The thought of that, the hope of it, wouldn't fit in her box, wouldn't remain in the dark.
Finally, she quit running from the idea and sat down and studied it. That had led her to this strange and frightening journey. She had taken two weeks off of work, called it a vacation, packed a suitcase, and boarded a plane heading west.
A little less than eight hours after she left Manhattan, she was on Bainbridge Island, pulling up to the Ryan house in a sleek black limousine.
Now Tully stood in the driveway, listening to the car drive away, tires crunching on gravel. From beyond the house, in the backyard, she could hear waves washing onto the pea-gravel beach. That meant the tide was coming in. On this beautiful sunny early summer afternoon, the old-fashioned farmhouse looked like something out of a photo album of the Good Life. A fresh coat of stain made the shingles look like caramel and the white, glossy trim caught the sunlight and kept it. Flowers ran riot through the yard, creating bursts of color everywhere she looked. Toys and bikes lay scattered about, reminding her sharply of the old days, back when they'd been the Firefly Lane girls. Their bikes had been magic carpets to another world.
Come on, Katie. Let go.
Tully smiled. She hadn't thought about that summer in years. 1974. The beginning of it all. Meeting Kate had changed her life, and all because they'd dared to reach out for each other, dared to say,I want to be your friend.
She walked up the weed-veined concrete path to the front door. Even before she got to the stoop, she could hear the noise coming from within. It didn't surprise her. According to Kate, the first half of 2003 had been wild and crazy. Marah hadn't eased into the teen years; she'd lurched. And the boys had gone from loud, into-everything toddlers to louder, even more destructive five-year-olds. Every time Tully called, it seemed, Kate was driving someone somewhere.
Tully rang the doorbell. Normally, of course, she'd just walk in, but normally, she'd be expected. This trip had been so spur-of-the-moment that she hadn't called ahead. To be honest, she hadn't really expected to make it. She'd thought she'd chicken out along the way. But here she was.
The sound of footsteps shook the old house. Then the door opened and Marah stood there. "Aunt Tully!" she shrieked, launching herself forward.
Tully caught her goddaughter and held her tightly. When they drew apart, she stared at the girl in front of her, a little nonplussed. It had been only seven or eight months since she'd seen Marah—a blip of time—and yet the girl in front of her was a stranger. A near-woman, Marah was taller than Tully, with milky pale skin, penetrating brown eyes, lush black hair that fell in a waterfall down her back, and cheekbones to die for. "Marah Rose," she said. "You're all grown up. And you'regorgeous. Have you tried modeling?"
Marah's smile made her even more breathtakingly beautiful. "Really? My mom thinks I'm a baby."
Tully laughed. "You, my dear, are no baby." Before she could say more, Johnny came down the stairs, holding a squirming boy in each arm. Halfway down, he saw her and stopped. Then he smiled. "You shouldn't have let her in, Marah. She's got a suitcase."
Tully laughed and closed the door behind her.
"Katie," Johnny yelled up the stairs. "You better come down here. You won't believe who has come to visit." He put the boys down on the floor at the base of the steps and went to Tully, drawing her into his arms. She couldn't help thinking how good it felt simply to be held. It had been a long time.
"Tully!" Kate's voice rose above the other sounds in the room as she hurried down the stairs and pulled Tully into a hug. When Kate drew back, she was smiling.
"Now, what in the hell are you doing here? Don't you know I neednoticefor one of your trips? Now you'll give me crap about the haircut I need and the foil I missed."
"Don't forget the makeup you don't have on. But I could give you a makeover. I'm good at that. It's a gift."
The past enveloped them, made them laugh.
Kate linked arms with Tully and led her to the sofa. There, with her suitcase positioned at the door like a bodyguard, they spent at least an hour catching up on each others' lives. At around three o'clock they moved their little party to the backyard, where the boys and Marah competed with Kate for Tully's attention. When darkness began to fall, Johnny fired up the barbeque, and on a picnic table in the grass, beneath a dome of stars and beside the placid Sound, Tully had her first home-cooked meal in months. Afterward, they played a rousing game of Candy Land with the boys. While Kate and Johnny were upstairs putting the twins to bed, Tully sat out in the backyard with Marah, each wrapped against the night's chill in yet another of Mrs. Mularkey's famous afghans.
"What's it like to be famous?"
Tully hadn't really thought about that in years; she'd simply taken it for granted. "It's pretty great, actually. You always get the best tables, get into all the best places; people give you free stuff all the time. Everyone waits for you. And since I'm a journalist instead of a movie star, the paparazzi leave me alone for the most part."
"Parties?"
Tully smiled. "It's been a while since I cared about parties, but yeah, I get invited to a lot of them. And don't forget the clothes. Designers send me dresses all the time. All I have to do is wear them."
"Wow," Marah said. "That is so totally cool."
Behind them, a screen door screeched open and banged closed. There was the sound of something—a table, maybe—being dragged across the deck. Then the music started. Jimmy Buffet, "Margaritaville."
"You know what that means," Kate said, appearing beside them with two margaritas.
Marah immediately whined, "I'm old enough to stay up. Besides, there's no school tomorrow. It's a teacher contract day."
"Bedtime, little one," Kate said, bending down to offer Tully a drink.
Marah looked at Tully as if to say,See? I told you she thinks I'm a baby. Tully couldn't help laughing. "Your mom and I were once in a hurry to grow up, too. We used to sneak out of the house and steal my mother's—"
"Tully," Kate said sharply. "The old stories won't interest her."
