NGIE'S DREAMS THAT NIGHT CAME IN BLACK AND white; faded images from some forgotten family album of the has-been and never-were moments. She was in Searle Park, at the merry-go-round, waving at a small dark-haired girl who had her father's blue eyes...

Slowly, the girl faded to gray and disappeared; it was as if a mist had swept in and veiled the world.

Then she saw Conlan on the ball field, coaching Little League.

The images were watery and uncertain because she'd never really been there in the stands, watching her husband coach his friends' sons, clapping when Billy Van-Derbeek hit a line drive up the middle. She'd been at home on those days, curled in a fetal position on her bed. It hurts too much, she'd told her husband when he begged her to come along.

Why hadn't she thought about what he needed?

"I'm sorry, Con," her dream self whispered, reaching out for him.

She woke with a gasp. For the next few hours she lay in her bed, curled on her side, trying to put it all back in storage. She shouldn't have tried to go back in time; it hurt too much. Some things were simply lost. She should have known that.

Every now and again she realized that she was crying. By the time she heard a knock at the front door, her pillow was damp.

Thank God, she thought. Someone to keep her mind off the past.

She sat up, shoved the hair from her eyes. Throwing the covers aside, she climbed out of bed and stumbled downstairs. "I'm coming. Don't leave," she yelled.

The door swung open. Mama and Mira and Livvy stood there, all dressed in their Sunday best.

"It's Advent," Mama said. "You're coming to church with us."

"Maybe next Sunday," Angie said tiredly. "I was up late last night. I didn't sleep well."

"Of course you didn't sleep well," Mama said.

Angie knew when she'd hit a wall, and the DeSaria women with their minds made up were solid brick. "Fine."

It took her fifteen minutes to shower and dress and towel dry her hair. Another three minutes for makeup, and she was ready to go.

By ten o'clock, they were pulling into the church lot.

Angie stepped out into the cold December morning and felt as if she were going back in time. She was a girl again, dressed in white for her first communion... then a woman in white on her wedding day... then a woman in black, crying for her father. So much of her life had happened beneath these stained glass windows.

They went to the third row, where Vince and Sal had the children lined up by height. Angie sat next to Mama.

For the next hour, she went through the motions of her youth: rising and kneeling and rising again.

By the closing prayer, she realized that something had changed in her, shifted suddenly back into place, though she hadn't known it was out of alignment until now.

Her faith had been there all along, flowing in her veins, waiting for her return. A kind of peace overcame her, made her feel stronger, safer. When the service was over, she walked outside into the crisp, freezing air and looked across the street.

There it was: Searle Park. The merry-go-round from her dream glittered in the sharp sunlight. She'd grown up playing in this park. Her children would have loved it, too.

She walked across the street, hearing laughter that had never been: Push me, Mommy.

She sat down on the cold, corrugated steel and closed her eyes, thinking about the adoption that had failed, the babies who'd never been, the daughter who'd been taken too soon, and the marriage that had been broken.

She cried for it. Great heaving sobs that seemed to crack her chest and bruise her heart, but when it was over, she was dry inside. At last.

She looked up to the pale blue sky. She felt her father beside her, a warm presence in all that cold air.

"Angie!"

She wiped her eyes.

Mira was running across the street, her long skirt flapping against her legs. She was out of breath by the time she reached the park. "Are you okay?"

It was surprisingly easy to smile. "You know what? I am."

"No kidding?"

"No kidding."

Mira sat down beside her. They kicked their feet in the sand, and the merry-go-round started to turn.

Angie leaned back and stared up at the sky. She was moving again.

LAUREN SPENT ALL OF THE NEXT DAY GATHERING HER courage. It was dark by the time she reached Mountainaire. The gate was closed and the guardhouse looked deserted. A man in a tan uniform was stringing Christmas lights along the tall wrought-iron fence that protected the houses within.

