AUREN CLOSED HER TEXTBOOK AND LOOKED UP AT the clock. 2:45.

2:46.

She let her breath out in a nervous sigh. All around her kids were laughing and talking as they got their things together and headed out of the classroom. There was a lot of energy in school this week. That was to be expected. Finals began on Monday. In different-- normal--times, Lauren would have been as keyed up as the rest of them. But now, in this third week of January, she had bigger worries. By this time next week, while her friends were looking for their new classrooms, she'd be done with high school. A graduate.

She reached down for her backpack and put her book and notebook away. Slinging the heavy pack in place, she headed out of the classroom. Merging into the crowded hallway, she forced herself to smile at friends, to talk and carry on as if this were any other day.

All the while she was thinking: I should have asked Angie to come with me today.

Why hadn't she?

Even now she wasn't sure.

She stopped at her locker and got her coat. She was just about to slam it shut when David came up behind her and tugged.

"Hey," he whispered against her neck.

She leaned into him. "Hey."

He slowly turned her around until she was facing him. His smile was irritatingly bright. This was the happiest he'd looked since she'd told him about the baby. "You look happy." She heard the bitterness in her voice and it made her wince. She sounded exactly like her mother.

"I'm sorry."

But he didn't know why he was sorry or what he'd done wrong. She wondered if from now on he'd start handling her with care. She forced another smile. "Don't be. My moods change faster than the weather. So. Where do we go?"

His relief was as obvious as the confusion had been. He smiled, but there was a new wariness in his eyes, too. "My house. Mom thought that would be more comfortable for you." He put his arm around her, tucked her against his side.

She kicked her locker shut and let herself be swept through the campus and into his car.

In the few miles between Fircrest Academy and Mountainaire, they talked about things that didn't matter. Gossip. The graduation night party. Hookups. Lauren tried to focus on that, the bits and pieces of ordinary high school life, but when David pulled up to the guardhouse, she drew in a sharp breath.

The gate swung open.

She coiled her hands together and looked out the window at the big, beautiful homes.

For the last few years, as she'd come into this enclave of the rich, she'd seen only the beauty of it. She'd dreamed of belonging in a place like this. Now she wondered why people with so much money didn't choose to live on the water, or why they wouldn't want to be in the busy neighborhood where the DeSarias lived. There, the streets seemed alive. Here, everything was too contained, too clipped and perfected. How could real life--and real love--grow in so confined a space?

As they pulled up to the curb in front of the Hayneses' mammoth home, she found herself wondering what the three of them did with all the empty spaces in their house.

David parked the car, then turned to her. "You ready for this?"

"No."

"You want to cancel?"

"Absolutely not." She climbed down from the passenger seat and headed for the house. Halfway there, David came up beside her and took her hand in his. The support eased some of the butterflies in her stomach.

At the door, they both paused. Then David opened the door and led her inside.

The house was quiet, as usual. The very opposite of the DeSaria home.

"Mom? Dad?" David called out, shutting the door behind them.

Mrs. Haynes came around the corner, wearing a winter white wool dress. Her auburn hair had been drawn back in a tight bun. She looked thinner than the last time Lauren had seen her, and older.

Lauren could understand why. In the past weeks, she'd learned how life could mark a person. "Hello, Mrs. Haynes," she said, moving forward.

Mrs. Haynes looked at her. A sadness tugged ever so slightly at her painted lips. "Hello, Lauren. How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"Thank you for agreeing to come today. David has told us it's difficult for you."

David squeezed her hand.

Lauren knew this was the time to say something, maybe state her opinion, but when she tried, nothing came out. She nodded instead.

Just then Mr. Haynes walked into the room. Dressed in a navy blue double-breasted suit and pale yellow shirt, he looked every bit the power player who was used to getting his way in the boardroom. Beside him was a heavyset man in a black suit.

"Hello, Lauren," Mr. Haynes said, not bothering to smile. He didn't look at his son. "I'd like you to meet Stuart Phillips. He's a well-respected attorney who specializes in adoption."

That was all it took, just the word being spoken aloud, and Lauren started to cry.

Mrs. Haynes was beside her instantly, handing her a tissue, murmuring something about everything being okay.

But it wasn't okay.

