IVVY'S NEW HOUSE WAS A 1970S-STYLE SPLIT-LEVEL on a big corner lot in one of the nicer subdivisions in town. Some of the homes--the really expensive ones-- looked out over the ocean. The rest had access to a kidney-shaped swimming pool and a community center that proudly offered kitchen facilities. When Angie had been in school, Havenwood had been The Place to live. She remembered sitting around the pool in the summers with her friends, watching the mothers. Most of them were in lounge chairs, wearing sexy one-piece swimming suits and wide brimmed hats; cigarettes and gin and tonics were in every adult hand. She'd thought they were so sophisticated, those white-bread suburban women. Nothing like her spicy Italian mother who had never spent a day lounging beside a community pool.

Her sister must have looked on this place with the same adolescent longing to belong.

She parked in Livvy's circular driveway behind the Subaru wagon and got out of the car. At the front door, she paused.

This had to be done carefully. Surgeon-doing-openheart-work carefully. Angie had been awake most of last night thinking about it. Well, about that and other things. It had been another bad night in her lonely bed, and while she'd lain there, remembering what she'd longed to forget and worrying about her future, one thing had come clear: She had to get Livvy back to work. Angie had no idea how to run the restaurant by herself and no desire to do it for long.

I'm sorry, Liv.

Those were clearly the opening words. After that, she'd eat a little humble pie and cajole her sister with compliments. Whatever would work. Livvy had to return to the restaurant. Angie hadn't wanted to work here for life, after all; just for a month or two until she could sleep alone in her bed again.

She knocked on the door.

And waited.

Knocked again.

Finally Livvy opened the door. She wore a tight pink velour sweat suit with J. Lo emblazoned across her chest. "I figured you'd show up. Come on in." She backed up and turned around. There wasn't really room for both of them in the postage stamp-sized entry. Livvy went up the carpeted stairs to the formal living room, where a plastic runner lay over the carpet, showing the preferred footpath.

Pale blue velvet sofas faced each other, separated by a glossy wood table. The accent chairs were ornately gilt; the fabric was pink and blue flowers. The sculpted carpet was orange.

"We haven't gotten new carpeting yet," Livvy said. "The furniture is awesome, though. Don't you think?"

Angie noticed the taupe-colored Naugahyde La-Z-Boy, still in plastic. "Beautiful. Did you decorate yourself?"

Livvy's plank chest seemed to expand. "I did. I was going to use a decorator, but Sal said I was as good as any of those gals down at Rick's Sofa World."

"I'm sure you are."

"I was thinking maybe I'd even get a job down there. Have a seat. Coffee?"

"Sure." Angie sat down on a sofa.

Livvy went into the kitchen and came back a few minutes later with two cups of coffee. She handed one to Angie, then sat down across from her.

Angie stared into her coffee. There was no point in putting it off. "You know why I'm here."

"Of course."

"I'm sorry, Livvy. I didn't mean to insult you or criticize you or hurt your feelings."

"I know that. You've always done it accidentally."

"I'm different from you and Mira, as you've pointed out so often. Sometimes I can be too... focused."

"Is that what they call it in the big city? Us small-town girls say bitchy. Or obsessive-compulsive." Livvy smiled. "We watch Oprah, too, you know."

"Come on, Liv. You're killing me here. Accept my apology and say you'll come back to work. I need your help. I think we can really help Mama out."

Livvy took a deep breath. "Here's the thing. I've been helping Mama out. For five years, I've worked at that damn restaurant and listened to her opinion on everything from my haircut to my shoes. No wonder it took me so long to meet a decent guy." She leaned forward. "Now I'm a wife. I have a husband who loves me. I don't want to blow it. It's time for me to stop being a DeSaria first and everything else second. Sal deserves that."

Angie wanted to be angry at Livvy, to bend her sister to her will; instead, she had a fleeting, painful thought about her own marriage: Maybe at some point she should have made it more important than children. She sighed. It was too late now. "You want a new start," she said quietly, feeling an unexpected connection to her sister. They had this in common.