She went to the guardhouse and peered through the window. An empty chair sat behind a desk cluttered with car magazines.

"Can I help you?"

It was the man with the lights. He looked irritated by her presence, or maybe it was simply the job.

"I'm here to see David Haynes."

"He expecting you?"

"No." Her voice was barely there. It wasn't surprising. Last night's party had been Thunderdome loud. She and David had had to shout at each other just to carry on a conversation. Later, after he'd gone home--just in case his folks showed up--she'd cried herself to sleep.

This wasn't a secret she could keep. It was ripping her up inside.

In front of her, the gate jerked once, and then arced inward slowly.

Lauren nodded at the guard, though she couldn't see him through the small window. In its square surface all she could see was her own reflection: a thin, frightened-looking girl with curly red hair and brown eyes that were already filling with tears.

By the time she reached David's house--she'd gone the long way, walking up and down several unfamiliar streets--it had started to rain. Not much of a rain, really--more of a mist that beaded your cheeks and made it difficult to breathe.

Finally, she came to his house. The majestic Georgian home looked like a Hallmark Christmas card. The per fect holiday house with lights everywhere, fake candles in the windows, and evergreen boughs draped above the front door.

She pushed through the gate at the perimeter of the lot and walked up the patterned stone path to the front door. When she reached the door, a light automatically came on. She rang the bell. It played a symphonic melody; Bach, maybe.

Mr. Haynes answered the door, wearing a pair of expertly creased khaki pants and a shirt as white as fresh snow. His hair was as flawless as his tan. "Hello, Lauren. This is a surprise."

"I know it's late, sir. Almost seven-thirty. I should have called. I did call, actually. Or I tried to, but no one answered."

"So you came anyway."

"I figured you were on long distance, and I... really needed to see David."

He smiled. "Don't worry about it. He's just playing that damn Xbox. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you."

"Thank you, sir." She could breathe again.

"Go on downstairs. I'll send David."

The carpet on the stairs was so thick her shoes made no sound at all. Downstairs, the room was big and perfectly decorated. Flax-colored carpeting, an oversized cream suede sectional with gold and taupe pillows, a coffee table made of pale marble. Ornately carved wooden doors concealed a huge plasma screen television.

She perched uncomfortably on the sofa, waiting. She didn't hear footsteps on the stairs, but suddenly David was there, bounding into the room, pulling her up into his arms.

She clung to him.

She would give anything to go back in time, to have nothing more important to tell him than how much she loved him. Adults always talked about mistakes, the cost of doing the wrong thing. She wished she'd listened now.

"I love you, David." She heard the tinny, desperate edge in her voice and she winced.

He frowned down at her, drew back.

She hated that, the pulling away.

"You've been acting weird lately," he said, lying down on the sofa, pulling her on top of him.

She slid sideways, then knelt beside the sofa. "Your parents are home. We can't--"

"Only my dad. Mom's at some fund-raiser in town." He tried again to pull her on top of him.

She wanted to. Wanted to kiss him and let him touch her until she forgot all about...

the baby.

She gently pushed him back, then sat on her heels. "David." It seemed to take everything she had just to say his name.

"What's up? You're scaring me."

She couldn't stop herself; tears burned her eyes.

He touched her face, wiped her tears away. "I've never seen you cry before." She heard the rising panic in his voice.

She took a deep breath. "Remember the Longview game? The first home game of the year?"

His confusion was obvious. "Yeah, 21-7."

"I was thinking of a different score."

"Huh?"

"After the game we all went to Rocco's for pizza, and then to the state park."

"Yeah. What's your point, Lo?"

"You had your mom's Escalade," she said softly, remembering it all. The way he'd pushed the back seat down and brought out a pale blue blanket and a chenille pillow. Everything except the accessory that mattered most.

A condom.

They'd parked out on the edge of the beach, beneath the dark fringe of ancient cedar trees. A huge silver moon gazed down on them, giving their faces a tarnished, shiny look. Savage Garden's "Truly, Madly, Deeply" had been playing on the radio.