Lauren wiped her eyes, muttered, "Sorry," and let herself be led into the living room. There, they all sat down on the expensive cream-colored furniture. She worried that her tears would stain the fabric.

There was a moment of awkward silence before the lawyer started to talk.

Lauren listened, or at least she tried to. Her heart was beating so loudly that sometimes she couldn't hear anything else. Bits and pieces drifted toward her, sticking like flotsam in the net of her mind.

best decision for the child

another family/another mother

better able to parent

termination of rights

college is best for you now

too young

When it was over and the lawyer had said everything he'd come to say, he sat back in his chair and smiled easily, as if those words had been sounds and breath, nothing more. "Do you have any questions, Lauren?"

She looked around the room.

Mrs. Haynes looked ready to burst into tears and David was pale. His blue eyes were narrowed with worry. Mr. Haynes was tapping his armrest.

"You all think I should do this," Lauren said slowly.

"You're too young to be parents," Mr. Haynes said. "David can't remember to feed the dog or make his bed, for God's sake."

Mrs. Haynes shot her husband a withering look, then smiled at Lauren. It was sad, that smile, and full of knowing. "There's no easy answer here, Lauren. We know that. But you and David are good kids. You deserve a chance in life. Parenthood is hard work. You need to think about the baby, too. You want to give your child every opportunity. I tried to discuss all this with your mother, but she didn't return my calls."

"Believe me, young lady," the lawyer said, "there are dozens of wonderful people who would love and adore your baby."

"That's the point," Lauren said so quietly that everyone leaned forward to hear her. "It's my baby." She turned to David. "Our baby."

He didn't move, didn't look away. To someone who didn't know him, he might have appeared unaffected. But to Lauren, who'd loved him so long, everything in his eyes changed. His face seemed to crumple into disappointment.

"Okay," he said, as if she'd asked a question. She knew then--as she'd known before--that he'd stand by her, back up her choices.

But he didn't want this. To him it wasn't a baby, it was an accident. A mistake. If it were up to him, they'd sign a few papers, hand over the baby, and move on.

If she didn't make that choice, she'd ruin his life as much as her own. Maybe the child's, too.

She drew in a heavy breath, exhaled it slowly. She should break up with David. If she loved him enough, she'd set him free from all of this.

The thought of that, of losing him, paralyzed her with fear.

She looked around the room, saw everyone's expectation, and she was beaten.

"I'll think about it," she said.

The suddenness of David's smile broke her heart.

"ALL RIGHT," ANGIE SAID, COMING INTO THE LIVING room. "Do you hear the timer on the stove?"

"It's beeping," Lauren said, pulling her knees up to her chest. She was sitting on the floor in front of the fire.

"Yes, it is, and do you know why?"

"Dinner is ready?"

Angie rolled her eyes. "I realize I'm not the best chef in the world, but even I don't take my dinner out of the oven at eleven in the morning."

"Oh. Right." Lauren stared down at her hands. She'd chewed her nails down to the quick.

Angie knelt down in front of her. "You've been moping around this house for too long. I brought home your favorite pizza last week when you graduated and you hardly touched it. Last night you went to bed at seven o'clock. I've been patient, waiting for you to talk to me, but--"

"I'll go clean my room." She started to get up.

Angie stopped her with a touch. "Honey. Your room couldn't be any cleaner. That's all you've been doing in the last few days. Working and cleaning your room and sleeping. What's going on?"

"I can't talk about it."

"So it's the baby."

Lauren heard the tiny crack in Angie's voice when she said baby. "I don't want to talk to you about it."

Angie sighed. "I know. And I know why. But I'm not that fragile anymore."

"Your sisters say you are."

"My sisters talk too much."

Lauren looked at her. The understanding in Angie's eyes was her undoing. "How did you handle it? Losing Sophia, I mean."

Angie sat back on her heels. "Wow. No one ever asks me that head-on."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have--"

"No. We're friends. We can talk about our lives."

Angie sidled up beside Lauren, put an arm around her. Together they stared into the crackling fire. Angie felt the old grief move into her again, squeezing her chest until it hurt to breathe. "You're asking how you live with a broken heart," she finally said.

"Yeah. I guess."

