As they pulled up to the curb in front of the Hayneses' mammoth home, she found herself wondering what the three of them did with all the empty spaces in their house.

David parked the car, then turned to her. "You ready for this?"

"No."

"You want to cancel?"

"Absolutely not." She climbed down from the passenger seat and headed for the house. Halfway there, David came up beside her and took her hand in his. The support eased some of the butterflies in her stomach.

At the door, they both paused. Then David opened the door and led her inside.

The house was quiet, as usual. The very opposite of the DeSaria home.

"Mom? Dad?" David called out, shutting the door behind them.

Mrs. Haynes came around the corner, wearing a winter white wool dress. Her auburn hair had been drawn back in a tight bun. She looked thinner than the last time Lauren had seen her, and older.

Lauren could understand why. In the past weeks, she'd learned how life could mark a person. "Hello, Mrs. Haynes," she said, moving forward.

Mrs. Haynes looked at her. A sadness tugged ever so slightly at her painted lips. "Hello, Lauren. How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"Thank you for agreeing to come today. David has told us it's difficult for you."

David squeezed her hand.

Lauren knew this was the time to say something, maybe state her opinion, but when she tried, nothing came out. She nodded instead.

Just then Mr. Haynes walked into the room. Dressed in a navy blue double-breasted suit and pale yellow shirt, he looked every bit the power player who was used to getting his way in the boardroom. Beside him was a heavyset man in a black suit.

"Hello, Lauren," Mr. Haynes said, not bothering to smile. He didn't look at his son. "I'd like you to meet Stuart Phillips. He's a well-respected attorney who specializes in adoption."

That was all it took, just the word being spoken aloud, and Lauren started to cry.

Mrs. Haynes was beside her instantly, handing her a tissue, murmuring something about everything being okay.

But it wasn't okay.

Lauren wiped her eyes, muttered, "Sorry," and let herself be led into the living room. There, they all sat down on the expensive cream-colored furniture. She worried that her tears would stain the fabric.

There was a moment of awkward silence before the lawyer started to talk.

Lauren listened, or at least she tried to. Her heart was beating so loudly that sometimes she couldn't hear anything else. Bits and pieces drifted toward her, sticking like flotsam in the net of her mind.

best decision for the child

another family/another mother

better able to parent

termination of rights

college is best for you now

too young

When it was over and the lawyer had said everything he'd come to say, he sat back in his chair and smiled easily, as if those words had been sounds and breath, nothing more. "Do you have any questions, Lauren?"

She looked around the room.

Mrs. Haynes looked ready to burst into tears and David was pale. His blue eyes were narrowed with worry. Mr. Haynes was tapping his armrest.

"You all think I should do this," Lauren said slowly.

"You're too young to be parents," Mr. Haynes said. "David can't remember to feed the dog or make his bed, for God's sake."

Mrs. Haynes shot her husband a withering look, then smiled at Lauren. It was sad, that smile, and full of knowing. "There's no easy answer here, Lauren. We know that. But you and David are good kids. You deserve a chance in life. Parenthood is hard work. You need to think about the baby, too. You want to give your child every opportunity. I tried to discuss all this with your mother, but she didn't return my calls."

"Believe me, young lady," the lawyer said, "there are dozens of wonderful people who would love and adore your baby."

"That's the point," Lauren said so quietly that everyone leaned forward to hear her. "It's my baby." She turned to David. "Our baby."

He didn't move, didn't look away. To someone who didn't know him, he might have appeared unaffected. But to Lauren, who'd loved him so long, everything in his eyes changed. His face seemed to crumple into disappointment.

"Okay," he said, as if she'd asked a question. She knew then--as she'd known before--that he'd stand by her, back up her choices.

But he didn't want this. To him it wasn't a baby, it was an accident. A mistake. If it were up to him, they'd sign a few papers, hand over the baby, and move on.

If she didn't make that choice, she'd ruin his life as much as her own. Maybe the child's, too.

She drew in a heavy breath, exhaled it slowly. She should break up with David. If she loved him enough, she'd set him free from all of this.

The thought of that, of losing him, paralyzed her with fear.

She looked around the room, saw everyone's expectation, and she was beaten.

"I'll think about it," she said.

The suddenness of David's smile broke her heart.

"ALL RIGHT," ANGIE SAID, COMING INTO THE LIVING room. "Do you hear the timer on the stove?"

"It's beeping," Lauren said, pulling her knees up to her chest. She was sitting on the floor in front of the fire.

"Yes, it is, and do you know why?"

"Dinner is ready?"

Angie rolled her eyes. "I realize I'm not the best chef in the world, but even I don't take my dinner out of the oven at eleven in the morning."

"Oh. Right." Lauren stared down at her hands. She'd chewed her nails down to the quick.