He remembered it, too. She saw the memories move across his face. She knew instantly when the realization dawned. Fear narrowed his eyes. He drew back, frowning. "I remember."

"I'm pregnant."

He made a sound that tore at her heart, a sigh that faded into silence. "No." He closed his eyes. "Fuck. Fuck."

"I guess we've pinpointed the problem." She felt him ease away from her, and it hurt more than she'd imagined. She'd tried to prepare herself for any reaction, but if he stopped loving her, she couldn't bear it.

Slowly, his eyes opened. He turned, looked at her through eyes that were dull. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Oh," he said softly, and though he looked dazed and terrified, he was trying to smile, and the attempt pushed some of her despair aside. "What now?" he finally asked in a voice that was thick and tight.

She refused to look at him. She could tell that he was on the verge of tears. She couldn't see him break. "I don't know."

"Could you... have... you know?"

"An abortion." She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling as if something inside were tearing away. Tears burned again but didn't fall. It was the same thought she'd had. So why did it hurt so much to hear him say it? "That's probably the answer."

"Yeah," he said, too quickly. "I'll pay for it. And go with you."

She felt as if she were slowly falling underwater. "Okay." Even to her own ears, her voice sounded distant.

LAUREN STARED OUT THE WINDOW AT THE BLUR OF green and gold landscape and tried not to think about where she was going, what she was doing. David was beside her, his hands tight on the steering wheel. They hadn't spoken in almost an hour. What was there to say now? They were going to

take care of it.

She shivered at the thought, but what choice did she have?

The drive from West End to Vancouver seemed to take forever, and with every passing mile, her bones seemed to tighten. She could have had this done closer to home, but David hadn't wanted to risk being seen. His family was friendly with too many local doctors.

There, through the filmy glass of the car window, was the clinic. She'd expected picketers out front carrying signs that said terrible things and showed heartbreaking pictures, but the entrance was quiet today, empty. Maybe even protesters didn't want to be out on such a bleak and freezing day.

Lauren closed her eyes, battling a suddenly rising panic.

David touched her for the first time. His hand was shaking and cold; strangely, his anxiety gave her strength. "Are you okay?"

She loved him for that, for being here and loving her. She would have said so, but her throat was tight. When they parked, the full weight of her decision pressed down on her. She wasn't taking care of something, she was having an abortion.

For a terrifying moment, she couldn't make herself move. David came around and opened her door. She clung to his hand.

Together, they walked toward the clinic. One foot in front of the other; that was all she let herself think about.

He opened the door for her.

The waiting room was full of women--girls, mostly, sitting alone, their heads bowed as if in prayer or despair, their knees clamped together. A belated gesture. Some pretended to read magazines; others didn't pretend that anything could take their minds off why they were here. David was the only boy in the room.

Lauren went to the front desk and checked in, then returned to an empty chair and filled out the paperwork she'd been handed. When she finished, she took the clipboard up to the desk and handed it to the woman, who looked it over.

"You're seventeen?" she asked, looking up.

Lauren felt a rush of panic. She'd meant to lie about her age, but she'd been too nervous to think clearly. "Almost eighteen. Do I..." She lowered her voice. "Do I need my mom's permission for the... for this?"

"Not in Washington. I just wanted to make sure it was accurate. You look younger."

She nodded weakly, relieved. "Oh."

"Have a seat. We'll call you."

Lauren went back to her seat. David sat down beside her. They held hands but didn't look at each other. Lauren was afraid she'd cry if she did. She read the pam phlet that was on the table, obviously left there by another unfortunate girl.

The procedure, it stated, should take no more than fifteen minutes.... recovery enough for work within twenty-four to forty-eight hours...... minimal discomfort...

She closed the pamphlet, set it aside. She might be young, but she knew that what mattered was not the pain or the recovery or the length of the "procedure."

