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Finally she reached Yesler. The viaduct--that arching concrete overpass that dared a big earthquake to crumble it--held the rain at bay.
She ducked into the restaurant. Al Boccalino was empty this early in the day. The working lunch crowd wouldnt be here for another hour at least.
Carlos, the owner of the restaurant, came around the corner. Seeing her, he smiled.
"Mrs. Malone. Its good to see you again. "
"You, too. " She handed him her coat and umbrella and followed him into the small, Tuscan-inspired trattoria. Immediately, she smelled the pungent combination of garlic and thyme that reminded her of home.
"You should bring your mama back some time," Carlos said with a smile.
Angie laughed. The one time she had brought her parents here, Mama had spent the whole night in the kitchen, chastising the chef for cutting tomatoes for marinara. Crush them, shed muttered. That is why God gave us hands. "Sure, Carlos," she said, her smile fading when she saw Conlan.
He rose at her entrance.
Carlos helped her into her seat, gave them each a menu, and then disappeared.
"It feels strange to be here again," Angie said.
"I know. I havent been here since our anniversary. "
She frowned. "I thought your apartment was right around the corner. "
"It is. "
That silence descended again. They looked at each other.
Carlos appeared at the table, holding a bottle of champagne. "My favorite couple together again. Is good. " He filled each fluted glass with glittering, bubbling liquid. He looked at Conlan. "You let me decide your lunch menu, yes?"
"Of course," Conlan answered, still looking at Angie.
She felt exposed by that look, vulnerable. She reached for her glass, needing something in her hand.
I want to tell you about this girl I met.
"Conlan," she said just as Carlos reappeared by the table, holding a plate of caprese salad. By the time theyd oohed and aahed over the food, Angie had lost her nerve. She finished her glass of champagne and poured a second.
Shes really great. Shes living with me. Oh, and did I mention shes pregnant?
Conlan leaned forward, put his elbows on the table. "This morning I got a call from my agent. Ive been offered a book contract. " He paused, then said, "And the only person I wanted to tell was you. What do you think that means?"
She knew how much it had cost him to admit that. She wanted to reach for him, take his hand in hers, and tell him that she still loved him, that shed always loved him and always would, but it was too soon for that. Instead, she said, "I think it means we loved each other for a long time. "
"Most of my life. "
She touched her glass to his. The brittle clinking was the sound of beginnings. She knew she should tell him about Lauren now, but she couldnt do it. This moment felt magical somehow, full of possibility. "Tell me everything. "
He launched into the story of a local man who had been convicted of raping and killing several elderly women in the late nineties. Conlan had done an investigative piece on the story and been hooked. Hed come to believe the man was innocent, and DNA tests had just proven it. "Its a Cinderella deal," he said. "Theyre giving me a decent amount of money to write this book and another one. "
He was still talking about the story an hour later when they finished their dessert and paid the bill.
Angie got to her feet, noticing that she was more than a little tipsy.
Conlan stood beside her, steadied her with his touch.
She stared up at him. His face, creased now in a smile, made her want to cry. "Im so proud of you, Conlan. "
His smile faded. "This cant be good. "
"What cant? I--"
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, right there in the restaurant, in front of everyone. It wasnt one of those you-could-be-my-grandma kisses, either. Oh, no.
"Wow," she said when it was over. She realized she was swaying slightly. She tried to remain still. It was difficult; her heart was pounding. She wanted him with a ferocity that surprised her. "But we need to talk," she said, trying to think straight.
"Later," he said in a gravelly, desperate voice. Taking her hand, he pulled her toward the door. "Were going to my place. "
She gave in. It was impossible not to. "Can we run?"
"Definitely. "
Outside, Angie was surprised to see that it was still light. Then she remembered: It had been a lunch date. They ran through the rain down Yesler Street, turned on Jackson.
Conlan jammed his key in the lock.
Angie pressed up against his back and put her arms around him. She moved her hands down to his waistband.
"Damn," he muttered, trying another key.
The lock clicked open.
He pushed through the door and dragged her toward the elevator. When the doors opened, they tumbled inside, still kissing.
Angie was on fire. She touched him everywhere, kissed him until she felt dizzy.
She couldnt breathe.
The doors opened. He swept her into his arms and carried her down the hall. In minutes--seconds--they were in his bedroom.
Conlan placed her gently on the bed. She lay there, feeling dazed with the kind of desire shed forgotten about. "Take off your clothes," she said in a husky voice, propping herself onto her elbows. He knelt at the foot of the bed, between her legs. "I cant stay away from you," he whispered. There was both wonder and disappointment in his voice.
She knew there would be a price for this moment.
Right now, she didnt care.
TWENTY-FIVE
NAKED, ANGIE STOOD AT THE WINDOW OF HER husbands--ex-husbands--apartment, staring out at Elliott Bay. Rain gave the world a blurry, distant countenance. Cars rumbled north and south on the viaduct. The windowpanes rattled ever so softly from all that traffic, made a sound like the chattering of teeth.
