Kristin Hannah's Family Matters 4-Book Bundle: Angel Falls, Between Sisters, The Things We Do for Love, Magic Hour

by Hannah, Kristin

  Lauren looked up at David.

  For the first time she realized that he could walk away from this, leave it in the past along with all his high school memories. Someday it would be as forgotten as his tenth grade MVP trophy or his grade point. Why hadn’t she seen that before?

  She’d thought they were in this together, but suddenly all the warnings came back to her. It was the girl who got pregnant.

  “Come with me,” she whispered to him, pulling him aside. He followed her to a dark, quiet place beside the bleachers.

  She wanted desperately to be held and kissed and reassured, but he just stood there, staring down at her, his confusion as obvious as his love.

  “What?”

  “I just … I’ll miss you over the break.” She wished he’d invited her along, but it was a family vacation.

  “My dad set up a meeting in January. With a lawyer.” He flinched, looked at her throat. “About adoption.”

  “Just give it away,” she said, hearing the bitterness in her voice. That would be so easy for him.

  “We should at least listen.” David looked ready to cry, right there on the football field, with his friends only a few yards away.

  And she knew: None of this was easy on him.

  “Yeah,” she said, “sure. We should listen.”

  He looked at her. She felt distant from him; older. “Maybe I’ll get you a ring. Aspen has tons of cool jewelry stores.”

  Her heart did a little flip. “Really?”

  “I love you,” he said softly.

  The words sounded different than before, as if he’d murmured them from far away or mouthed them underwater. By the time she got home, she couldn’t remember the sound of those words at all.

  Angie read the instructions for making ricotta gnocchi for at least the fourth time. She did not consider herself a stupid woman, but she couldn’t figure out how the hell she was supposed to use the tines of a fork to form the gnocchis.

  “Forget it.” She rolled the dough into a rope and cut it in small pieces. She’d decided to learn to cook; that didn’t mean she wanted to make it her life’s work. “Good enough.”

  She then stirred the sauce. The pungent aroma of sizzling garlic and onion and simmering tomatoes filled the cottage. Not as good as Mama’s, of course; you couldn’t get that homemade aroma from a store-bought sauce. She only hoped that none of her family stopped by.

  At least she was cooking.

  It was supposed to be therapeutic. That was what her sisters always said. Angie had been desperate enough to give it a try, but now she knew. All that mixing and chopping and scraping hadn’t helped at all.

  I won’t live through it all again. The highs, the lows, the obsessions.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have told Conlan about Lauren. Not yet anyway. Maybe she should have let their love take hold first.

  No.

  That would have been like the old days, with her in a lonely wilderness that bordered his but didn’t cross over. Though he didn’t see the nuances of her change, she did.

  Honesty had been her only choice.

  Once or twice today she’d meandered down the road of regret, almost wishing she hadn’t invited Lauren home with her, but in truth, she couldn’t really go there. She was glad to be helping the girl.

  She washed a bunch of fresh basil leaves and began to chop them. They stuck to the knife and formed a green glob. She cut what was left into slices with her scissors.

  The front door opened. Lauren walked into the house. She was soaking wet.

  Angie glanced at the clock. “You’re early. I was supposed to pick you up—”

  “I thought I’d save you the trouble.” Lauren peeled out of her coat and hung it up on the iron coat rack, then she kicked off her shoes. They thunked against the wall.

  “Put your shoes away neatly, please,” Angie said automatically, channeling her mother. At the realization, she laughed.

  “What’s funny?”

  “I am. I sounded just like my mother for a second there.” She tossed the basil in the sauce, stirred it once with a wooden spoon and covered the pot. “So,” she said, setting the spoon down. “I thought you were going to stay after school with David.”

  Lauren looked miserable. “Yeah. Well.”

  “I’ll tell you what. Go put on some dry clothes and we’ll have some hot cocoa and talk.”

  “You’re busy.”

  “I’m cooking. Which probably means we’ll have to go out for dinner, so you might as well get dressed.”