What mattered was this: Could she live with it?

She pressed a hand to her still-flat stomach. There was life inside her.

Life.

It was easier not to think about her pregnancy that way, easier to pretend a procedure that lasted fifteen minutes could wash away her problem. But what if it didn't? What if she mourned this lost baby for the rest of her life? What if she felt forever tarnished by today?

She looked up at David. "Are you sure?"

He paled. "What choice do we have?"

"I don't know."

A woman walked into the waiting room. Holding a clipboard, she read off some names. "Lauren. Sally. Justine."

David squeezed her hand. "I love you."

Lauren was shaking as she got to her feet. Two other girls also stood. Lauren gave David one last, lingering look, then followed the white-clad nurse down the hallway.

"Justine, exam room two," the woman said, pausing at a closed door.

A frightened-looking teenage girl went inside, closed the door behind her.

"Lauren. Room three," the woman said a few seconds later, opening a door. "Put on that gown and cap."

This time Lauren was the frightened-looking girl who walked into the room. As she disrobed and redressed in the white cotton gown and paper cap, she couldn't help noticing the irony: cap and gown. As a senior, this was hardly the way she'd imagined it. She sat on the edge of the table.

Bright silver cabinets and countertops made her wince; they were too bright beneath the glare of an overhead light.

The door opened. An elderly man walked in, wearing a cap and a loosened mask that flapped against his throat as he moved. He looked tired, as worn down as an old pencil. "Hello," he said, looking down at her chart. "Lauren. Go ahead and put your feet in the stirrups and lie back. Get comfortable."

Another person came in. "Hello, Lauren. I'm Martha. I'll be assisting the doctor." She patted Lauren's hand.

Lauren felt the sting of tears in her eyes; they blurred her vision.

"It'll all be over in a few minutes," the nurse said.

Over.

A few minutes.

No baby.

The procedure.

And she knew.

She sat upright. "I can't do it," she said, feeling the tears roll down her cheeks. "I can't live with it."

The doctor sighed heavily. His sad, downward-tilted eyes told her how often he'd seen this moment played out. "Are you sure?" He consulted her chart. "Your window for having the procedure--"

"Abortion," Lauren said, saying the word out loud for the first time. It seemed to cut her tongue with its sharp edges.

"Yes," he said. "The abortion can't happen after--"

"I know." For the first time in days, she was certain of something, and the sureness calmed her. "I won't change my mind." She pulled off the cap.

"Okay. Good luck to you," he said, then left the room.

"Planned Parenthood can help with adoption... if that's what you're interested in," the nurse said. Not waiting for an answer, she, too, left the room.

Lauren sat there, alone now. Her emotions were all tangled up. She felt good about her decision. It was the only thing she could have lived with. She believed absolutely in a woman's right to choose. But this was her choice.

She slid off the table and began to undress.

She'd done the right thing for her. She had. She knew it in her bones.

But what would David say?

HOURS LATER, LAUREN SAT BESIDE DAVID ON THE cream-colored sofa in his family's media room. Upstairs, perhaps, ordinary life was going on; down here, it was eerily quiet. She was holding his hand so tightly her fingers felt numb. She couldn't seem to stop crying.

"We get married, I guess," he said in a flat voice.

It hurt her as much as anything had, hearing him sound so defeated. She turned to him then, gathered him into her arms. She felt his tears on her throat; each one scalded her. She drew back a little, just enough to see him. He looked... broken. He was trying so hard to be grown-up, but his eyes betrayed his youth. They were wide with fear; his mouth was trembling. She touched his damp cheek. "Just because I'm pregnant doesn't mean--"

David yanked away from her. "Mom!"

Mrs. Haynes stood in the doorway, dressed in an impeccable black suit with a snowy blouse. She held a pizza box out in front of her. "Your dad called me. He thought you guys might like a pizza," she said dully, staring at David. Then she started to cry.