AUREN HAD THOUGHT SHE COULDN'T FEEL ANY worse. That evening, sitting in an elegant white chair in the living room, beside a fire that should have warmed her, she realized how wrong she'd been. Seeing Mrs. Haynes cry was almost unbearable. David's reaction to his mother's tears was worse. Through all of it--the yelling, the arguing, the talking, the weeping-- Lauren tried to say as little as possible.

It felt as if it were all her fault.

In her head, she knew that wasn't true. It had taken both of them to make this baby, but how many times had Mom told Lauren to keep condoms in her purse? No man thinks straight with a hard-on, she'd said more than once, and it's you who'll get knocked up. It had been the sum total of her advice on sex. Lauren should have listened.

"I have contacts in Los Angeles and San Francisco," Mr. Haynes said, running a hand through his ruined hair. "Excellent doctors. And discreet. No one would ever have to know."

They'd been on this subject for at least ten minutes. After a lot of chest pounding and how-could-youhave-been-so-careless, they'd finally come around to the superstar of questions. What now?

"She tried," David said.

"In Vancouver," Lauren said. She could hardly hear herself.

Mrs. Haynes was staring at her. Slowly, slowly, she sat down. It was more of a crumpling, really. "We're Catholic," she said.

Lauren was grateful for even that small bit. "Yes," she answered. "And... there was more than that." She didn't want to say the word aloud--baby or life--but it was there anyway, as much a presence as the furniture or the music coming from another room.

"I asked Lauren to marry me," David said.

She could see how hard he was trying to be strong and she loved him for it; she also saw how close he was to breaking and she hated herself for that. He was realizing all of it now, piece by piece, the things he would have to give up. How could love demand so many sacrifices and survive?

"You're too young to get married, for God's sake. Tell them, Anita."

"We're too young to have a baby, too," David said. That sent everyone into silence again.

"There's adoption," Mrs. Haynes said.

David looked up. "That's right, Lauren. There are people who would love this baby."

The hope in his voice was her undoing. Tears stung her eyes. She wanted to disagree, to say that she could love this baby. Her baby. Their baby. But her voice had gone missing.

"I'll call Bill Talbot," Mr. Haynes said. "He's sure to give me a good contact. We'll find a couple who would provide a good home."

He made it sound like they were giving away a puppy.

Mrs. Haynes watched her husband walk out of the room, then she sighed and bowed her head.

Lauren frowned. They acted like a decision had been made.

David came over to her. She'd never known his eyes could be so sad. He took her hand, squeezed it. She waited for him to say something; her need to hear I love you was near desperate. But he said nothing.

What was there to say? There was no A answer out of this situation, no road that didn't lead someone--mostly Lauren--to heartache. She wasn't ready to make this decision yet.

"Let's go, Lauren," Mrs. Haynes finally said, standing.

"I can drive her home, Mom."

"I'll do it," Mrs. Haynes said in a voice that, even in its ragged state, brooked no disagreement.

"Then we'll all go," David said, taking Lauren's hand.

They turned and followed Mrs. Haynes out to the garage, where the glossy black Cadillac Escalade waited.

The scene of the crime.

David opened the front passenger side door. Lauren wanted to protest at sitting up front, but she didn't want to appear rude. With a sigh, she climbed into the seat. The CD player immediately came on. The lonely, haunting strains of "Hotel California" filled the car.

David told his mother to take the highway west; other than that, they didn't speak. With every second that passed in silence, Lauren felt her stomach tightening. She had a terrifying feeling that Mrs. Haynes wanted to see Lauren's mother, that it was the whole reason for this drive home.

What could Lauren say to that? It would be almost midnight by the time they reached the apartment.

"My mom is out of town on business." Lauren said the lie in a rush, hating how it made her feel.

"I thought she was a hairdresser," his mother said.

"She is. It's a convention. One of those things where they show them all the new products." Lauren remembered that her mother's boss had sometimes gone to conventions like that.