  At last, a smile. “Okay.”

  Angie turned the heat on the stove to low, then made a pot of homemade hot cocoa. It was one of the few things she made well. By the time she was finished and had taken a seat in the living room, Lauren was coming down the stairs.

  “Thanks,” Lauren said, taking a cup of cocoa, sitting in the big leather chair by the window.

  “I take it your day didn’t go well,” Angie said, trying to keep her voice gentle.

  Lauren shrugged. “I feel … older than all my friends.”

  “I guess I can see that.”

  “They’re worrying about Civil War battle dates, and I’m worrying about how to pay for day care while I go to college. Not a lot in common there.” She looked up. “David said he might buy me a ring.”

  “Is that a proposal?”

  It was exactly the wrong thing to say. Poor Lauren’s face crumbled. “I didn’t think so.”

  “Oh, honey, don’t be too hard on him. Even grown men can’t handle impending fatherhood. David probably feels like he’s been dropped out of an airplane and the ground is rushing up to meet him. He knows he’s going to hit hard. Just because he’s scared doesn’t mean he loves you less.”

  “I don’t know if I could take that. Him not loving me, I mean.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  Lauren looked up sharply. She wiped her eyes and sniffed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I don’t want you to be sad, too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You still love your ex. I can tell by the way you talk about him.”

  “I’m that obvious, huh?” Angie looked down at her hands, then said slowly, “I saw him today.” She didn’t know what made her share that secret. The need to talk about it, maybe.

  “Really? Is he still in love with you, too?”

  Angie could hear the hope in Lauren’s voice and she understood the girl’s need to believe that a burned-out love could be rekindled. What woman didn’t want to believe that? “I don’t know. There’s a lot of water under our bridge.”

  “He wouldn’t like me living here.”

  The perceptiveness of the observation surprised Angie. “Why do you say that?”

  “Come on. After what that other pregnant girl did to you guys?”

  “That was different,” Angie said, echoing what she’d said to Conlan only a few hours ago, wanting to believe it. “I cared about Sarah, sure. But I fell in love with the baby in her womb. I would have adopted that child and brought him into our lives and said good-bye to Sarah. She would have disappeared from our everyday lives. You’re different.”

  “How?”

  “I care about you, Lauren. You.” She sighed. “And, yes, sometimes the old needs get away from me. Sometimes I lie in my bed upstairs and close my eyes and pretend you’re my daughter. But that doesn’t make me who I was and it doesn’t hurt anymore. I have to make Conlan see that.” Angie looked up. She realized that she wasn’t even talking to Lauren anymore. She was talking to herself.

  Lauren was staring at her. “Sometimes I pretend you’re my mom.”

  “Oh.” The word was almost lost in the exhalation of breath that came with it.

  “I wish you were.”

  Angie wanted to cry at that. They were both missing the same piece of themselves, she and Lauren; no wonder they’d come together so easily.

  “We’re a team,” she said softly. “You and me. Somehow God knew we needed each o
ther.” She forced a smile and wiped her eyes. “Now, enough doom and gloom. I’m going to try to boil this damn gnocchi. Why don’t you set the table?”

  Lauren lay on her bed, looking at photographs. There were dozens spread out in front of her. Mr. and Mrs. DeSaria. The three girls—together, separately, and in every combination. Pictures taken in spring, summer, winter, and fall. At the beach, in the mountains, even a few by the side of the road. She looked at these beautiful pictures and imagined how it would have felt, being loved like that for the whole of her life, to have a father come up to her, smiling, and reach for her hand.

  Come with me, he’d say, today we’ll—

  There was a knock at the door.

  Lauren jackknifed off the bed. She didn’t want to get caught pawing through the family’s private photographs. She opened the door just enough to see out.

  Angie’s left eye stared at her through the crack. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

  “I know. Have a good time.” Lauren closed the door, listening for footsteps.

  Another knock.

  She opened the door.

  “What did you mean by that?” Angie asked.