"Exactly."

"You're doing the right thing. I should have--"

"Don't go there, Angie. I know you flip me shit about my other husbands but I learned something from them. Life keeps going. You think it'll stop, wait for you to be done crying, but it just keeps moving. Don't spend your time looking back. You don't want to miss what's ahead."

"I guess this is what's ahead for me right now. Thanks a lot." She tried to smile. "Could you see your way to helping me, at least? Maybe give me some advice?"

"You're asking me for advice?"

"Just this once, and I probably won't follow it." She reached into her purse for her notepad.

Livvy laughed. "Read me your list."

"How did you know--"

"You started making lists in third grade. Remember how they used to disappear?"

"Yeah."

"I flushed them down the toilet. They made me crazy. All those things you wanted to accomplish." She smiled. "I should have made a few lists of my own."

It was as close to a compliment as Angie had ever gotten from her sister. She handed her the notepad. The list was three pages long.

Livvy flipped it open. Her lips moved as she read. A smile started, slowly at first. By the time she looked up, she was close to laughing. "You want to do all this?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Have you met our mother? You know, the woman who has put exactly the same ornaments on her Christmas tree for more than three decades? Why? Because she likes the tree the way it is."

Angie winced. It was true. Mama was a generous, loving, giving woman... as long as things went exactly the way she wanted them to go. These changes would not be welcomed.

"However," Livvy went on, "your ideas could save DeSaria's... if that's possible. But I wouldn't want to be in your shoes."

"What would you do first?"

Livvy looked down at the list, flipped through the pages. "It's not here."

"What isn't?"

"First, you hire a new waitress. Rosa Contadori has been serving food at DeSaria's since before you were born. I could learn to play golf in the time it takes her to write down an order. I've been picking up the slack, but..." She shrugged. "I don't see you waitressing."

Angie couldn't disagree with that. "Any suggestions?"

Livvy grinned. "Make sure she's Italian."

"Very funny." Angie reached for her pen. "Anything else?"

"Plenty. Let's start with the basics...."

ANGIE STOOD ON THE SIDEWALK, LOOKING AT THE restaurant that had been so much a part of her youth. Mama and Papa had been here every evening; he at the front door, greeting guests, she in the kitchen, cooking for them. Family dinners had taken place at four-thirty, before the guests arrived. They'd all sat at a big round table in the kitchen so that they wouldn't be seen if customers arrived early. After dinner, Mira and Livvy had gone to work, waitressing and busing tables.

But not Angie.

This one is a genius, Papa always said. She's going to college, so she needs to study.

It had never been questioned. Once Papa spoke, a matter was ended. Angie was going to college. That was that. Night after night, she studied in the kitchen.

No wonder she'd gotten a scholarship.

Now here she was, back at the beginning of her life, preparing to save a business she knew nothing about, and tonight there would be no Livvy to help her out.

She stared down at her notes. They had filled four more pages, she and Livvy. One idea after another.

It was up to Angie to implement the changes.

She walked up the steps and went through the front door. The place was already open, of course. Mama had arrived at three-thirty, not a minute before, not a minute later, as she'd done every Friday night for three decades.

Angie heard the clatter and jangle coming from the kitchen. She went in, found her mother cursing. "Mira is late. And Rosa called in sick tonight. I know she is playing bingo at the Elks."

"Rosa is sick?" Angie heard the panic in her voice. "She's our only waitress."

"Now you are our waitress," Mama said. "It is not that hard, Angela. Just give people what they order." She went back to making her meatballs.

Angie left the kitchen. In the dining rooms, she went from table to table, checking every detail, making sure the salt and pepper shakers were filled, that the place settings were clean and properly placed.

Ten minutes later, Mira came rushing through the front door. "I'm sorry I'm late," she called out to Angie on her way to the kitchen. "Daniella fell off her bike."

Angie nodded and went back to the menu, studying it as if it were a CliffsNotes guide and she were cramming for a test.