"I see."

"You can let me off here," Lauren said. "There's no point--"

"At the Safeway?" Mrs. Haynes frowned at her. "I don't think so."

Lauren swallowed hard. She couldn't find her voice. From the backseat, David gave directions to the apartment.

They pulled up in front of the dilapidated building. In the moonlight, it looked like something out of a Roald Dahl novel, one of those a poor, pathetic child lives here kind of places.

David climbed out of the car and walked around to the passenger door.

Mrs. Haynes hit the door locks, then turned, frowning.

Lauren flinched at the loud click.

"This is where you live?"

"Yes."

Amazingly, Mrs. Haynes's face seemed to soften. She sighed heavily.

David tried to open the door.

"David's the only child I could have," Mrs. Haynes said. "He was a miracle, really. Maybe I loved him too much. Motherhood... changes who you are somehow. All I wanted was for him to be happy, to have all the choices I didn't have." She looked at Lauren. "If you and David get married and keep this baby..." Her voice broke. "Life with a baby is hard. Without money or education, it's worse than hard. I know how much you love David. I can see that. And he loves you. Enough to walk away from his future. I guess I should be proud about that." She said this last part softly, as if she wanted to feel it but couldn't.

David pounded on the glass. "Open the door, Mom!"

Lauren understood what Mrs. Haynes wasn't saying as clearly as what she was. If you really love David, you won't make him ruin his life.

It was the same thing Lauren had thought on her own. If he loved her enough to give it all up, didn't she need to love him enough not to let him?

"If you need to talk about any of this, anytime, you come to me," Mrs. Haynes said.

It surprised Lauren, that offer. "Thank you."

"Tell your mother I'll call her tomorrow."

Lauren didn't even want to think about that conversation. "Okay."

She didn't know what else to say, so she hit the door lock button and climbed out of the car.

"What the hell did she say to you?" David said, slamming the car door shut behind her.

Lauren stared at him, remembering how his mother had cried, so quietly and yet so deeply; as if her insides were breaking. "She said she loves you."

His face crumpled at that. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know."

They stood there a long time, staring at each other. Then, finally, he said, "I better go."

She nodded. When he kissed her good night, it was all she could do not to cling to him. It took pure willpower to let him walk away.

LAUREN FOUND HER MOTHER IN THE LIVING ROOM, SITTING on the sofa, smoking a cigarette. She looked jittery and nervous.

Mom put her drink on the floor. "I meant to go with you today."

"Yeah. What happened?"

Mom reached for the drink again. There was a noticeable trembling in her hand. "I went to the mini-mart for smokes. On the way home, I ran into Neddie. The Tides was open. I thought I'd have a quick drink. I needed one to... you know... but when I looked up again it was too late." She took a drag off her cigarette, looked at Lauren through the gray haze. "You look bad. Maybe you should sit. You want an aspirin? I'll get you one."

"I'm fine."

"I'm sorry, Lauren," she said softly.

For once, Lauren heard real regret in her mother's voice. "It's okay." She bent down and started picking up pizza boxes and empty cigarette packs from the floor. "It looks like you and Jake had quite a party last night." When Lauren looked up, her mother was crying. It warmed her heart, that simple proof of emotion.

Lauren went to her, knelt beside the sofa. "I'm okay, Mom. You don't have to cry."

"He's going to leave me."

"What?"

"My whole life is nothing. And I'm getting old." Mom put out her cigarette and lit up another.

This hurt more than the slap. Even now, on this terrible day, her mother's thoughts were on herself. Lauren swallowed hard, moved away. Very slowly she went back to picking up the apartment. She had to hold back tears with every breath. "I didn't go through with it," she said quietly.

Her mother looked up. Her eyes were bloodshot and rimmed in blurred mascara. "What?" It took her a minute to figure out the meaning of Lauren's words. "Tell me you're kidding."