  “By what?”

  “You said have a good time.”

  “Yeah. Downtown.”

  “It’s Christmas Eve.”

  “I know. That’s why you’re going downtown. You told me all about it last night. You said the DeSarias descend on town like locusts, eating everything in their path. So, have fun.”

  “I see. And you’re not a DeSaria.”

  Lauren didn’t understand. “No. I’m not.”

  “So you assumed I’d leave you here alone on Christmas Eve and run off with my real family to gorge on cookies and hot mulled wine.”

  Lauren blushed. “Well, when you put it that way—”

  “Get dressed. Is that clear enough for you?”

  Lauren felt the smile expand across her face. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Dress warmly. They’re predicting a white Christmas. And please remember that I’m much too young to be a ma’am.”

  Lauren closed the door and ran to the bed. She scooped up all the photographs except for the few she’d chosen, and dumped them back in the box, which she shoved under the bed. Then she gathered up her two disposable cameras and hid them in the nightstand drawer. Once all the evidence was taken care of, she dressed in her old flare-leg Target jeans, a black wool turtleneck sweater, and her fur-trimmed coat.

  Downstairs, Angie was waiting. She looked beautiful in a forest green wool dress with black boots and a black cape. Her long dark hair was the very best kind of mess. It made her look hip.

  “You look great,” Lauren said.

  “You, too. Now come on.”

  They went out to the car and got in. All the way to town they chatted. Not about anything important; just ordinary life.

  By the time they reached Front Street, the traffic was bumper to bumper.

  “I can’t believe all these people are out on Christmas Eve,” Lauren said.

  “It’s the final tree-lighting ceremony.”

  “Oh,” Lauren said, not quite understanding what all the hype was about. She’d lived in this town for years and never been to one of these ceremonies. She’d always had to work on weekends and holidays. David had told her it was “okay,” but he hadn’t been in years, either.

  “Too many people” was his parents’ excuse.

  Angie found a parking spot and pulled in.

  The minute she got out of the car, Lauren heard the first sound of Christmas: Bells. Every church in town was pealing its bells. Somewhere nearby a horse-drawn carriage was moving along; she could hear the clip-clop of the hooves and the jangling of harness bells.

  In the town square, dozens—maybe hundreds—of tourists were milling about, moving from one store to the next, collecting in front of the booths that sold everything from hot cocoa to rum cake to candy canes. The Rotary Club was roasting chestnuts by the flagpole.

  “Angela!” Maria’s voice rang out above the crowd.

  The next thing Lauren knew, she was swept into the DeSaria family. Everyone was talking at once, telling jokes, holding hands. They moved from booth to booth, eating every morsel that was offered and buying bags of whatever they couldn’t eat on the spot. Lauren saw dozens of school friends moving through the crowd with their families. For once she felt as if she were a part of things instead of on the outside, looking in.

  “It’s time,” Mira said at last. As if on cue, the family stopped. In fact, the whole town seemed to freeze.

  The lights went out. Darkness clicked into place. Suddenly the stars overhead were stunning. An air of anticipation moved through the crowd. Angie took Lauren’s hand in hers, squeezed it gently.

  The Christmas lights came on. Hundreds of thousands of them, all at once.

  Lauren gasped.

  Magic.

  “Pretty cool, huh?” Angie said.

  “Yeah.” Lauren’s throat felt tight.

  They spent another hour in the square, and then walked to church for midnight mass, which in this day and age took place at ten. Lauren almost started to cry when she entered the church with Angie at her side. It was just like her little girl’s dream; she could easily pretend that Angie was her mother. After the service, the DeSarias split up, each going their separate ways.

  Angie and Lauren walked through the crowd, pointing out things to each other along the way. By the time they reached the car, it had started to snow. They drove home slowly. The flakes were huge and airy. They fell lazily to earth.

  Lauren couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a white Christmas. Rain was much more the holiday norm.

