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It was still early on this Sunday morning. Few cars were parked in the angled slots, but the church lots were full.
It reminded her of a time, not so long ago, really, when she used to open her bedroom window on the Sabbath, rain or snow. The weather didnt matter. She used to lean out the window and listen to those pealing bells. Shed close her eyes and imagine how it must feel to get dressed up on Sunday and go to church. Her daydream was always the same: She saw a little girl with red hair, wearing a bright green dress, hurrying along behind a beautiful blond woman. Up ahead, a family waited for them.
Come along, Lauren, her imaginary mother always said, smiling gently as she reached out to hold her hand. We dont want to be late.
Lauren hadnt opened that window of hers in a long time. Now when she looked out, all she saw was the broken down building next door and Mrs. Sanchezs dented blue El Camino. Now she had that dream only at night.
The bus slowed, began to ease toward the stop. Lauren looked down at the shopping bag in her lap. She should have called first--that was how it was done in polite homes. You didnt just stop by, even to return something. Unfortunately, she didnt know Angies phone number. And--if she were honest with herself at least-- she needed not to be alone.
"Miracle Mile Road," the bus driver called out.
Lauren lurched to her feet and hurried down the aisle, trying not to knock into anyone, then went down the narrow steps and exited the bus.
The doors wheezed shut behind her, clanged. The bus drove on.
She stood there, clutching the bag to her chest, trying to protect it from the rain that fell like bits of icy glass.
The road stretched out in front of her, bordered on either side by towering cedar trees whose tips reached toward the gray underbelly of clouds. Here and there, mailboxes dotted the roadside, but other than that there were no signs of life. This was the time of year that belonged to the forest itself, a dank dark few weeks in which the hikers who dared to venture into this greenand-black wilderness could be lost until spring.
By the time she reached the driveway, it was raining in earnest--fast, cold, razor cuts hit her cheeks.
The house looked empty. No light came through the windows. Rain played a thumping beat on the roof, splashed in the puddles. Fortunately, Angies car was in the carport.
She went to the door and knocked.
There was noise coming from inside. Music.
She knocked again. With every minute that passed, she lost a little more feeling in her hands. It was freezing out here.
After one last knock, she reached for the doorknob. To her surprise, the knob turned easily. She opened the door.
"Hello?" She stepped inside, closed the door behind her.
There were no lights on. Without sunshine, the room looked a little gloomy.
She noticed a purse on the kitchen counter; a pile of car keys lay beside it on the white Formica.
"Angie?" Lauren took off her shoes and socks and set the bag on the counter beside the purse.
She walked toward the living room, calling out Angies name as she went.
The house was empty.
"Damn it," Lauren muttered. Now shed have to walk all the way back to the bus stop and stand there in the freezing rain. She had no idea how often the number nine bus stopped at that corner.
Oh, well.
As long as she was here, she might as well return the dress to its proper place. She went upstairs.
The steps creaked beneath her weight. She looked back and saw the wet footprints trailing behind her.
Great. Now shed have to clean the floor on her way out.
She stopped at the closed bedroom door and knocked just in case, although there was no way Angie was still asleep at ten-thirty in the morning.
She opened the door.
The room was dark. Heavy floral-print drapery blocked the windows.
Lauren felt around for a light switch, found it, and flicked it up. Light burst from the overhead fixture.
She hurried toward the closet and put the dress away, then stepped back into the bedroom.
Angie was sitting up in bed, frowning at her in a bleary-eyed, confused way. "Lauren?"
Embarrassment rooted her to the spot. Her cheeks burned. "I--uh--Im sorry. I knocked. I thought--"
Angie gave her a tired smile. Her eyes were swollen and rimmed in red, as if shed been crying. Tiny pink lines crisscrossed the upper ridge of her cheeks. Her long dark hair was a mess. All in all, she didnt look good. "Its fine, kiddo. "
"I should leave. "
"No!" Then, more softly: "Id like it if you stayed. " She lifted her chin to indicate the foot of the huge four-poster bed. "Sit. "
"Im all wet. "
Angie shrugged. "Wet dries. "
Lauren looked down at her bare feet. The skin was almost scarlet colored; the blue veins seemed pronounced. She climbed up onto the bed, stretched her legs out, and leaned against the footboard.
Angie tossed her a huge chenille pillow, then tucked an unbelievably soft blanket around her feet. "Tell me about last night. "
The question released something in Lauren. For the first time all day her chest didnt ache. She wanted to launch into every romantic detail but something stopped her. It was the sadness in Angies eyes. "Youve been crying," Lauren said matter-of-factly.
"Im old. This is how I look in the morning. "
"First of all, its ten-thirty. Practically afternoon. Secondly, I know about crying in your sleep. "
Angie dropped her head back against the headboard and stared up at the white tongue-in-groove planked ceiling. It was a while before she spoke. "Sometimes I have bad days. Not often, but . . . you know . . . sometimes. " She sighed again, then looked at Lauren. "Sometimes your life just doesnt turn out the way you dreamed it would. Youre too young to know about that. It doesnt matter, anyway. "
"You think Im too young to understand disappointment?"
