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Mom was already moving to the door. When she opened it, she stopped and turned around. Her green eyes looked sad; the lines on her face made her appear a decade older than thirty-four. She ran a hand through her spiked, unkempt white hair. "Whered you get that suit?"
"Mrs. Mauk. Its her daughters. "
"Suzie Mauk died six years ago. "
Lauren shrugged, unable to think of a response.
"She kept her daughters clothes all those years. Wow. "
"Some mothers would find it painful to throw their childs clothes away. "
"Whatever. Why are you dressed in a dead girls suit?"
"I . . . need a job. "
"You work at the drugstore. "
"I got laid off. Times are bad. "
"Ive been trying to tell you that. Im sure theyll hire you back for the holidays. "
"We need money now. The rent is late. "
Her mom seemed to still, and in the sadness of her look, Lauren saw a glimpse of the beauty her mother had once had. "Yeah. I know. "
They stared at each other. Lauren found herself leaning forward, waiting. Say youll go to work tomorrow.
"I gotta go," Mom said at last. Without a backward glance, she left the apartment.
Lauren tucked away the ridiculous disappointment she felt and followed her mother out. By the time she reached the picturesque heart of West End, the rain had stopped. It was only five oclock, but at this time of year night came early. The sky was a pale purple.
Her first stop was the Sea Side, a booming tourist stop that featured microbrews and local oysters.
A little over an hour later, she had made her way from one end of downtown to the other. Three restaurants had politely taken her resume and promised to call her if a job came up. Another two had not bothered with false hopes. All four of the retail shops had told her to come back after Thanksgiving.
Now she stood in front of the last restaurant on the block.
DeSarias.
She glanced at her watch. It was six-twelve. She was going to be late to Davids house.
With a sigh, she climbed the few steps to the front door, noticing that they were rickety. Not a good sign. At the door, she paused to look at the menu. The highest priced item was manicotti at $8. 95. That was not a good sign, either.
Still, she opened the door and went inside.
It was a small place. The walls were brick. An archway separated the space into two equal-sized rooms, each of which held five or six tables that were draped in red-and-white fabric. An oak-manteled fireplace dominated one room. Pictures hung in wooden frames on the rough walls. Family pictures, by the look of them. There were also framed prints of Italy and of grapes and olives. Music was playing. An instrumental version of "I Left My Heart in San Francisco. " The aroma was pure heaven.
There was one family having dinner. One.
Not much of a crowd for a Thursday night.
There was no point in applying here for a job. She might as well give up for tonight. Maybe, if she hurried, she could get home, change her clothes, and make it to Davids by seven oclock. She turned and headed back outside.
As she walked to the bus stop, it started to rain again. A cold wind swept off the ocean and roared through town. Her tattered coat was no shield at all, and by the time she got home, she was freezing.
The front door stood open, but even worse, the dining room window was open, too, and the apartment was freezing.
"Shit," Lauren muttered, rubbing her cold hands together as she kicked the door shut. She hurried to the window. As she reached for it, she heard her mothers voice singing, "Leavin on a jet plane . . . dont know when Ill be back again. "
