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"I thought youd gone home," Angie said, pushing a chair toward her sister.
"I walked Mama out to her car. While we were standing in the rain, she decided to tell me that my teenage daughter is dressing like a hooker. " She sank into the chair. "Ill take a glass of that wine. "
Angie poured a glass, handed it to her sister. "All teenagers dress like that these days. "
"Thats what I told Mama. Her answer was, You better tell Sarah that she is advertising a product she is too young to sell. Oh. And that Papa would be spinning in his grave. "
"Ah. The big guns. "
Mira smiled tiredly, sipped her wine. "You dont look too happy, either. "
She sighed. "Im in trouble, Mira. Ever since I saw Conlan again--"
"Youve been in trouble since the day you two split up. Everybody knows that except you. "
"I miss him," Angie admitted quietly.
"So what are you going to do?"
"Do?"
"To get him back. "
Just the sound of it hurt. "That train has left the station, Mira. Its too late. "
"Its never too late until youre dead. Remember Kent John? When he dumped you, you waged a campaign that was for the record books. "
Angie laughed. It was true. The poor guy hadnt stood a chance. Shed gone after him like a cold wind. "I was fifteen years old. "
"Yeah, and now youre thirty-eight. Conlans worth more than some high school jock. If you love him . . . " Like any good fisherman--and everyone in West End knew how to fish--Mira let the bait dangle.
"He doesnt love me anymore," Angie said quickly.
Mira looked at her. "Are you sure?"
IN HER WHOLE LIFE, THIS WAS THE FIRST TIME LAUREN had ever skipped a whole day of school. But Angie had been right: Lauren needed facts, not just fear.
She sat stiffly in her window seat on a Greyhound bus, watching the landscape change. When shed paid her fare and climbed aboard, it had been dark outside, predawn. Light was just creeping over the hills when the bus drove through Fircrest. There, it made several stops. At each one she tensed up, praying no one she knew got on. Thankfully, she was safe.
She closed her eyes finally, not wanting to watch the passing of miles. Each one took her closer to her destination.
You know what makes a girl throw up for no reason, dont you?
"Im not," Lauren whispered, praying that it was true.
Those cheapo home pregnancy tests were wrong all the time. Everyone knew that.
She couldnt be pregnant. It didnt matter what that little strip had shown.
"Seventh and Gallen," the driver called out as the bus rattled to a stop.
Lauren grabbed her backpack and hurried off.
The cold hit her face. Damp, freezing air wrapped around her, made her draw in a sharp breath. Unlike at home, where the air smelled of pine trees and greenery and the salty tang of the sea, here it smelled citylike, of car exhaust and trapped air.
She flipped her collar up to protect her face and checked her directions, then walked the two blocks to Chester Street.
There it was: a squat, unadorned concrete block building with a flat roof.