Angie knelt down in front of her. "You've been moping around this house for too long. I brought home your favorite pizza last week when you graduated and you hardly touched it. Last night you went to bed at seven o'clock. I've been patient, waiting for you to talk to me, but--"

"I'll go clean my room." She started to get up.

Angie stopped her with a touch. "Honey. Your room couldn't be any cleaner. That's all you've been doing in the last few days. Working and cleaning your room and sleeping. What's going on?"

"I can't talk about it."

"So it's the baby."

Lauren heard the tiny crack in Angie's voice when she said baby. "I don't want to talk to you about it."

Angie sighed. "I know. And I know why. But I'm not that fragile anymore."

"Your sisters say you are."

"My sisters talk too much."

Lauren looked at her. The understanding in Angie's eyes was her undoing. "How did you handle it? Losing Sophia, I mean."

Angie sat back on her heels. "Wow. No one ever asks me that head-on."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have--"

"No. We're friends. We can talk about our lives."

Angie sidled up beside Lauren, put an arm around her. Together they stared into the crackling fire. Angie felt the old grief move into her again, squeezing her chest until it hurt to breathe. "You're asking how you live with a broken heart," she finally said.

"Yeah. I guess."

Once the memories were there, Angie had no choice but to gather them close. "I held her; did I ever tell you that? She was so tiny. And so blue." She drew in a ragged breath. "When she was gone, I couldn't seem to stop crying. I missed her and the idea of her so much. I let the missing become who I was ... then Conlan left me and I came back home and that's when the most amazing thing happened."

"What?"

"A bright, beautiful young woman came into my life, and she reminded me that there was joy in the world. I started to remember my blessings. I learned that my papa had been right when he used to say This too shall pass. Life has a way of going on, and you do your best and move with it. A broken heart heals. Like every wound, there's a scar, a memory, but it fades. Finally you realize that an hour has passed without your thinking about it, then a day. I don't know if that answers your question ..."

Lauren stared at the flames. "The old 'time heals all wounds' answer, huh?"

"I know it's hard for a teenager to believe, but it's true."

"Maybe." She sighed. "Everyone wants me to think about adoption."

God help her, Angie's first thought was Give me the baby. She hated herself for it. She wished she could say something but her voice seemed to have gone missing. Suddenly, she was thinking about her nursery and all those old dreams. She battled the feelings, put them aside long enough to ask quietly, "What do you want?"

"I don't know. I don't want to ruin David's life. My life. All our lives, but I can't just give away my baby." She turned to Angie. "What do I do?"

"Oh, Lauren," Angie said, pulling her into her arms. She didn't point out the obvious: that Lauren had already made up her mind. Instead, she said, "Look at me."

Lauren drew back. Her face was ravaged by tears. "Wh-what?"

"I'm here for you." For the first time, Angie dared to touch Lauren's stomach. "And there's this little person who needs you to be strong."

"I'm afraid I can't do it alone."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you. Whatever you decide, you're not alone."

THE LAST, SHORT, GRAY JANUARY DAYS DRIPPED INTO one another. The sky was always bloated with clouds; rain fell in a steady rhythm.

The citizens of West End gathered beneath the giant eaves of the Congregational Church and in the covered walkways along Driftwood Way; their conversations always came around to the weather. Every day, in every way, they were hoping to see the sun.

When January came to a close, they pinned their hopes on February.

On Valentine's Day, the clouds parted, and though no sun was visible, the rain diminished to a pearlescent mist.

The restaurant was packed. By seven o'clock, both dining rooms were full and a line of people waited along the windows.

Everyone was moving at top speed. Lauren, who had been working full-time since graduating, handled double her usual number of tables. Mama and Mira made triple the number of specials, while Angie poured wine and brought bread and bused the empty dishes wherever she could. Even Rosa was in the spirit of things--she carried two plates at a time instead of one.

The kitchen door banged open. "Angela!" Mama called out. "Artichoke hearts and ricotta."

"Right, Mama." Angie hurried downstairs and grabbed a huge jar of artichoke hearts and a container of fresh ricotta. For the next hour, she ran herself ragged. They were going to need to hire another waitress. Maybe two.

She was running to check the reservation book when she ran into Livvy. Literally. Angie laughed. "Don't tell me you came for dinner tonight?"

"Spend Valentine's Day at the family restaurant? Not hardly. Sal is working late."

"So why are you here?"

"I heard you were shorthanded."

"No. We're fine. Busy, but fine. Really. You should stay off your feet. Go home and--"

Someone came up behind Angie, grabbed her shoulders. Before she could turn around, Conlan swept her into his arms and carried her out of the restaurant.

The last thing Angie heard was her sister saying, "Like I said. Shorthanded."

His smile was dazzling as he deposited her in the passenger seat of his car. "Close your eyes."