At five forty-five the first customers arrived. Dr. and Mrs. Feinstein, who ran the clinic in town. Twenty minutes later, the Giuliani family arrived. Angie greeted them all as her father would have, then showed them to their tables. For the first few minutes, she actually felt good, as if she were part of her heritage at last. Her mother beamed at her, nodded encouragingly.

By six-fifteen, she was in trouble.

How could seven people generate so much work?

More water, please.

I asked for Parmesan.

Where's our bread--

and the oil.

"You might be a great copywriter, Angela," Mama said to her at one point, "but I would not tip you well. You're too slow."

Angie couldn't disagree. She headed for the Fein-steins' table and set down the plate of cannelloni. "I'll be right back with your scampi, Mrs. Feinstein," she said, then ran for the kitchen.

"I hope Dr. Feinstein isn't finished by the time his wife is served," Mama said, clucking in disapproval. "Mira, make those meatballs bigger."

Angie backed out of the kitchen and hurried back to the Feinsteins' table.

As she was serving the scampi, she heard the front door open. A bell tinkled.

More customers. Oh no.

She turned slowly and saw Livvy. Her sister took one look at her and burst out laughing.

Angie straightened. "You're here to laugh at me?"

"The princess working at DeSaria's? Of course I'm here to laugh at you." Livvy touched her shoulder. "And to help you out."

BY THE END OF THE EVENING ANGIE HAD A POUNDING headache. "Okay. It's official. I'm the worst waitress in history." She looked down at her clothes. She'd spilled red wine down her apron and dragged her sleeve in the creme anglaise. A discoloration on her pants was almost certainly from the lasagna. She sat down at a table in the back corner beside Mira. "I can't believe I wore cashmere and high heels. No wonder Livvy laughs every time she looks at me."

"You'll get better," Mira promised. "Here. Fold napkins."

"Well, I damn sure can't get worse." Angie couldn't help laughing, though it wasn't funny. In truth, she hadn't expected it to be so hard. All her life, things had come easily to her. She'd simply been good at whatever she tried. Not exceptional, perhaps, but better than average. She'd graduated from UCLA--in four years, thank you, with a very respectable grade point--and she'd immediately been hired by the best ad agency in Seattle.

Frankly, this whole table-waiting handicap came as a shock. "It's humiliating."

Mira looked up from the napkins. "Don't worry. Rosa hardly ever calls in sick. Usually she can handle the so-called crowd. And you'll get better."

"I know, but..." Angie looked down at her hands. Two bright pink burn spots marred her skin. Fortunately, she'd spilled the hot sauce on herself and not on Mrs. Guiliani. "I don't know if I can do this."

Mira folded the thick white napkin into a swan and pushed it across the table.

Angie was reminded of the night Papa had taught her how to turn a plain square of fabric into this bird. When she looked up and saw her sister's smile, she knew the reminder had been intentional.

"It took Livvy and me weeks to learn how to do that. We sat on the floor by Papa, trying to copy his every move so he would smile at us and say Good job, my princesses. We thought we were doing so well... then you joined us and learned how to fold it in three tries. This one, Papa said, kissing your cheek, can do anything."

The memory should have made her smile, but this time she saw more. "That must have been tough on you and Livvy."

Mira waved off the concern. "That wasn't my point. This place--DeSaria's--it's in your blood, just as it's in ours. Not being a part of it for all those years doesn't change who you are. You're one of us, and you can do whatever needs to be done. Papa believed in you and so do I."

"I'm afraid."

Mira smiled gently. "That's not you."

Angie turned her head and stared through the window at the empty street. Leaves fell to the ground, skittered across the rough cement sidewalk. "It's who I've become." She hated to admit it.

Mira leaned forward. "Can I be honest?"

"Absolutely not." Angie tried to laugh, but when she looked at her sister's earnest face, she couldn't do it.

"You've gotten... self-centered in the last few years. I don't mean selfish. Wanting a baby and then losing Sophie... It made you... quiet. Alone somehow."

Alone somehow.