Once the memories were there, Angie had no choice but to gather them close. "I held her; did I ever tell you that? She was so tiny. And so blue." She drew in a ragged breath. "When she was gone, I couldn't seem to stop crying. I missed her and the idea of her so much. I let the missing become who I was... then Conlan left me and I came back home and that's when the most amazing thing happened."

"What?"

"A bright, beautiful young woman came into my life, and she reminded me that there was joy in the world. I started to remember my blessings. I learned that my papa had been right when he used to say This too shall pass. Life has a way of going on, and you do your best and move with it. A broken heart heals. Like every wound, there's a scar, a memory, but it fades. Finally you realize that an hour has passed without your thinking about it, then a day. I don't know if that answers your question..."

Lauren stared at the flames. "The old 'time heals all wounds' answer, huh?"

"I know it's hard for a teenager to believe, but it's true."

"Maybe." She sighed. "Everyone wants me to think about adoption."

God help her, Angie's first thought was Give me the baby. She hated herself for it. She wished she could say something but her voice seemed to have gone missing. Suddenly, she was thinking about her nursery and all those old dreams. She battled the feelings, put them aside long enough to ask quietly, "What do you want?"

"I don't know. I don't want to ruin David's life. My life. All our lives, but I can't just give away my baby." She turned to Angie. "What do I do?"

"Oh, Lauren," Angie said, pulling her into her arms. She didn't point out the obvious: that Lauren had already made up her mind. Instead, she said, "Look at me."

Lauren drew back. Her face was ravaged by tears. "Wh-what?"

"I'm here for you." For the first time, Angie dared to touch Lauren's stomach. "And there's this little person who needs you to be strong."

"I'm afraid I can't do it alone."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you. Whatever you decide, you're not alone."

THE LAST, SHORT, GRAY JANUARY DAYS DRIPPED INTO one another. The sky was always bloated with clouds; rain fell in a steady rhythm.

The citizens of West End gathered beneath the giant eaves of the Congregational Church and in the covered walkways along Driftwood Way; their conversations always came around to the weather. Every day, in every way, they were hoping to see the sun.

When January came to a close, they pinned their hopes on February.

On Valentine's Day, the clouds parted, and though no sun was visible, the rain diminished to a pearlescent mist.

The restaurant was packed. By seven o'clock, both dining rooms were full and a line of people waited along the windows.

Everyone was moving at top speed. Lauren, who had been working full-time since graduating, handled double her usual number of tables. Mama and Mira made triple the number of specials, while Angie poured wine and brought bread and bused the empty dishes wherever she could. Even Rosa was in the spirit of things--she carried two plates at a time instead of one.

The kitchen door banged open. "Angela!" Mama called out. "Artichoke hearts and ricotta."

"Right, Mama." Angie hurried downstairs and grabbed a huge jar of artichoke hearts and a container of fresh ricotta. For the next hour, she ran herself ragged. They were going to need to hire another waitress. Maybe two.

She was running to check the reservation book when she ran into Livvy. Literally. Angie laughed. "Don't tell me you came for dinner tonight?"

"Spend Valentine's Day at the family restaurant? Not hardly. Sal is working late."

"So why are you here?"

"I heard you were shorthanded."

"No. We're fine. Busy, but fine. Really. You should stay off your feet. Go home and--"

Someone came up behind Angie, grabbed her shoulders. Before she could turn around, Conlan swept her into his arms and carried her out of the restaurant.

The last thing Angie heard was her sister saying, "Like I said. Shorthanded."

His smile was dazzling as he deposited her in the passenger seat of his car. "Close your eyes."

She did as she was told.

"I like this new Angie. She listens to me."

"Only so far, pal." She laughed. This felt so good. It was cold out, freezing on this February night, but he had the top down anyway and the air stung her face and whipped her hair in a dozen different directions. "We're at the beach," she said, smelling it, hearing the roar of the surf.

He parked, then came around to her side. She heard the trunk whir open and thump shut.

He picked her up again, carried her forward. She could tell by the heaviness of his steps, the way he started breathing just a little harder, that he was walking in sand.

"Someone needs to visit a gym more often," she teased.

"Says the heavyweight in my arms."