  On Miracle Mile Road, the snow was sticking. It coated the tree limbs and dusted the roadside. The yard lay hidden beneath a blanket of sparkling white.

  “I wonder if we’ll be able to go sledding tomorrow,” she said, bouncing up and down in her seat. She knew she was acting like a little kid but she couldn’t help it. “Or maybe we could make snow angels. I saw that on television once. Hey, who’s that?”

  He was standing at the front door of Angie’s house in a wedge of golden light. A veil of falling snow obscured his face.

  The car stopped.

  Lauren peered through the windshield.

  He stepped down from the porch, came closer.

  And suddenly Lauren knew. The man in the worn Levi’s and black leather jacket was Conlan. She turned to Angie, whose eyes looked huge in her pale face.

  “Is that him?”

  Angie nodded. “That’s my Conlan.”

  “Wow” was all Lauren could say. He looked like Pierce Brosnan. She got out of the car.

  He came toward her, his shoes crunching on the gravel driveway. “You must be Lauren.”

  His voice was low and rumbly, as if maybe he’d smoked or drank too much when he was young.

  Lauren fought the urge to flinch. He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen and they seemed to penetrate her to the bone. He seemed angry with her. “I am.”

  “Conlan,” Angie said breathlessly, coming up beside him.

  He didn’t look at Angie. His gaze was steady on Lauren. “I came to meet you.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  He was trying to keep his distance from Lauren; Angie could tell. He wore his reporter detachment like a suit of armor, as if a few patches of hammered together metal could protect a man’s heart. He sat stiffly upright at the head of the table, shuffling cards. They’d been playing Hearts for the last hour, talking almost the whole time, although Angie wouldn’t characterize it as conversation. An interrogation was more apt.

  “And you’ve applied to colleges?” Conlan asked as he dealt the next hand. He didn’t look at Lauren. It was, Angie knew, an old reporter’s trick. Don’t look; they’ll think it’s a casual question, one you don’t care about.

  “Yes,” Lauren answered without looking up from her cards.

  “Where?”

  “USC.
Pepperdine. Stanford. Berkeley. UW. UCLA.”

  “Do you still think college is an option?”

  The reference to the baby made Angie look up sharply from her cards.

  Lauren’s gaze was surprisingly direct. It was clear that she’d decided enough was enough. “I’m going to college.”

  “It’ll be hard,” he said, pulling out cards to pass.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Malone,” Lauren said, her voice taking on strength, “but life is always hard. I got a scholarship to Fircrest because I never gave up. I’ll get a scholarship to college for the same reason. Whatever I have to do, I’ll do.”

  “Do you have any relatives to help?”

  “Angie is helping me.”

  “What about your own family?”

  Lauren answered quietly, “I’m alone.”

  Poor Conlan. Angie watched him melt, right there at the head of the table with the cards in his hands. The reporter face gave way, leaving behind the sad, lined face of a man who was worried.

  Angie could tell he was trying to back away from the emotion he’d stirred up, but he was caught, trapped by the tears in a girl’s eyes. He cleared his throat. “Angie tells me you’re interested in journalism.” There it was: higher ground.

  Lauren nodded. She led with the two of diamonds. “Yes.”

  Conlan played the king. “Maybe you’d like to come to work with me someday. I could introduce you to some of the people there; let you see how reporters work.”

  When she looked back on it, Angie saw how everything had changed in that moment. The interrogation vanished, leaving in its place a mini-party. For the next hour, they talked and laughed and played cards. Conlan told a series of funny work stories about stupid criminals. Angie and Lauren relayed some of their cookie-making mishaps.

  At around ten o’clock, the phone rang. It was David, calling from Aspen. Lauren took the phone upstairs.

  Conlan turned to Angie. She wasn’t sure, but she thought it was the first time he’d dared to look at her.

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  “It’s Christmas Eve. You’re my family.”

  She wanted to lean forward and kiss him, but she felt awkward, unsure. After all those years of living and loving together, they were separate now. “Habit isn’t enough,” she said softly.