The Things We Do for Love

by Kristin Hannah

Page 12

 

  He picked up the tray and put it on the oversized nightstand to his left. "Youre always worrying about the future. "

  "And you never do. "

  "It wont 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, shed almost forgotten her worries.

  "Lets 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 coats raggedness made her wince, and she knew there were holes in her socks. "I cant 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. Im 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. Thats what I paid for my steering wheel and shift knob. "

  She didnt 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 shouldnt 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, "Ive 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. "

  "Im not like those guys and you know it. "

  "I need us to be different. Dont you see?"

  He touched her face so gently she wanted to cry. "I see that you wont 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.

  "Were going skating and thats it. "

  She wanted to, wanted to lose herself in the coldness, going around and around with nothing to keep her grounded except Davids warm hand. "All right. But I dont have enough clothes. Ill have to stop at home. " She couldnt 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 Laurens living room.

  "Her coats are back there. Pick one. "

  Lauren moved woodenly forward until she was standing in front of Mrs. Hayness coats. There were at least one dozen of them. Leather. Cashmere. Wool. Suede. Not one showed the slightest sign of wear.

  "Pick one and lets go. "

  Lauren couldnt 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. Ill be fine. "

  "You sure?"

  "Of course. Ill just borrow one of your sweaters. Now, lets go. "

  SEVEN

  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 couldnt 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 oclock 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 whod spoken. "Im sorry. Its so busy in here. "

  "A circus. Itll 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 womans desk. "Im 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?"

  "Im home for a while . . . "

  Danas ruddy face creased into Shar-pei-like folds. "We heard about your divorce. "

  Angie struggled to keep smiling. "Of course you did. "

  "Small town. "

  "Very. Anyway, Im working at the restaurant for a while and I thought . . . " She shrugged. "As long as Im 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? Hes living with Kelly Santos now. Bitch. " She smiled, but it was shaky and didnt light her eyes. "This place has helped me. "

  Angie sat back in the chair, feeling strangely boneless. Im one of that group, she thought. The unmarrieds. People would assume things about her because shed 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? Hell 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 tourname
nts, 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.

  Her next thought was: Conlan. And her smile faded. It struck her that there would be lots of moments like this in the coming months. Times when--for a split second, just long enough to hurt--shed forget that she was alone now. She forced herself to smile again, though it felt stretched, unnatural.

  That was when she saw the girl. She walked through the front door, looking like a drowned puppy, dripping water from her nose, her hair, her hemline. Her long, soaking wet hair was red, although the exact hue was impossible to tell. Her skin was Nicole Kidman pale and her eyes were a deep and impenetrable brown; too big for her face, they made her look impossibly young. Freckles dotted her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

  It was the girl from the parking lot; the one whod been posting Work Wanted flyers on windshields.

  The girl paused at the door. She tightened her coat around her, but the thing was so ragged it was a useless gesture. The coat was too small and frayed at the sleeves. She went to the reception desk.

  Dana looked up, smiled, said something.

  Angie couldnt help herself. She eased to her feet and moved within earshot.

  "I read about the coat drive," the girl said, crossing her arms and shivering just a little.

  "We started collecting just last week. Youll need to give us your name and number. Well call you when your size comes in. "

  "Its for my mother," the girl said. "Shes a size small. "

  Dana tapped the pen against her chin and studied the girl. "What about a coat for you? That one seems . . . "

  The girl laughed; it sounded sharp. Nervous. "Im fine. " She bent forward and wrote something on a piece of paper, then shoved it across the desk. "Im Lauren Ribido. Theres my number. Just call me when one comes in. Thanks. " She made a beeline for the door.

  Angie stood there, unmoving, staring at the closed door. Her heart was beating too quickly.

  Go after her.

  The idea came to her full-blown, startling her with its intensity.

  It was a crazy idea. Why?

  She didnt know, had no answer. All she knew was that she felt . . . connected to that poor teenage girl who was in need of a coat and yet requested one for her mother. She got up, took a step forward, then another. Before she knew it, she was outside.

  Rain hammered the grass into submission, collected in brown puddles at the slightest indentation in the ground. The fire-red hedge that outlined the lot glistened with moisture and shook with wind.

  Down at the end of the road, the girl was running.

  Angie got into her car, turned on the lights and wipers, and backed out of the parking lot. As she drove down the bumpy street, her headlights illuminating the girls figure, she wondered what the hell she was doing.

  Stalking, her practical self said.

  Helping, the dreamer responded.

  She came to the corner and slowed. Stopped. She was just about to roll down the window and offer the girl a ride (no smart girl would say yes to that), when a number seven bus pulled up and parked. Its brakes wheezed; the doors clattered open. The girl bounded up the stairs and disappeared.