If this were a movie moment, shed be smoking a cigarette and frowning while a montage of images from their failed marriage and newborn reconciliation flashed across the screen. The last image, as the movie returned to the present, would be Laurens face.
"You look worried," Conlan said.
How well he knew her. Even when she stood in profile, with her back slanted toward him, he could tell. Probably it was in her stance. He always said she tilted her chin up and crossed her arms when she was upset.
She didnt turn to face him. In the window, a ghostly image of her face, blurred by rain, gazed back at her. "I wouldnt say worried. Thoughtful, maybe. "
The bed springs creaked. He must be sitting up. "Ange?"
Finally, she went to the bed and sat down beside him. He touched her arm, kissed the swell of her breast.
"What is it?"
"I need to tell you something," she said.
He drew back. "That doesnt sound good. "
"Theres this girl. "
"Oh?"
"Shes a good girl. Perfect grades. Hardworking. "
"And shes relevant to us how?"
"I hired her in September. She works at the restaurant about twenty hours a week. You know, after school, weekends. Mama hates to admit it, but shes the best waitress theyve ever had. "
Conlan eyed her. "Whats her tragic flaw?"
"There isnt one. "
"Angie Malone, I know you. Now what the hell are we really talking about here? And dont tell me its a girl who is a great waitress. "
"Her mother abandoned her. "
"Abandoned?"
"Just walked out one day. "
His gaze was steady. "Tell me you found her a place to live--"
"Gave her a place. "
Conlan blew out a heavy breath. "Shes living with you at the cottage?"
"Yes. "
Disappointment stamped itself on his face--in his blue eyes, in his frowning mouth. "So you have a teenager living in the house. "
"Its not like that. Not like before, anyway. Im jus
t helping her out until . . . "
"Until what?"
Angie sighed and covered her eyes with her hand. "Until the baby is born. "
"Oh, shit," Conlan said, throwing the covers back, getting out of bed.
"Con--"
He stormed into the bathroom, slammed the door shut behind him.
Angie felt as if shed been kicked in the gut. Shed known this would happen. But what choice did she have? With a sigh, she bent down for her clothes and got dressed. Then she sat on the bed, waiting.
He finally came out, wearing a pair of worn old Levis and a pale blue T-shirt. His anger seemed to have gone; without it, he looked tired. His shoulders were rounded in defeat. "You said youd changed. "
"I have. "
"The old Angie brought a pregnant teenager home, too. " He looked at her. "That was the beginning of the end for us. I remember, even if you dont. "
"Come on," she said, feeling as if something inside of her were breaking. She moved toward him. "Ive hardly forgotten. Just give me a chance. "
"Ive given you a lifetime of chances, Ange. " He looked around the room, then at the bed. "This was a mistake. I should have known better. "
"Its different this time. I swear. " She reached for him. He sidestepped out of her grasp.
"How? How is it different?"
"Shes a seventeen-year-old with no one to take care of her and nowhere to go. Im helping her, but Im not crazy anymore with what I dont have. Ive made peace with not having a baby. Please," she whispered. "Give me a chance to show you that this is different. Come meet her. "
"Meet her? After what Sarah Dekker put us through--"
"This is not Sarah. The baby is Laurens. Just come and meet her. Please. For me. "
He looked down at her, long and hard, then he said, "I wont live through it all again. The highs. The lows. The obsessions. "
"Conlan, believe me, I--"
"Dont you dare finish that sentence. " He reached for his keys off the dresser and headed for the door.
"Im sorry," she said.
He paused. Without looking back, he said, "Youre always sorry, arent you, Angie? Thats what I should have remembered. "
IN HER WORLD HISTORY CLASS LAST YEAR, LAUREN HAD done a report on Victorian London. One of her research sources had been the film The Elephant Man. She remembered sitting in the library after hours, staring at the small television screen, watching the well-heeled Londoners taunt and ridicule poor John Merrick, whose face and body had been twisted and tortured far beyond what a man should have to endure. But the whispers and stares hurt him as deeply as any of his deformities.
Lauren understood that now, how much it hurt to be the object of gossip. In all her years at Fircrest shed strived for the kind of perfection that drew only positive attention. She was never late to class, never broke the rules, never said mean things about other kids. Shed tried, in all ways, to be like Caesars wife: above reproach.
She should have known how far the mighty fall and how hard the ground could be.
Everyone was staring at her, pointing and whispering. Even the teachers seemed shocked and unnerved by her presence. They acted as if she carried a lethal virus, one that could all too easily go airborne and infect innocent passersby.
After school, she let herself be swept along by the laughing, yelling crowd. Even in the midst of all these people--friends, mostly--she felt infinitely different. Separate. Head down, she tried to be invisible.