The Things We Do for Love

"Okay. Thanks. " She went back to the employees lunchroom and dropped off her stuff, then went upstairs to the managers small, supply-cramped office. All the way there she practiced how she would ask it: Ive worked here for almost a year. I work every holiday-- you know that. Ill work Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve this year. Is there any way I could get an advance on this weeks salary?

She forced herself to smile at him. "You wanted to see me, Mr. Landers?"

He looked up from the papers on his desk. "Oh. Lauren. Yes. " He ran a hand through his thinning hair, recombed what was left of it across his head. "Theres no easy way to say this. We need to let you go. Youve seen how slow business is. Word is corporate is thinking of shutting this location down. The locals simply wont patronize a chain store. Im sorry. "

It took a second. "Youre firing me?"

"Technically were laying you off. If business picks up . . . " He let the inchoate promise dangle. They both knew business wouldnt pick up. He handed her a letter. "Its a glowing recommendation. Im sorry to lose you, Lauren. "

THE HOUSE WAS TOO QUIET.

Angie stood by the fireplace, staring out at the moonlit ocean. Heat radiated up her legs but somehow didnt reach her core. She crossed her arms, still cold.

It was only eight-thirty; too early for bed.

She turned away from the window and looked longingly at the stairs. If only she could turn back time a few years, become again the woman who slept easily.

It had been easier with Conlans arms around her. She hadnt slept alone in so long shed forgotten how big a mattress could be, how much heat a lovers body generated.

There was no way shed sleep tonight, not the way she felt right now.

What she needed was noise. The approximation of a life.

She bent down and grabbed her keys off the coffee table, then headed for the door.

Fifteen minutes later, she was parked in Miras driveway. The small two-story house sat tucked on a tiny lot, hemmed on both sides by houses of remarkable similarity. The front yard was littered with toys and bikes and skateboards.

Angie sat there a minute, clutching the steering wheel. She couldnt bust in on Miras family at nine oclock. It would be too rude.

But if she left now, where would she go? Back to the silence of her lonely cottage, to the shadowland of memories that were best left alone?

She opened the door, got out.

The night closed around her, chilled her. She smelled autumn. A bloated gray cloud floated overhead, started spitting rain on the sidewalk.

She hurried up the walk and knocked on the front door.

Mira answered almost instantly. She stood in the entry, smiling sadly, wearing an old football jersey and Grinch slippers. Her long hair was unbound; it cascaded down her sides in an unruly mass. "I wondered how long you were going to sit out there. "

"You knew?"

"Are you kidding? Kim Fisk called the minute you parked. Andrea Schmidt called five seconds later. You forget what its like to live in a neighborhood. "

Angie felt like an idiot. "Oh. "

"Come on in. I figured youd be by. " She led the way down a linoleum-floored hallway and turned in to the family room, where a huge brown sectional framed a big-screen television. Two glasses of red wine waited on the oak coffee table.

Angie couldnt help smiling. She sat down on the sofa and reached for the wineglass. "Where is everyone?"

"The little ones are asleep, the big ones are doing homework, and tonight is Vinces league night. " Mira stretched out on the sofa, looking at Angie. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"You were just driving around in the dark?"

"Something like that. "

"Come on, Ange. Livvy quit. Mama threw down the lasagna gauntlet and the restaurant is bleeding. "