He set her down. She heard the snap of a blanket and his curses as he straightened it out. Then he started a fire. The acrid smell tinged the sea air, made her think of every high school beach party she'd ever attended.

She drew in a deep breath and smelled the whole of her youth. The sand, the sea, the driftwood that was never completely wet or completely dry.

"Open your eyes."

When she did, she was looking up at him.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Ange."

She leaned up to him. He knelt down to meet her. They kissed like teenagers, with a desperate hunger, and then stretched out on the blanket.

With a heaven of stars above them and a crackle of firelight beside, they lay there, entwined, kissing and talking and kissing some more. They thought about making love, but it was too damned cold out, and frankly, making out was pretty fun.

In the blackest part of the night, when the stars were so bright they hurt your eyes and moonlight glowed on the foamy surf, Angie snuggled up alongside him and kissed his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

"What now?" he asked quietly; the question that was always between them. If she hadn't been listening for it, the surf would have wiped it away.

"We don't have to decide anything, Con. For now, this is enough." In the weeks since Christmas they'd seen each other now and then and talked on the phone for hours. She'd loved all of it so much, she didn't want to risk needing more.

"The old Angie liked to set goals and achieve them. She wasn't so good at 'let's wait and see.' "

"The old Angie was young." She kissed him, long and hard and with every scrap of love in her heart. When she drew back, she was trembling. In his eyes, she saw a shadow of the old fear, the uncertainty that they could make it a second time when they'd already failed once.

"We're acting like a couple of kids."

"We were grown-up for too long," she said. "Just love me, Con. That's enough for now."

His hands slid down her back and slipped under her skirt. "I can do that."

She grabbed the blanket and pulled it over them. "Good" was all she managed to say before he kissed her.

THE DRIZZLY FEBRUARY DAYS MELTED INTO ONE ANOTHER, forming a monotonous gray blur of passing time. It wasn't until the last night of this shortest month that Angie had the baby dream again. She woke with a start and rolled over in bed, searching in vain for her husband's strong and comforting presence. Alone, she crawled upright and switched on the bedside lamp, then sat there, with her knees drawn up, as if holding herself could somehow make her arms feel less empty.

The good news was there were no tear marks on her cheeks. She'd felt like crying, but she hadn't. Progress, she thought; it came in the tiniest increments when the sun went down.

It didn't surprise her that she'd had the dream again. Living with Lauren sometimes churned up the past. There was no way to avoid it, no way to step aside. Especially now; in the past week, the teenager had finally begun to gain weight. There was an almost imperceptible roundness to her waist. A stranger wouldn't notice it, but to a woman who'd spent so much of her adult life seeking that very thing, it shone like a neon sign. And today they had a doctor's appointment scheduled; that wouldn't be easy.

Angie finally gave up trying to sleep and reached for the pile of work on her nightstand. For the next few hours, she busied herself with payroll and accounts receivable. By the time the gentle sun tapped on her window, she'd found her peace again.

There would simply be days like this--nights like the one she'd just endured.

Now and then in the coming months, she would be pulled up short by loss and longing. She'd known that when she offered Lauren a place to live. Some dreams did not go away easily, and undreaming them could last a lifetime. This she knew.

She threw back the covers and headed for the bathroom. After a long, hot shower, she felt better again. Ready to face the difficult day ahead. And there was no doubt that it would be difficult.

For Lauren's sake, she would get through it. She was making her bed when she heard Lauren call out her name.

Angie went to the bedroom door, opened it, and yelled, "What?"

"Breakfast is ready."

She hurried downstairs and found Lauren in the kitchen, stirring oatmeal.

"Good morning," Lauren said brightly.

"You're up early."

"It's not early." Lauren looked up. "Did you have another bad night?"

"No. No," Angie answered quickly, wishing she'd never mentioned that sometimes sleep evaded her.

Lauren smiled, obviously relieved. "Good." She carried over two bowls of oatmeal and set them on the table, one on each blue placemat, then sat down opposite Angie. "Your mother told me I needed to eat more fiber and taught me how to make oatmeal."

Angie doctored her bowl in the DeSaria way--brown sugar, maple syrup, raisins, and milk--and tasted it. "Fabulous," she declared.

"Of course Mira told me to eat lots of protein and Livvy took me aside and said that carbohydrates would make the baby strong. I guess I'm supposed to eat everything."

