedule for the rest of the week. Lauren told a funny story about her latest date with David, and an even funnier one about Mama.

  By the time they reached the doctor’s office, Angie was tense again.

  She paused at the clinic door, trying not to make this about her.

  Lauren touched her arm. “Do you want to wait in the car?”

  “Absolutely not.” Forcing a smile, however unnatural it felt, she opened the door and stepped into the medicinal-smelling office.

  Memories came at her hard. She’d been in too many rooms like this one, put on too many flimsy gowns and put her feet into too many cold stirrups. For years, it seemed like all she had done …

  She kept moving across the room, one step at a time. At the receptionist’s desk, she held onto the Formica ledge. “Lauren Ribido,” she said.

  The receptionist flipped through the stack of manila-foldered charts and pulled one out. Then she handed a clipboard to Angie. “Here. Fill this out and return it to me.”

  Angie stared down at the familiar form. Start date of your last period … number of previous pregnancies … gone to term … Slowly, she handed it to Lauren.

  “Oh,” the receptionist said, frowning. “I’m sorry. I assumed—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Angie said quickly. She led Lauren over to the bank of chairs along the wall. They sat down side by side.

  Lauren began filling out the form.

  Angie heard the chicken scratch sound of the pen on paper. In some strange way, it calmed her.

  When they called Lauren’s name, Angie almost stood up. Then she thought: No. Lauren had a lot of growing up to do. This was the start of it. Angie could only be here for her afterward.

  The appointment seemed to last forever. It gave Angie time to relax, to regroup. By the time Lauren came out, Angie had regained control. She was able to talk to Lauren about all of it—the symptoms, the aches and pains, the morning sickness, the Lamaze classes.

  On the way home, they stopped at the grocery store for more prenatal vitamins, and then sat down on a bench out front.

  “Why are we sitting out here?” Lauren asked. “It looks like it’s going to rain any minute.”

  “It probably will.”

  “I’m getting cold.”

  “Button your coat.”

  A green minivan pulled up in front of them and parked.

  “It’s about time,” Angie muttered, tossing her paper coffee cup into the trash bin beside the bench.

  The van doors opened all at once. Mira, Mama, and Livvy emerged onto the street. They were all talking at the same time.

  Mama and Livvy went to Lauren. Each taking one of the girl’s arms, they hauled her to her feet.

  “I thought the restaurant was closed today,” Lauren said, frowning.

  Mama stopped. “Angela said you needed some new clothes.”

  A pink blush spread across Lauren’s creamy cheeks. The color seemed to emphasize her freckles. “Oh. I didn’t bring my money.”

  Livvy laughed. “Me, too, Mama. I forgot my wallet. You’ll have to dust off the old credit card. I could use some maternity clothes, too.”

  Mama thwopped the back of Livvy’s head. “Smart aleck. Come on. It’s going to rain.”

  The three of them took off down the street, arm in arm, their voices sounding like a swarm of bees.

  Mira hung back. “So,” she said softly. “Are you going to be okay with this?”

  Angie loved her sister for daring to ask the obvious. “I haven’t been in a maternity shop for a long time.”

  “I know.”

  Angie looked down the street. The ironwork sign for Mother-and-Child hung at an angle above the sidewalk. The last time she’d been inside the store had been with her sisters. Angie had been pregnant then, and smiling had come easily. She turned to Mira. “I’ll be okay,” she said, realizing as she said the words that they contained the truth. It might hurt a bit, might remind her of a few of her harder times, but those feelings were part of who she was, and in the end, it was more hurtful to run away than to face them. “I want to be there for Lauren. She needs me.”

  Mira’s smile was soft and held only the merest worry. “Good for you.”

  “Yeah,” Angie said, smiling, “good for me.”

  Still, she took her sister’s arm and held on to it for support.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Spring came early to West End. A cold, rainy winter set the stage for riotous color. When the sun finally dared to peek through the gray layer of clouds, the landscape changed before your very eyes. Bright purple crocuses came first, popping up through the bleak, hard earth. Then the hillsides turned green, and trees unfurled the splendor of baby leaves. Daffodils bloomed along every roadside, created spots of color amid the runaway salal.

