AUREN MEANT TO MOVE. SHE MEANT TO GET UP, put on fresh makeup, and borrow Suzi Mauk's suit again, but somehow she sat there, on the floor, staring at the stack of cigarette butts in the ashtray on the coffee table. How much of her twenty dollars had literally gone up in smoke?

She wished she could cry the way she once would have. The tears, she now knew, meant hope. When your eyes dried up, there was none.

The door swung open, cracked against the wall. The whole apartment shuddered at the force of it. A beer bottle rolled off the sofa cushion and thumped to the shag carpet.

Her mother stood in the doorway, wearing a pleated black miniskirt with black boots and a tight blue T-shirt. The top--which Lauren thought looked suspiciously new--made her look much too thin. The once beautiful bone structure in her face was now a collection of sharp edges and dark hollows. Booze and cigarettes and too many bad years had chiseled away at her beauty, leaving only the stunning green of her eyes. Against the harsh pallor of her face, Mom's eyes were still arresting. Once Lauren had thought her mother was the most lovely woman in the world--lots of people had back then. For years, Mom had gotten by on her looks; as her beauty had faded, so had her ability to cope.

Mom brought a cigarette to her lips and took a long drag, exhaling sharply. "You're staring at me."

Lauren sighed. So it was going to be one of those nights; the kind where Mom came home more sober than drunk and pissed off about it. Lauren got slowly to her feet, started picking up the mess in the living room. "I'm not staring."

"You should be at work," Mom said, kicking the door shut behind her.

"So should you."

Mom laughed at that and flopped down on the sofa, putting her feet up on the coffee table. "I was headed that way. You know how it is."

"Yeah. I know. You have to walk past the Tides." She heard the bitterness in her voice and wished it weren't there.

"Don't start with me."

Lauren went to the sofa and sat down on the arm. "You took the twenty bucks from under my pillow. That was my money."

Mom put out one cigarette and lit up another. "So?"

"The homecoming dance is less than two weeks away. I..." Lauren paused, hating to admit her need, but what choice did she have? "I need a dress."

Mom looked up at her. Smoke swirled in the air, seeming to exaggerate the distance between them. "I got knocked up at a school dance," Mom finally said.

Lauren fought the urge to roll her eyes. "I know."

"Fuck the dance."

Lauren couldn't believe it still hurt, after all these years. When would she stop believing that her mom might change? "Thanks, Mom. As usual, you're a big help."

"You'll see. When you're older." Mom leaned back, exhaling smoke. Her mouth trembled, and for the merest of moments, she looked sad. "None of it matters. What you want. What you dream of. You live with what's left."

If Lauren believed that, she'd never be able to get out of bed. Or off a bar stool. She reached down, brushed the blond hair out of her mother's eyes. "It's going to be different for me, Mom."

Her mother almost smiled. "I hope so," she murmured so softly Lauren had to lean forward to hear it.

"I'll find a way to pay the rent and buy a dress," she said, finding her courage again. It had left her for a few moments there, and without its heat she had gone cold and numb, but now it was back. She slid off the arm of the sofa and went back to her mother's bedroom. In the overstuffed closet, she looked for something she could redo into a dress for the dance. She was holding up a black satin nightgown when the doorbell rang.

She didn't answer it, but her mother yelled out to her: "Miz Mauk's here."

Lauren swore under her breath. If only Mom hadn't opened the door. Forcing a smile, she tossed the tiny negligee on the bed and went back into the living room.

Mrs. Mauk was there, smiling. A big cardboard box was on the floor at her feet. Beside her, Mom was buttoning up a beautiful black pant coat made of the softest wool; it had a tapered waist and a shawl collar.

Lauren frowned.

"It's an old lady's coat," Mom muttered, walking down the hallway toward the bathroom.

"Mrs. Mauk?" Lauren said.

"There's one for you, too." She bent down and pulled a green coat with faux fur trim from the box.

Lauren gasped. "For me?"

It was almost exactly the coat Melissa Stonebridge wore. The richest, most popular girl at Fircrest. Lauren couldn't help reaching for it, touching the soft fur. "You shouldn't have. I mean... I can't..." She drew her hand back. Mrs. Mauk couldn't afford this.

"It's not from me," Mrs. Mauk said, her mouth forming into a sad and knowing smile. "A woman from Help-Your-Neighbor brought it by. Her name was Angela. She's one of the DeSarias--you know, from that restaurant on Driftwood. I'd say she could afford it."