"That's my family's answer to every question in life: Eat more."

Lauren laughed. "My doctor's appointment is at ten o'clock this morning. The bus leaves--"

"What on earth makes you imagine I'll let you take a bus to see the doctor?"

"I know this is hard for you."

Angie considered a smart-ass answer, but when she looked into Lauren's earnest face, she said, "Life is full of hard choices, Lauren. I want to go to the doctor's with you."

After that, their conversation veered back onto familiar, everyday roads. As they stood side by side, washing dishes, they talked about the restaurant, the weather, the schedule for the rest of the week. Lauren told a funny story about her latest date with David, and an even funnier one about Mama.

By the time they reached the doctor's office, Angie was tense again.

She paused at the clinic door, trying not to make this about her.

Lauren touched her arm. "Do you want to wait in the car?"

"Absolutely not." Forcing a smile, however unnatural it felt, she opened the door and stepped into the medicinal-smelling office.

Memories came at her hard. She'd been in too many rooms like this one, put on too many flimsy gowns and put her feet into too many cold stirrups. For years, it seemed like all she had done...

She kept moving across the room, one step at a time. At the receptionist's desk, she held onto the Formica ledge. "Lauren Ribido," she said.

The receptionist flipped through the stack of manila-foldered charts and pulled one out. Then she handed a clipboard to Angie. "Here. Fill this out and return it to me."

Angie stared down at the familiar form. Start date of your last period... number of previous pregnancies... gone to term... Slowly, she handed it to Lauren.

"Oh," the receptionist said, frowning. "I'm sorry. I assumed--"

"Don't worry about it," Angie said quickly. She led Lauren over to the bank of chairs along the wall. They sat down side by side.

Lauren began filling out the form.

Angie heard the chicken scratch sound of the pen on paper. In some strange way, it calmed her.

When they called Lauren's name, Angie almost stood up. Then she thought: No. Lauren had a lot of growing up to do. This was the start of it. Angie could only be here for her afterward.

The appointment seemed to last forever. It gave Angie time to relax, to regroup. By the time Lauren came out, Angie had regained control. She was able to talk to Lauren about all of it--the symptoms, the aches and pains, the morning sickness, the Lamaze classes.

On the way home, they stopped at the grocery store for more prenatal vitamins, and then sat down on a bench out front.

"Why are we sitting out here?" Lauren asked. "It looks like it's going to rain any minute."

"It probably will."

"I'm getting cold."

"Button your coat."

A green minivan pulled up in front of them and parked.

"It's about time," Angie muttered, tossing her paper coffee cup into the trash bin beside the bench.

The van doors opened all at once. Mira, Mama, and Livvy emerged onto the street. They were all talking at the same time.

Mama and Livvy went to Lauren. Each taking one of the girl's arms, they hauled her to her feet.

"I thought the restaurant was closed today," Lauren said, frowning.

Mama stopped. "Angela said you needed some new clothes."

A pink blush spread across Lauren's creamy cheeks. The color seemed to emphasize her freckles. "Oh. I didn't bring my money."

Livvy laughed. "Me, too, Mama. I forgot my wallet. You'll have to dust off the old credit card. I could use some maternity clothes, too."

Mama thwopped the back of Livvy's head. "Smart aleck. Come on. It's going to rain."

The three of them took off down the street, arm in arm, their voices sounding like a swarm of bees.

Mira hung back. "So," she said softly. "Are you going to be okay with this?"

Angie loved her sister for daring to ask the obvious. "I haven't been in a maternity shop for a long time."

"I know."

Angie looked down the street. The ironwork sign for Mother-and-Child hung at an angle above the sidewalk. The last time she'd been inside the store had been with her sisters. Angie had been pregnant then, and smiling had come easily. She turned to Mira. "I'll be okay," she said, realizing as she said the words that they contained the truth. It might hurt a bit, might remind her of a few of her harder times, but those feelings were part of who she was, and in the end, it was more hurtful to run away than to face them. "I want to be there for Lauren. She needs me."

Mira's smile was soft and held only the merest worry. "Good for you."

"Yeah," Angie said, smiling, "good for me."

Still, she took her sister's arm and held on to it for support.