  Lauren bloomed as well. She’d gained almost fifteen pounds already. Any day now she expected her obstetrician to start frowning at the weighing-in debacle. She moved more slowly, too. Sometimes at the restaurant she had to pause outside the kitchen door and catch her breath. Walking from table to table had become an Olympic caliber event.

  And that wasn’t the worst of it. Her feet hurt. She went to the bathroom more often than a beer-drinking alcoholic, and gas seemed to be burning a permanent hole through the middle of her chest. She burped constantly.

  By April she’d begun to face the question: What next?

  She’d been bumping along for the last few months, looking only as far ahead as her next shift at the restaurant or her next date with David. But now—again—he’d asked her the Big Question, and she knew it was time to stop avoiding the obvious.

  “Well?” David said, nudging her.

  They were cuddled close on the sofa, their arms entwined. A fire crackled in the hearth.

  “I don’t know,” she said softly. The three words were beginning to wear out their welcome.

  “My mom said she talked to the lawyer again last week. He has several couples who are dying to raise it.”

  “Not it, David. Our baby.”

  He made a heavy sound. “I know, Lo. Believe me, I know.”

  She lifted her face toward his. “Could you really do it? Just walk away from our baby, I mean?”

  He untangled himself from her and got to his feet. “I don’t know what you want from me, Lauren.” His voice cracked. She realized suddenly that he was near tears.

  She went to him, stood behind him, and put her arms around his waist. She couldn’t get close enough; her belly was so big. The baby kicked her, a featherlight flutter.

  “What kind of parents would we be?” David asked, not turning to look at her. “If we give up college, what will we do? How will we afford—”

  She slipped around to face him. This was one answer she had. “You’re going to Stanford. No matter what.”

  “I’m supposed to just leave,” he said dully.

  Lauren looked up into his watery eyes. She wanted to tell him it would all work out, that their love would always see them through, but she felt too small right now to reach for the words, and the tiny ta
p-tap-tap in her stomach reminded her of how different this moment was for each of them.

  She would lose him if she kept their child.

  Hard choices, Angie had said to her once. How was it that Lauren hadn’t truly understood that until this moment?

  She was going to say something—she wasn’t sure what—when the doorbell rang.

  She sighed heavily, extricating herself from his embrace. “Coming.”

  She opened the door and saw Ernie, the mailman. He held several small packages and a bunch of letters.

  “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” She put the packages on the table by the door and flipped through the letters. One was addressed to her.

  “It’s from USC,” she said, feeling her heart lurch. She’d forgotten about her applications in all the craziness of the past few weeks.

  David moved toward her. He looked as scared and nervous as she felt. “You know you got in,” he said, and she loved him for that confidence.

  She opened the letter and read the words she’d dreamed of. “I did it,” she whispered. “I didn’t think—”

  He pulled her into his arms and held her. “Remember our first date? After the Aberdeen game. We sat down at the beach, by the huge bonfire. While everyone else was running around and dancing and drinking, we talked. You told me you were going to win a Pulitzer someday, and I believed you. You’re the only one who doesn’t see how great you are.”

  The Pulitzer. She couldn’t help touching her swollen belly. Give yourself a chance, her mother had said. Don’t end up like me.

  “What should I do?” she whispered, looking up into David’s blue eyes.

  “Take the scholarship,” he said, and though his words were harsh, there was a softness to his voice.

  It was the right thing to do; she knew that. At least, she knew it in her head. Her heart was a different matter. How could she raise a baby if she had no education, no prospects? Once again she thought of her mother, on her feet, cutting hair all day and drinking all night, looking for love in dark places. She sighed heavily. The truth poked through her defenses, sharp as a tack. She wanted to go to college. It was her chance to be different from her mother. Slowly, she looked up at David again. “The lawyer found good people to take the baby?”