Charity. The woman somehow had seen Lauren and pitied her.

"This coat is too old for me," Mom said from the other room. "What does yours look like, Lauren?"

"Take it," Mrs. Mauk said, pushing the coat toward Lauren.

She couldn't help herself. She took it, slipped it on, and suddenly she was warm. She hadn't realized until just then how long she'd been cold. "How do you say thank you for something like this?" she whispered.

Mrs. Mauk's eyes filled with understanding. "It's hard," she said quietly, "being the one who needs help."

"Yeah."

They stared at each other a moment longer. Finally, Lauren tried to smile. "I guess I'll go to the restaurant and see if I can find her... say thank you."

"That's a good idea."

Lauren glanced down the hallway. "I'll be back in a while, Mom."

"Bring me a better coat," Mom yelled back.

Lauren didn't dare look at Mrs. Mauk. They walked out of the apartment and down the stairs together, neither one speaking.

Outside, Lauren waved good-bye to Mrs. Mauk who, although hidden, was always at her curtains, watching what happened on her street.

In less than thirty minutes Lauren was at DeSaria's Restaurant, opening the door.

The first thing she noticed was the aroma. The place smelled heavenly. She realized how hungry she was.

"I guess you found me."

Lauren hadn't even noticed the woman's arrival, and yet they were standing almost face-to-face. The woman was only an inch or so taller than Lauren, but she was a commanding presence. First of all, she was beautiful-- movie-star beautiful--with her black hair and dark eyes and big smile. And her clothes looked like something out of an expensive catalogue. Black pants with flared legs, high-heeled black boots, and a pale yellow scoop-neck sweater. There was something familiar about her.

"Are you Angela DeSaria?"

"I am. Angie, please." She looked at Lauren, and there was an almost liquid softness in her brown eyes. "And you're Lauren Ribido."

"Thank you for the coat." Her voice snagged on the sentiment, sounded thick. She realized suddenly where she'd seen this woman before. "You're the woman who gave me money."

Angie smiled, but it seemed off somehow, not quite real. "You probably think I'm stalking you. I'm not. It's just... I'm new in town and kind of at loose ends. I saw you and wanted to help."

"You did." Lauren felt it again, the emotion thickening her voice.

"I'm glad to hear that. Is there anything else I could do?"

"I could use a job," Lauren said quietly.

Angie seemed surprised by that. "Have you ever waitressed before?"

"Two summers at the Hidden Lake Ranch." Lauren fought the urge to squirm. She was sure that this beautiful woman saw every flaw that Lauren tried to hide--the hair that needed a trim, the shoes that leaked in the rain, the backpack worn thin.

"I don't suppose you're Italian?"

"No. At least not that I know of. Does that matter?"

"It shouldn't...." Angie looked back at a closed door. "But we've always done things a certain way."

And you're not it. "I understand."

"You saving up for college?"

Lauren started to say, "Yes," but when she saw the understanding in Angie's dark eyes, she found herself saying, "I need a dress for the homecoming dance." The minute she said it, she blushed. She couldn't believe she'd revealed something so intimate to a stranger.

Angie studied her for a moment longer, neither smiling nor frowning. "I'll tell you what," she finally said. "You sit down at this table, have something to eat, and then we'll talk."

"I'm not hungry," she said, just as her stomach grumbled.

Angie smiled gently. Lauren felt wounded by that smile somehow. "Eat dinner. Then we'll talk."

ANGIE FOUND MIRA STANDING OUTSIDE THE BACK door, sipping cappuccino, both her hands curled around the porcelain mug. Steam mingled with her breath and formed a mist in front of her face. "Winter is going to come early this year," she said as Angie sidled up beside her.

"I used to hide out here as soon as it was time to do dishes," Angie said, smiling at the memory. She could almost hear Papa's booming voice come through the brick walls.

"Like I didn't know that." Mira laughed.

Angie moved a little closer, until they were shoulder to shoulder, both of them leaning against the rough wall that contained so much of their lives. They stared out at the empty parking lot. Beyond it, the street was a silvery ribbon in the darkening night. Far away, seen in slivers between the houses and trees, was the blue-gray ocean. "Remember that list Livvy helped me come up with?"

"The DeSaria destruction list, as Mama called it? How could I forget?"

"I think I'm going to make the first change."

"Which one?"

"I found a new waitress. A high school girl. I think she could work some nights and weekends."

Mira turned to her. "Mama's going to let you hire a high school girl?"

