Angie could tell that Mira spoke for others in the family, and she wasn’t surprised. Her sister didn’t understand the kind of dreams that sent a girl in search of a different life … or the heartache that could turn her around and send her home again. The family had always worried that Angie’s ambition was too sharp somehow, that it would cut her. “What do you think?”
Mama bit down on her lip, worried it in a gesture as familiar as the sound of the sea. “Papa says he’s waited twenty years for you to take over his baby—his restaurant—and he doesn’t want anyone to get in your way.”
Angie smiled. That sounded so much like Papa. For a second, she almost believed he was here with them, standing in the shadows of his beloved trees.
She sighed, wishing she could hear his voice again, but there was only the sound of the ocean, roaring up to the sand. She couldn’t help thinking about last night and all the tears she’d shed. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough yet to help you.”
“He loved to sit here and watch the ocean,” Mama said, leaning against her. “We have to fix those stairs, Maria. That’s what he said first thing every summer.”
“Did you hear me? Last night … was hard.”
“We made a lot of changes every summer. This place never looked the same two years in a row.”
“I know, but—”
“It always started with the one thing. Just fixing the stairs.”
“Just the stairs, huh?” Angie said, finally smiling. “The longest journey begins with a single step and all that.”
“Some sayings are simply true.”
“But what if I don’t know where to start?”
“You will.”
Mama put an arm around her. They sat that way a long time, leaning against each other, staring out to sea. Finally, Angie said, “How did you know I was here, by the way?”
“Mr. Peterson saw you drive through town.”
“And so it begins.” Angie smiled, remembering the web that connected the residents in this town. Once, at the homecoming dance, she’d let Tommy Matucci put his hands on her butt; the news had reached Mama before the dance was over. As a girl, Angie had hated that small town feeling. Now, it felt good to know that people were looking out for her.
She heard a car drive up. She glanced back at the house. A forest green minivan pulled into the yard.
Mira got out of the car. She was wearing a faded pair of denim overalls and an old Metallica T-shirt. In her arms were a pile of account books. “No time like the present to get started,” she said. “But you better read ’em fast—before Livvy realizes they’re gone.”
“You see?” Mama said, smiling at Angie. “Family will always show you where to begin.”
THREE
A drizzly rain fell on the brick courtyard of Fircrest Academy, giving everything a shiny, lacquered appearance.
Standing beneath the flagpole, Lauren Ribido looked at her watch for at least the tenth time in as many minutes.
It was six-fifteen.
Her mother had promised to be here for the college fair by five-thirty.
She couldn’t believe she’d fallen for the pretty promises again. She knew better. Happy hour at the Tides tavern didn’t end until six-thirty.
So why did it still hurt, after all these years? You’d think a heart would grow calluses at some point.
She turned away from the empty road and headed toward the gymnasium. She was almost to the doors when she heard a male voice call her name.
David.
She spun around, already smiling. He got out of the passenger side of a new black Cadillac Escalade and slammed the door shut with his hip. He was dressed up, wearing blue Dockers and a yellow cashmere sweater. Even with his blond hair plastered wetly to his head, he was the best-looking guy in school. “I thought you’d be inside already,” he said, running up to her.
“My mom didn’t show.”
“Again?”
She hated the tears that burned her eyes. “It’s no big deal.”
He pulled her into a bear hug, and for those few moments, her world was okay.
“How about your dad?” she asked gently, hoping just this once Mr. Haynes had come through for David.
“Nope. Someone has to denude the rainforest.”
She heard the bitterness in his voice and started to say I love you; the sound of high heels on concrete stopped her.
“Hello, Lauren.”
She eased out of David’s arms and looked up at his mother, who was trying not to frown. “Hello, Mrs. Haynes.”
“Where is your mother?” she asked, settling an expensive brown handbag over her shoulder as she glanced around.
Lauren flashed on an image of her mother’s most likely location: slumped on a barstool in the Tides, smoking a bummed cigarette. “She had to work late.”
“On college fair night?”
Lauren hated the way Mrs. Haynes looked at her then. It was the poor Lauren, so pathetic look. She’d seen it her whole life. Adults—especially women—were always wanting to mother her. In the beginning, at least; sooner or later they moved on to their own lives, their own families, leaving Lauren somehow more alone than she’d been before. “She can’t help it,” Lauren said.
“That’s more than I can say for Dad,” David said to his mother.