"I'm not kidding." Lauren tried to be strong, but it felt as if she were crumbling. The pain in her heart was swift and sharp. As much as she knew it was crazy-- impossible--she wanted her mother to open her arms right now, to hold her as she never had, and say, It's okay, honey. "I couldn't do it. I'm the one who needs to pay for my mistake, not..." She looked down at her stomach.

"Baby," her mother said coldly. "You can't even say the word."

Lauren took a step forward. She was biting her lower lip and wringing her hands. "I'm scared, Mom. I thought--"

"You should be scared. Look at me. Look at this." She stood up and made a sweeping gesture with her hands as she crossed the room. "Is this the life you want? Did you study like a fool for this? You'll lose out on college this year--you know that, right? And if you don't go now, you'll never go." She grabbed Lauren by the shoulders and shook her. "You'll be me. After all your hard work. Is that what you want? Is it?"

Lauren pulled free, stumbled back. "No," she said in a small voice.

Mom sighed heavily. "If you couldn't make it through an abortion, how in God's name do you think you can handle adoption? Or worse yet, motherhood? Go back to the clinic tomorrow. This time I'll go with you. Give yourself a chance in life." The anger seemed to slide out of her then. She pushed the hair from Lauren's eyes, tucked a strand behind her ear. It was perhaps the gentlest her mother had ever been.

The tenderness was worse than being yelled at. "I can't."

Mom stared at her through eyes that were glazed with tears. "You break my heart."

"Don't say that."

"What else can I say? You've made your decision. Fine. I tried." She bent down and grabbed her purse. "I need a drink."

"Don't go. Please."

Mom headed for the door. Halfway there, she turned back around.

Lauren stood there, crying. She knew the desperate plea to stay was in her eyes.

Mom almost started to cry again. "I'm sorry." Then she left.

THE NEXT MORNING, AFTER A SLEEPLESS NIGHT, LAUREN woke to the sound of music bleeding through the walls. It was the Bruce Springsteen CD.

She came upright slowly, rubbing her swollen, gritty eyes.

Mom's party had obviously turned into an all-nighter. It wasn't surprising, she supposed. When your seventeenyear-old daughter got herself knocked up, there was nothing to do but party.

With a sigh, she climbed out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom, where she took a long, hot shower. When she was finished, she stood on the frayed scrap of a towel that served as their bathmat and studied her naked body in the mirror.

Her breasts were definitely bigger. Maybe her nipples were, too; she couldn't be sure about that, her nipples never having been high on her to-notice list.

She turned sideways.

Her stomach was as flat as ever. There was no sign there of the new life that grew within.

She wrapped a towel around her and returned to her bedroom. After making her bed, she dressed in her school uniform--red crew neck sweater, plaid skirt, white tights, and black loafers. Then she turned off her bedroom light and walked down the hallway.

In the living room she stopped. Frowned.

Something was wrong.

The ashtrays on the coffee table were empty. No half filled glasses lined the kitchen counter. The ratty old purple afghan that usually draped over the back of the sofa was gone.

Gone.

No way. Even Mom wouldn't--

She heard an engine start up outside; it was the throaty, unmistakable growl of a Harley Davidson motorcycle.

Lauren rushed to the window and whipped the flimsy curtain aside.

There, down on the street below, Mom sat behind Jake on the motorcycle. She was looking up at Lauren.

Lauren touched her fingertips to the glass. "No."

Slowly, as if it hurt to move, her mother waved goodbye.

The motorcycle roared down the street, turned the corner, and disappeared from view.

Lauren stood there a long time, looking down at the empty street, waiting for them to come back.

When she finally turned away she saw the note on the coffee table.

That was when she knew.

She picked it up, opened it. A single word had been written in bold, blue ink.

There it was, the whole of their mother-daughter relationship reduced to a single word.

Sorry.

And the Boss sang on: Baby, we were born to run...