The Things We Do for Love

The Things We Do for Love Page 55

"I'm sorry," he said, crying so hard she knew he'd take the out she offered. And though that knowledge hurt, it saved her, too, almost made her smile. Some sacrifices had to be made for love.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pink piece of paper. "Here," he said, offering it to her.

She frowned. The paper felt whisper thin between her fingers. "It's the title to your car."

"I want you to have it."

She could barely see him through her tears. "Oh, David, no."

"It's all I have."

She would remember this moment for all of her life. No matter what, she would always know that he'd loved her. She handed him back the pink slip. "Kiss me, Speed Racer," she whispered, knowing it would be the last time.

THE MINUTE ANGIE PASSED THE NURSE'S STATION, SHE knew.

"Mrs. Malone?" one of the nurses said. "Ms. Connelly would like to speak with you."

Angie pulled away from Conlan and ran. Her sandals snapped on the linoleum floor, sounding obscenely loud. She shoved the door open so hard it cracked against the wall.

Lauren's bed was empty.

She sagged against the doorframe. A part of her had known this was coming, had been waiting for it, but that didn't make it any easier. "She's gone," she said when Conlan came up beside her.

They stood there in the doorway, holding hands, staring at the perfectly made bed. The scent of flowers lingered in the room. It was the only evidence that last night a girl had been here.

"Mrs. Malone?"

She turned slowly, expecting to see the plump face of the hospital's chaplain. He was the first person who'd shown up in Angie's room when Sophia died.

But it was Ms. Connelly, the woman who'd been appointed guardian ad litem. "She left about an hour ago." The woman glanced down. "With her son."

Angie had expected that, too. Still the pain came fast and sharp. "I see."

"She left you a letter. And one for David."

"Thank you," she said, taking the envelopes.

The guardian said, "I'm sorry," and walked away.

Angie looked down at the stark white envelope. The name--Angie Malone--was scrawled across the front. Her hands were shaking as she took it, opened it.

Dear Angie,

I never should have held him. [Here she'd scratched something out.] All my life I've been looking for a family and now that I have one, I can't walk out on him. I'm sorry.

I wish I were strong enough to tell you this in person. But I can't. I can only pray that someday you and Conlan will forgive me.

Just know that somewhere, a new mother is going to sleep at night, thinking about you. Pretending-- wishing--that she had been your daughter.

With love,

Lauren

Angie folded up the letter and put it back in the envelope. Then she turned to Conlan. "She's out there all alone."

"Not alone," he said gently. She knew when she looked in his eyes that he'd expected this all along.

"Too alone, then."

He pulled her into his arms and let her cry.

THEY FOUND DAVID IN THE WAITING ROOM WITH HIS mother.

At their arrival, David looked up.

"Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Malone."

His mother, Anita, smiled. "Hello again."

An awkward pause fell. They all looked at one another.

"He's beautiful," Anita said, her voice cracking only a little.

Angie wondered how it must feel to say good-bye to your son's son. "Lauren has left the hospital," Angie said as gently as she could. "She took the baby with her. We don't ..." Her throat closed; she couldn't finish.

"We don't know where she went," Conlan said.

Anita crumpled into a chair, saying, "Oh, God," and covering her mouth with her hand.

David frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"She left with her son," Angie said.

"Left? But ..." David's voice broke.

Angie handed him the envelope. "She left this for you."

His hands were unsteady as he opened the letter.

They all stood there in silence, watching him.

Finally, he looked up. Standing there, crying, he looked so young. "She's not coming back."

It took all of Angie's strength not to cry with him. "I don't think she can." It was the first time she'd dared to say it, even to herself. Conlan squeezed her hand. "She thinks we'd all be better off not knowing where she is."

David reached for his mother's hand. "What do we do, Mom? She's all alone. It's my fault. I should have stayed with her."

They stood there, looking at one another. No one knew what to say.

Finally, Anita said, "You'll call us if she comes back."

"Of course," Conlan answered.

Angie watched them leave, mother and son, holding hands. She wondered what they'd say to each other now. What words could be found on a day like this.

At last, she turned to Conlan, gazed up at him.

Their whole life was in his eyes, all the good, the bad, the in-between times. For a while there, it had seemed that love had moved on, left them behind. They'd lost their way because they'd thought their love wasn't enough. Now they knew better. Sometimes your heart got broken, but you just held on. That was all there was.

"Let's go home," she said, almost managing to smile.

"Yeah," he said. "Home."

LAUREN STEPPED OFF THE BUS AND INTO HER OLD world. She tightened her hold on Johnny, who was sleeping peacefully in the front pack; she rubbed his tiny back. She didn't want him to wake up in this part of town.

"You don't belong here, John-John. You remember that."

Night was falling now, and in the darkening shadows the apartment buildings looked less shabby and more sinister.

She realized suddenly that she was nervous, almost afraid. This wasn't her neighborhood anymore.