Angie winced. "A problem, huh?"

"Mama will have a cow; you know that. Tell me the girl is Italian at least."

"Don't think so."

Mira grinned. "This is going to be fun."

"Knock it off. Be serious. Is it a good idea to hire a new waitress?"

"Yes. Rosa is too slow to handle any more business. I guess if you're going to make some changes around here, this is a good place to start. How did you find her? Employment office?"

Angie bit her lip and looked down at the gravel.

"Angie?" This time Mira wasn't smiling. There was concern in her voice.

"I saw her at Help-Your-Neighbor when I went to volunteer. She was there, asking for a winter coat for her mother. That's how I got the idea for the coat drive."

"So you bought her a coat."

"You said I should help people."

"And offered her a job."

Angie sighed. She heard the mistrust in her sister's voice and she understood. Everyone thought Angie was so easily victimized. It was because of Sarah Dekker. When they'd been set to adopt her baby, Angie and Conlan had opened their hearts and home to the troubled teenager.

"You have so much love to give," Mira said finally. "It must hurt to hold it in all the time."

The words had tiny barbs that sank into her skin. "Is that what it's all about? Shit. I thought I was just hiring a kid to serve food on weekends."

"Maybe I'm wrong. Overreacting."

"And maybe I don't make the best choices."

"Don't go there, Ange," Mira said softly. "I'm sorry I brought it up. I worry too much. That's the problem with family. But you're right to hire a new waitress. Mama will simply have to understand."

Angie almost laughed. "Yeah. She's so good at that."

Mira paused, then said, "Just be careful, okay?"

Angie knew it was good advice. "Okay."

ANGIE STOOD IN THE SHADOWS, WATCHING THE GIRL eat her dinner. She ate slowly, as if savoring every bite. There was something almost old-fashioned about her, a round softness that brought to mind the girls of another generation. Her long copper-colored hair was a tangle of curls that fell down her back. Its color was vibrant against her pale cheeks. She had a nose that turned up just a little at the tip and was dotted with freckles. But it was her eyes--unexpectedly brown and filled with an adult's knowledge--that caught Angie's attention and held it.

You won't want me, those eyes said.

You have so much love to give. It must hurt to hold it in all the time.

Mira's words came back to Angie. It had never occurred to her that she was stepping onto the merry-goround of her old choices.

Loss was like that, she knew. She never knew when or where it would strike. The littlest thing could set her off. A baby carriage. A doll. A bit of sad music. The Happy Birthday song. A desperate teenage girl.

But this wasn't about that. It wasn't. She was almost certain.

The girl--Lauren--looked up, glanced around, then looked at her wristwatch. She pushed the empty plate away and crossed her arms, waiting.

It was now or never.

Either Mama was going to let Angie make changes around here or she wasn't.

Time to find out the answer.

Angie went to the kitchen, where she found Mama washing up the last of the night's dishes. Four pans of fresh lasagna lined the counter.

"The Bolognese is almost ready," Mama said. "We'll have plenty for tomorrow night."

"And the rest of the month," Angie muttered.

Mama looked up. "What does that mean?"

Angie chose her words carefully. They were like missiles; each one could start a war. "We had seven customers tonight, Mama."

"That's good for a weeknight."

"Not good enough."

Mama wrenched the faucet's handle hard. "It will get better when the holidays come."

Angie tried another tack. "I'm a mess at waitressing."

"Yes. You'll get better."

"I was still better than Rosa. I watched her the other night, Mama. I've never seen anyone move so slowly."

"She's been here a long time, Angela. Show some respect."

"We need to make some changes. That's why I'm here, isn't it?"

"You will not fire Rosa." Mama tossed down her dishrag. It hit the counter like a gauntlet.

"I would never do that."

Mama relaxed a tiny bit. "Good."

"Come with me," Angie said, reaching out for Mama's hand.

Together they walked out of the kitchen. In the shadow behind the archway, Angie paused. "You see that girl?"

"She ordered the lasagna," Mama said. "Looks like she loved it."

"I want... I'm going to hire her to work nights and weekends."

"She's too young."

"I'm hiring her. And she's not too young. Livvy and Mira were waitressing at a much earlier age."

Mama shifted and frowned, studying the girl. "She doesn't look Italian."

"She isn't."

Mama drew in a sharp breath and pulled Angie deeper into the shadows. "Now look here--"

"Do you want me to help you in the restaurant?"

"Yes, but--"

"Then let me help."