Angie looked at her for a long, quiet moment, then said, "No. I dont. But some things arent helped by talking. So tell me about the dance. Ive been dying for details. "
Lauren wished she knew Angie better. If she did, shed know whether to drop the subject or keep it up. What mattered was saying the right thing to this sad, wonderful woman.
"Please," Angie said.
"The dance was perfect," Lauren finally said. "Everyone said I looked great. "
"You did," Angie said, smiling now. It was the real thing, too, not that fake Im-okay smile of before.
It made Lauren feel good, as if shed given Angie something. "The decorations were cool, too. The theme was Winter Wonderland, and there was fake snow everywhere and mirrors that looked like frozen ponds. Oh, and Brad Gaggiany brought this fifth of rum. It was gone in, like, a minute. "
Angie frowned. "Oh, good. "
Lauren wished she hadnt revealed that. Shed gotten wrapped up in the pseudo-girlfriend moment. Shed forgotten she was speaking to an adult. Truthfully, she didnt have enough experience with it. She never talked to her mom about school events. "I hardly drank at all," she lied quickly.
"Im glad to hear that. Drinking can make a girl do things she shouldnt. "
Lauren heard the gentleness of Angies advice. She couldnt help thinking about her own mother and how she would have launched right now into her own regrets, chief among them being motherhood.
"And guess what?" Lauren couldnt wait for Angie to guess. She said, "I was homecoming queen. "
Angie smiled and clapped her hands. "That is so cool. Start talking, missy. I want to know everything. "
For the next hour, they talked about the dance. By eleven-thirty, when it was time to go to the restaurant, Angie was laughing again.
TWELVE
THE PHONES HAD BEEN RINGING OFF THE HOOK ALL day. It was the third Sunday in October, and in the tiny West End Gazette, a full-page ad had run on the front page of the so-called entertainment section.
Rediscove
r Romance @ DeSarias.
The ad had detailed the changes--date night, wine night, happy hour--and included a number of coupons. Fifty percent off a bottle of wine. Free dessert with purchase of an entree. A two-for-one lunch special, Monday through Thursday.
People who had forgotten all about DeSarias were reminded of times gone by, of nights when theyd gone with their parents to the tiny trattoria on Driftwood Way. Most of them, it seemed, picked up the phone to make a reservation. For the first time in as many years as anyone at DeSarias could remember, they were booked solid. The coat donation box was full almost to overflowing. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to take this opportunity to help their neighbors.
"I do not understand," Mama said as she washed the ahi steaks and laid them out on the waxed paper. "There is no way to know how many people will want fish tonight. It is a bad idea, Angela. Too expensive. We should make more cannelloni and lasagna. " Shed said the same thing at least five times in the last hour.
Angie shot a wink at Mira, who was trying not to giggle. "If there were a nuclear war, wed have enough lasagna in the freezer for the whole town, Mama. "
"Do not make fun of war, Angela. Chop the parsley finer, Mira. We do not want our guests to speak with a tree stuck between their front teeth. Smaller. "
Mira laughed and kept chopping the parsley.
Mama set out the parchment paper with exquisite care, then brushed olive oil on the surface. "Mira. Hand me the shallots. "
Angie backed quietly out of the kitchen and returned to the dining room.
Five-fifteen and already they were more than half full. Rosa and Lauren were busy taking orders and pouring water for the guests.
Angie went from table to table, greeting people in the way she remembered her father doing. Hed always snap to attention at every table, straightening napkins, pulling out chairs for the ladies, calling out for "More water!"
She saw people she hadnt seen for years, and each person seemed to have a story to share about her father. Shed forgotten, in the focus of her own familys loss, how big a hole his absence had left in the community. When she was certain that every table was being handled well, she went back into the kitchen.
Mama was a wreck, a whirling dervish of nerves. "Eight fish specials already, and I ruined the first batch. It cooks so fast. The parchment exploded. "
Mira was standing off to the side, chopping tomatoes. Clearly, she was trying to stay invisible.
Angie went to her mother, touched her shoulder. "Take a deep breath, Mama. "
Her mother stopped, puffed her chest out in a heaving sigh, then caved inward. "I am old," she muttered. "Too old for--"
The door banged open. Livvy stood there, dressed in a knee-length pleated black skirt, a white blouse, and black boots. "Well, is it true? Did Mama change the menu?"
"Who called you?" Mira asked, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Mr. Tannen from the hardware store came into the cleaners. Hed heard it from Mr. Garcia, who works at the printers. "
Mama studiously ignored her daughters. Bending forward, she seasoned the fish steaks with salt and pepper, dotted the tops with fresh thyme and parsley and chopped cherry tomatoes. Then she sealed each parchment package and set them on a cookie sheet, which she placed in the oven.
"Its true," Livvy whispered. "What is it?"
"Tonno al cartoccio," Mama said with a sniff. "It is not a big deal. Over there I have halibut. I am making your Papas favorite rombo alle capperi e pomodoro. The tomatoes were very good this week. "
The Things We Do for Love Page 21