She paused, looked back at the bus stop with a longing. If only she could turn around, walk to the corner, and take the bus out to Miracle Mile Road.

But there was no going back. She'd known that when she'd left the hospital. Lauren had betrayed Angie and Conlan's trust; she'd done exactly what she'd vowed not to. Whatever love they'd shown her would be gone now. She knew a thing or two about abandonment.

Lauren didn't belong across town anymore, in that cottage perched above the sea or in the restaurant that smelled of thyme and garlic and simmering tomatoes. Her choices in life had led her here again, inexorably, to where she belonged.

At last she came to her old apartment building. Looking up at it, she felt a shudder of loss.

She'd worked so hard to get out of here. But what else could she afford? She had a newborn son who couldn't be put in child care for months. The five-thousanddollar check in her wallet wasn't nearly enough. She wouldn't stay long, anyway, not in this town that would always make her think of Angie. Only until she felt better. Then she'd go in search of a new place.

She set down her small suitcase and straightened, arching her aching back. Everything hurt. The Advil she'd taken earlier had begun to wear off and her abdomen ached. There was a sharp, pinching pain between her legs. It made her walk like a drunken sailor. With a sigh, she grabbed her suitcase again and trudged up the weed-infested path, past the black trash bags filled with garbage and the soggy cardboard boxes.

The door creaked open easily. Still broken.

It took her eyes a second to adjust to the gloom. She'd forgotten how dark it was in here, how it smelled of stale cigarettes and despair. She went to apartment 1-A and knocked.

There was a shuffling of feet, a muffled, "Just a sec," then the door opened.

Mrs. Mauk stood there, wearing a floral housedress and fuzzy pink slippers. Her gray hair was hidden by a red bandana that she wore in an old-fashioned style. "Lauren," she said, frowning.

"Did ... my mom ever call for me?" She heard the pathetic neediness in her voice and it shamed her.

"No. You didn't really think she would, did you?"

"No." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"I thought you got out."

Lauren tried not to react to the word--out--but it wasn't easy. "Maybe there is no out for people like us, Mrs. Mauk."

The heavy lines on Mrs. Mauk's face seemed to deepen at that. "Who's that?"

"My son." She smiled, but it felt sad. "Johnny."

Mrs. Mauk reached out and touched his head. Then she sighed and leaned against the doorframe.

Lauren recognized the sound. It was defeat. Her mother had sighed like that all the time. "I guess I'm here to see if you have an apartment for rent. I have some money."

"We're full up."

"Oh." Lauren refused to give in to despair. She had Johnny to think about now. Her tears would have to be swallowed from now on. She started to turn away.

"Maybe you better come in. It's going to rain. You and Johnny can sleep in the spare bedroom for a night."

Lauren's legs almost buckled; her relief was so big. "Thank you."

Mrs. Mauk led her into the apartment's living/dining room.

For a split second, Lauren felt her past and present collide. It looked so much like her old apartment; same Formica dining set, same shag carpeting. A rose floral sofa was flanked by two blue La-Z-Boy recliners. A small black-and-white television showed an old episode of I Dream of Jeannie.

Mrs. Mauk went into the kitchen.

Lauren sat down on the sofa and eased Johnny out of the pack. He immediately started to cry. She changed his little diaper and rewrapped him, but he wouldn't quit crying. His stuttering shrieks filled the tiny apartment.

"Please," Lauren whispered, rubbing his back and rocking him. "I know you're not hungry."

It wasn't until Mrs. Mauk returned, holding two cups of tea and saying, "Are you okay?" that Lauren realized she was crying.

She wiped her eyes, tried to smile. "I'm just tired, that's all."

Mrs. Mauk set the mug on the coffee table and sat in one of the recliners. "He sure is tiny."

"He's only two days old."

"And you're here, looking for your mommy or a place to stay. Oh, Lauren." Mrs. Mauk gave her one of those poor girl looks she knew so well.

They stared at each other. Behind them, the sitcom's laugh track roared.

"What are you going to do?"

Lauren looked down at Johnny. "I don't know. I was all set to give him up for adoption, but ... I couldn't do it."

"I can see how much you love him," Mrs. Mauk said, her voice softening. "And the father?"

"I love him, too. That's why I'm here."

"All alone."

Lauren looked up. She felt her mouth tremble and tears fill her eyes. Again. "I'm sorry. It's the hormones. I cry all the time."

"Where have you been, Lauren?"

"What do you mean?"

"I remember the woman who came for you that day. I stood at my kitchen window and watched you get into her car and drive away, and I thought, Good for you, Lauren Ribido."

"Angie Malone." It hurt to say her name.

"I know I'm just an old woman who sits at home all day talking to her cats and watching reruns, but it looked like she loved you."

"I ruined that."

"How?"

"I promised her the baby and then I ran in the middle of the night. She'll hate me now."