HE HIGH SCHOOL CAMPUS WAS BUZZING WITH TALK today. It was the third week of November and the college admission application process was in high gear. Everyone was obsessed with college. It was in every conversation. Lauren had filled out all her financial aid and scholarship paperwork, gotten all her transcripts together, and written all her essays. And miracle of miracles, Angie had gotten her a recommendation from Dr. Layton at USC. She was beginning to believe she had a real shot at a scholarship.

"Did you hear about Andrew Wanamaker? His grandpa got him into Yale. Early decisions aren't even out yet and he knows." Kim Heltne leaned back against a tree, sighing. "If I don't get into Swarthmore, my dad will crap. He doesn't care that I hate snow."

They were all sitting in the quad, eating lunch, the "gang" who'd been best friends since freshman year.

"I'd kill for Swarthmore," Jared said, rubbing Kim's back. "I'm supposed to go to Stone Hill. Another private Catholic school. I'm afraid I'll go postal."

Lauren lay back, rested her head in David's lap. For once, the sun was shining and the grass was thick and dry. Even though it was cold out, the sun warmed her cheeks.

"It's Mom's alma mater for me," Susan said. "Yippee. William and Mary, here I come. This high school is bigger than the college."

"How's it going for you, Lauren? Any word on scholarships?" Kim asked.

Lauren shrugged. "I keep filling out the paperwork. One more why-I-deserve-it essay and I might scream."

"She'll get a full ride," David said. "Hell, she's the smartest kid in the school."

Lauren heard the pride in David's voice as he said it; normally that would have made her smile, but now, as she stared up at his chin, all she could think about was their future. He'd applied to Stanford, and it was a foregone conclusion that he'd be accepted. The thought of being separated from him chilled her more than the November weather, and he didn't seem to worry about it at all. He was sure of their love. How did a person come by that kind of certainty?

Kim opened her pop. It snapped and hissed. "I can't wait to be done with all this application crap."

Lauren closed her eyes. The conversation swirled around her, but she didn't join in.

She wasn't sure why, but suddenly she was on edge. Maybe it was the weather: cold and clear. Storms followed days like this, when the sky was scrubbed clean by clouds that raced from west to east. Or maybe it was the college talk. All she knew was that something was not right.

A FINE SILVER MIST CLUNG TO THE MORNING-WET grass. Angie sat on the back porch, drinking her coffee and staring out to sea. The rhythmic whoosh-whoosh of the waves seemed as familiar and constant as the beating of her own heart.

Here was the soundtrack of her youth. The rumbling roar of the tides, the sound of raindrops hitting rhododendron leaves, the creaking whine of her rocking chair on the weathered porch floor.

The only thing missing was the sound of voices; children yelling at one another and giggling. She turned to say something to her husband, realizing a second too late that she was alone.

She got up slowly, went back inside for more coffee. She was just reaching for the pot when there was a knock on the door.

"Coming." She went to the door, answered it.

Her mother stood on the porch, wearing an ankle-length flannel nightgown and green rubber gardening clogs. "He wants me to go."

Angie frowned, shook her head. It looked as if Mama had been crying. "Come in out of the rain, Mama." She put an arm around her mother, led her to a place on the sofa. "Now, what's going on?"

Mama reached into her pocket, pulled out a rumpled white envelope. "He wants me to go."

"Who?" Angie took the envelope.

"Papa."

She opened it. Inside were two tickets to The Phantom of the Opera. Mama and Papa had always had seats at the Fifth Avenue Theater in downtown Seattle. It had been one of her father's rare indulgences.

"I was going to just let the date go past. I missed The Producers in July." Mama sighed, her shoulders caving downward. "But Papa thinks you and I should go."

Angie closed her eyes for a moment, seeing her father dressed in his best black suit, heading for the door. He'd adored musicals most of all, had always come home from them singing. West Side Story had been his favorite, of course. Tony and Maria.

That's your mama and me, he always said, except we love each other forever, eh, Maria?

She slowly opened her eyes; saw the same play of bittersweet memories on her mother's face.

"It's a good idea," Angie said. "We'll make a night of it. Dinner at Palisades and a room at the Fairmont Olympic. It'll be good for us."

"Thank you," Mama said, her voice cracking. "That is what your papa said."

THE NEXT MORNING, LAUREN GOT UP EARLY AND MADE herself breakfast, but when she stared down at the eggs on her plate, the thought of eating that runny pile of yellow goo was more than she could bear. She pushed the plate away so fast the fork fell off and clanged on the Formica table. For a second, she thought she was going to throw up.

"What's wrong with you?"

Startled, she looked up. Mom stood in the doorway, dressed in an obnoxiously short pink denim skirt and an old Black Sabbath T-shirt. The dark circles under her eyes were the size of Samsonites. She was smoking a cigarette.

"Gee, Mom. It's nice to see you again. I thought you'd died in your bedroom. Where's Prince Charming?"

Mom leaned against the doorway. There was a dreamy, self-satisfied smile on her face. "This one is different."

Lauren wanted to say As in different species? But she held back. She was in a crappy, irritable mood. It wouldn't do any good to tangle with her mother. "You always say that. Jerry Eckstrand was different, all right. And that guy who drove the VW bus--what was his name? Dirk? He was definitely different."