"Rosa will feel slighted."

"Honestly, Mama, I think she'll be glad. Last night she bumped into the walls twice. She's tired. She'll welcome the help."

"High school girls never work out. Ask your papa."

"We can't ask Papa. This is for you and me to decide."

Mama seemed to deflate at the reminder about Papa. The wrinkles in her cheeks deepened. She bit down on her lower lip and peered around the corner again. "Her hair is a mess."

"It's raining out. I think she's been looking for work. The way you did, remember, in Chicago, when you and Papa were first married."

The memory seemed to soften Mama. "Her shoes have holes in them, and her blouse is too small. Poor thing. Still." She frowned. "The last redhead who worked here stole a whole night's receipts."

"She's not going to steal from us."

Mama pulled away from the wall and walked down the hallway toward the kitchen. She was talking, whispering, the whole time, gesturing wildly.

If Angie closed her eyes, she might have seen her father there, standing firm, smiling gently at his wife's theatrics even as he disagreed with her.

Mama spun around and came back to Angie. "He always thought you were the smart one. Fine. Hire this girl but don't let her use the register."

Angie almost laughed at that, it was so absurd. "Okay."

"Okay." Mama turned on her heel and left the restaurant.

Angie glanced out the window. Mama was marching down the street, arguing with a man who wasn't there.

"Thanks, Papa," Angie said, smiling as she walked through the now empty restaurant.

Lauren looked up at her. "That was delicious," she said, sounding nervous. She folded her napkin carefully and set it on the table.

"My mother can really cook." Angie sat down across from the girl. "Are you a responsible employee?"

"Completely."

"We can count on you to show up on time?"

Lauren nodded. Her dark eyes were earnest. "Always."

Angie smiled. This was the best she'd felt in months. "Okay, then. You can start tomorrow night. Say five to ten. Is that okay?"

"It's great."

Angie reached across the table and shook Lauren's warm hand. "Welcome to the family."

"Thanks." Lauren got quickly to her feet. "I'd better go home now."

Angie would have sworn she saw tears in the girl's brown eyes, but before she could comment on it, Lauren was gone. It wasn't until later, when Angie was closing out the register, that it dawned on her.

Lauren had bolted at the word family.

WHEN ANGIE GOT HOME, THE COTTAGE WAS QUIET AND dark, and in all those shadows lay loneliness.

She closed the door behind her and stood there, listening to the sound of her own breathing. It was a sound she'd grown used to, and yet here, in this house that had been loud in her youth, it wounded her. When she couldn't stand it anymore, she tossed her purse on the entry table and went to the old RCA stereo in the living room. She pushed a cassette into the tape player and turned the system on.

Tony Bennett's voice floated through the speakers, filling the room with music and memories. This was her papa's favorite tape; the one he'd made himself. Every song began late, sometimes as much as a whole stanza. Whenever he'd heard one he loved, he'd jump up from his chair and run for the stereo, yelling, "I love this one!"

She wanted to smile at the memory, but that lightness wasn't in her. In fact, it felt far away. "I hired a new waitress tonight, Papa. She's a high school girl. You can imagine Mama's reaction to that. Oh, and she has red hair."

She went to the window and stared outside. Moonlight dusted the waves and glistened along the dark blue sea. The next song came on. Bette Midler's "Wind Beneath My Wings."

It had played at his funeral.

The music swirled around her, threatened to pull her under.

"It is easy to talk to him, isn't it? Especially here."

Angie spun around at the sound of her mother's voice.

Mama stood behind the sofa, staring at her, obviously trying to smile. She was dressed in a ratty old flannel nightgown, one Papa had given her years ago. She crossed the room and snapped off the stereo.

"What are you doing here, Mama?"

Mama sat down on the sofa and patted the cushion. "I knew you would have a hard night."

Angie sat down beside her, close enough to lean against her mother's steady side. "How did you know?"

Mama put an arm around her. "The girl," she said at last.

Angie couldn't believe she hadn't figured it out. Of course. "I'll need to keep my distance from her, won't I?"

"You've never been good at that."

"No."

Mama tightened her hold. "Just be careful. Your heart is soft."

"It feels as if it's in pieces sometimes."

Mama made a sound, a little sigh. "We keep breathing in times like that. There's nothing else."

Angie nodded. "I know."

After that, they got out a deck of cards and played gin rummy long into the night. By the time they fell asleep side by side on the sofa, curled up beneath a quilt Mama had made years ago, Angie had found her strength again.