It was true.

"I felt as if I were hanging on by a thread and there was a huge hole beneath me."

"Then you fell anyway."

She thought about that. She'd lost her daughter, her father, and her husband in the same year. That was certainly the fall she'd been afraid of. "Sometimes I think I'm still falling. At night it's especially bad."

"Maybe it's time to look outward."

"I have the restaurant. I'm trying."

"What about all the hours when we're closed?"

Angie swallowed. "It's hard," she admitted. "I try to study and make notes."

"A job can't be enough."

Angie wished she could argue with the veracity of the statement, but she'd learned the truth of it long ago, when she'd loved her job and longed for a baby. "No."

"Maybe it's time to reach out to someone else in need."

Angie thought about that. The first image that popped into her mind was of the teenager she'd seen in the Safe-way parking lot. Angie had been helped by helping the girl. That night, she'd slept through until morning.

Maybe that was the answer. Helping someone else.

She felt herself start to smile. "My Mondays are free."

Mira smiled back. "And most of your mornings."

FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER, LAUREN WOKE UP FEELING completely safe. David's arms were around her, holding her close, even in sleep.

She reveled in the feel of it, smiling, imagining a married life that would always be this way.

She lay there a long time, watching him sleep. Finally, she eased away from him and rolled out of bed. She'd make him breakfast and serve it to him in bed.

At his chest of drawers, she paused and opened the top drawer. Finding a long T-shirt, she put it on and went downstairs.

The kitchen was amazing--all granite and stainless steel and mirrored surfaces. The pots and pans shone silver in the light. She scouted through the cupboards and the refrigerator, finding everything she needed to make scrambled eggs, bacon, and pancakes. When breakfast was ready, she put it all on a beautiful wooden tray and carried it upstairs.

She found David sitting up in bed, yawning. "There you are," he said, grinning at her entrance. "I was worried...."

"Like I'd ever leave you." She crawled up into bed beside him and settled the tray between them.

"This looks great," he said, kissing her cheek.

As they ate breakfast, they talked about ordinary things: the upcoming SAT test, football, school gossip. David talked about the Porsche that he and his father were restoring. It was the only thing he and his dad did together, and so David obsessed about the car. He loved the hours they spent in the garage. In truth, he talked about it so often she hardly listened anymore. He launched into something about gear ratios and speed off the line, and she found her interest waning.

She glanced out the window. Sunlight flooded the glass, and suddenly she was thinking about California and their future. She'd lost track of how often she'd organized her college brochures based on scholarship feasibility. By her calculations, her best shot at a full ride was at private colleges. Of these, her favorite was the University of Southern California. It combined world-class athletics with top-drawer academics.

Unfortunately, it was almost an eight-hour drive from Stanford.

Somehow she had to convince David to consider USC. The second alternative was for her to choose Santa Clara. But truthfully, she'd had enough of Catholic school.

"... totally tight. Perfect leather. Lauren? Are you listening?"

She turned to him. "Of course. You were talking about the gear ratio."

He laughed. "Yeah, about an hour ago. I knew you weren't listening."

She felt her cheeks heat up. "I'm sorry. I was thinking about college."

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

"And you never do."

"It won't 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, she'd almost forgotten her worries.

"Let's 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 coat's raggedness made her wince, and she knew there were holes in her socks. "I can't 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. I'm 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. That's what I paid for my steering wheel and shift knob."

She didn't 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 shouldn't 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, "I've 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."

"I'm not like those guys and you know it."

"I need us to be different. Don't you see?"

He touched her face so gently she wanted to cry. "I see that you won't 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.

"We're going skating and that's it."

She wanted to, wanted to lose herself in the coldness, going around and around with nothing to keep her grounded except David's warm hand. "All right. But I don't have enough clothes. I'll have to stop at home." She couldn't 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 Lauren's living room.

"Her coats are back there. Pick one."

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

"Pick one and let's go."

Lauren couldn't 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. I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Of course. I'll just borrow one of your sweaters. Now, let's go."