"You're being a bitch." Mom took a long drag on her cigarette. As she exhaled, she nibbled on her thumbnail. "Are you having your period?"

"No, but we're behind in the rent again and you seem to have retired."

"Not that it's any of your business, but I might be falling in love."

"The last time you said that, his name was Snake. God knows you can never go wrong with a guy named after a reptile. You pretty much know what you're getting."

"There is definitely something wrong with you." Mom crossed the room and sat down on the sofa. She put her feet up on the coffee table. "I really think this guy might be The One, Lo."

Lauren thought she heard a crack in her mother's voice, but that wasn't possible. Men had always drifted in and out of her mother's life. Mostly out. She'd fallen in love with dozens of them. They never stuck around for long.

"I was havin' drinks with Phoebe, and just gettin' ready to leave, when Jake walked in." Mom sucked in a long drag on her cigarette, exhaled. "He looked like a gunfighter, coming in to the bar for a shoot-out. When the light hit his face, I thought for a second it was Brad Pitt." She laughed. "The next morning, o' course, when I woke up with him, he didn't look much like a movie star. But he kissed me. In the light of day. A kiss."

Lauren felt the tiniest of openings between them. Such a moment was rare, and she couldn't help moving toward it. She sat down beside her mom. "You sound... different when you say his name."

For once, Mom didn't ease away. "I didn't think it would happen for me." She seemed to realize what she'd said, what she'd revealed, so she smiled. "I'm sure it's nothing."

"I guess I could say hi to him."

"Yeah. He thinks you're a figment of my imagination." Mom laughed. "Like I would pretend to have a kid."

Lauren couldn't believe she'd walked into it again. Or that it still hurt. She started to get up, but her mother stopped her. Actually touched her.

"And the sex. Holy shit, it's good." She took another drag, exhaled, smiling dreamily.

Smoke swirled around Lauren's face, clogged her nostrils. She gagged at the smell and felt her stomach rise.

She ran for the bathroom, where she threw up. Afterward, still shaky, she brushed her teeth and went back to the dining room table. "How many times do I have to ask you not to exhale your smoke in my face?"

Mom stabbed out the cigarette in the overloaded ashtray and stared at Lauren. "Puking is a new response."

Lauren grabbed her plate from the table and headed for the sink. "I gotta go. David and I are studying together tonight."

"Who's David?"

Lauren rolled her eyes. "Nice. I've been dating him for almost four years."

"Oh, him. The good-looking one." Mom gazed at her through the still-lingering smoke, and then took another drink of her Coke. For once, Lauren felt as if her mother were actually seeing her. "You have a lot going for you, Lauren. Trust me when I tell you that a hard dick can ruin everything."

"Yeah. I think Mrs. Brady said the same thing to Marcia."

Mom didn't laugh; neither did she look away. It was a long moment before she said softly, "You know what makes a girl throw up for no reason, don't you?"

"I CAN'T BELIEVE I LET YOU TALK ME INTO THIS DRESS," Angie said, studying herself in the mirror in their hotel room.

"I didn't talk you into it," Mama said from the bathroom. "I bought it for you."

Angie turned sideways, noticed how the red silk clung to her body. The dress Mama had chosen from the sale rack at Nordstrom was one Angie never would have bought for herself. Red was such a look-at-me color. Even more outrageous was the pure sexiness of the dress. Angie usually preferred classic elegance.

Normally, she would have refused to wear it, but she and her mother had had such a wonderful day. Lunch at the Georgian, facials at Gene Juarez's downtown spa, and shopping at Nordstrom. When Mama had seen this dress, she'd screamed and made a beeline.

At first Angie had thought it was just a joke. The dress was a scarlet halter-style with a plunging back. Thousands of tiny silver bugle beads glittered along the bodice. And even at seventy percent off, the price tag was hefty.

"You've got to be kidding," she said to her mother, shaking her head. "We're going to the theater, not the Oscar ceremony."

"You are a single woman now," Mama said, coming out of the bathroom, and though she was smiling, there was a sad knowing in her eyes. Life changes, that look said, whether you want it to or not. "Mr. Tannen at the hardware store said Tommy Matucci was asking about you."

Angie decided to let that pass. Hooking up with her high school boyfriend was not at the top of her to-do list. "So you think if I dress like an expensive hooker-- or a Hollywood celebrity, which is pretty much the same thing--I'll find my way to a new life." Angie meant to sound flip, but when she got to the words new life, her smile shook.

"What I think," Mama said slowly, "is that it's time to look forward instead of back. You're doing a great job with the restaurant. Date night is a huge success. You've collected enough coats for most of the elementary school children in town. For now, be happy."

Angie knew it was good advice. "I love you, Mama. Have I told you that recently?"

"Not enough. Now let's go. Your father says we are late."

They made it to the theater in less than fifteen minutes. They passed through the doors, showed their tickets, and stepped into the crowded but beautiful lobby.

"He loved it here," Mama said, her voice thready. "He always bought one of those expensive programs, and he never threw them away. I still have a huge stack of them in the closet."

Angie put an arm around her mother, held her tightly.

"He would have led us right to the bar."

"And so we'll follow him." Angie led the way to the small area where cocktails were served. Elbowing her way through the crowd, she ordered two white wines. Glasses in hand, she and Mama sipped the wines and walked around the lobby, appreciating the gilded, baroque decor.

At seven-fifty, the lights flickered.

They hurried to their seats in the fourth row and sat down. The theater was filled with hushed noise-- footsteps, whispered voices, people moving in the orchestra pit.

Then the show began.

For the next hour, the audience sat, enthralled, as the sad and beautiful story unfurled. At intermission, when the house lights came up, Angie turned to her mother.

"What do you think?"

Mama was crying.

Angie understood. This music did that to you; it released your deepest emotions.

"He would have loved this one," Mama said. "I would have grown weary of the soundtrack."

Angie touched her mother's velvety soft hand. "You'll tell him all about it."

Mama turned to her. The old-fashioned glasses magnified her dark, teary eyes. "He won't talk to me so much anymore. He says, 'It's time, Maria.' I don't know what I'll do all alone."

Angie knew about that kind of loneliness. It hurt, sometimes more than you could bear, but there was no way to avoid it. You simply kept moving until it passed. "You'll never be alone, Mama. You have children and grandchildren and friends and family."

"It's not the same."

"No."

Mama's mouth creased sadly downward. They sat there, silent and remembering, until Mama said, "Would you get me something to drink?"

"Sure."

Angie sidled down the row of seats and merged into the crowd. At the door, she paused for a moment and looked back.

Mama was the only person left in the fourth row. She looked small from here, a little hunched. And she was talking to Papa.

Angie hurried across the lobby toward the bar. There were dozens of people clustered there.

That was when she saw him.

She drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

He looked good.

Take your breath away and make your heart ache good.

But then, he'd always been the most handsome man she'd ever seen. She remembered the first time she'd ever seen him, all those years ago on Huntington Beach. She'd been trying to learn to surf and doing a terrible job of it. A huge wave had tumbled over her, sucked her under, and turned her around. She'd panicked and flailed, unable to tell which way was up. Then a hand had grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to the surface. She'd found herself looking into the bluest pair of eyes she'd ever seen....

"Conlan." She said his name quietly, as if maybe he wasn't really there and she was imagining him. She moved toward him.

He saw her.

They stared at each other, started to come together for a hug, and then backed off. They were like toys stuck in the pause mode, struggling to move.

"It's good to see you," he said.

"It's good to see you, too."

An awkward pause settled between them, and suddenly Angie wished she'd never walked over here, never said hello.

"How are you doing? Still in West End?"

"I'm good. It seems I have a knack for the restaurant biz. Who knew?"

"Your dad," he said, reminding her with those two words how much he knew about her.

"Yeah. Well. How's the news?"

"Good. I'm writing a series on the freeway killer. Maybe you've read it?"

She wished she could say yes. Once, she'd been his first reader on everything. "I kind of stick with local news these days."

"Oh."

Her heart was swelling now, starting to ache. It was beginning to hurt just standing so near him. She ought to leave while her dignity was intact. Instead, she found herself asking, "Are you by yourself?"

"No."

She nodded; it was more a jerking tilt of the chin. "Of course not. Well, I better--" She turned to go.

"Wait." He grabbed her wrist.

She stopped, looked down at his strong, tanned fingers, so stark against her pale wrist.

"How are you?" he asked, moving closer to her. "Really?"

She could smell his aftershave. It was the expensive Dolce & Gabbana brand she'd bought him for Christmas last year. She looked up at him, noticed a tiny patch of black on his jaw where he'd missed shaving. He'd always had that problem, he did everything in such a hurry. Angie had had to inspect his shave every morning. She wanted to reach up and touch his face, let her fingertip trail along his jaw. "I'm okay. Better than that, really. I like being in West End again."

"You always said you'd never go home."

"I said a lot of things. And I didn't say a lot of things."

She saw the change that came over his face. A terrible sorrow seemed to pull at his mouth. "Don't, Ange--"

"I miss you." She couldn't believe she'd said it. Before he could respond (or not), she forced a smile. "I've been hanging out with my sisters and being Auntie Angela again. It's fun."

He laughed, obviously relieved by the change of subject. "Let me guess: You've promised Jason to convince Mira that an eyebrow ring is okay."

For a second it was like the old days between them. The good old days. "Very funny. I would never think an eyebrow ring is okay. Although he has mentioned a tattoo."

"Conlan?"

Angie saw the blond thirty-something woman who'd come up to Conlan. She wore a plain navy dress and a strand of pearls. Not a hair was out of place. She looked like the owner of a small, exclusive boutique.

"Angie, this is Lara. Lara, Angie."

Angie forced a smile. It was probably absurdly overbright, but there was nothing she could do about that. "It's nice to meet you. Well. I'd better run." She started to rush away.

Conlan pulled her gently toward him. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"For what?" She made herself laugh.

"Call me sometime."

She held on to a smile by force of will. "Sure, Conlan. I'd love to run into you again. Bye."