"Brooke Shields and Kate Moss were millionaires by fourteen because their motherslovedthem, right, Tully?" She wiped her eyes and looked at Johnny. "Please, Daddy?"
He shook his head. "I'm sorry, honey."
Marah spun on her heel and ran upstairs; all the way up, until she slammed her bedroom door, they could hear her crying.
"I'll go talk to her," Johnny said, sighing as he headed for the stairs.
Kate turned to her best friend. "Are youinsane?"
"It's a modeling school, not a crack house."
"Damn it, Tully, she doesn't need to be in that screwed-up world. I've told you that before. It's dangerous."
"I'll help her through it. I'll go with her."
Kate was so mad she could hardly breathe. Once again Tully had made Kate look bad in front of Marah, and frankly, she didn't need any help screwing up her relationship with her daughter. "You're not her mother. I am. You can whoop it up with her and have a blast and live like the world is your Never-Never Land. It's my job to keep her safe."
"Safe isn't everything," Tully said. "Sometimes you have to take a risk. Nothing ventured, nothing gained."
"Tully, you don't know what in the hell you're talking about. My thirteen-year-old daughter is not going to New York City on some scam of a modeling trip, and you are certainly not going to chaperone her. The subject is closed."
"Fine," Tully said. "I was just trying to help."
Kate heard the hurt in her friend's voice, but she was too tired, and this was too important, to let herself yield. "Fine. And next time my daughter comes to you with a plan that includes skipping a week of school or modeling in a faraway place, I would appreciate it if you'd let me discuss it with her."
"But you don't. You two just scream at each other. Even Johnny says—"
"You've talked to Johnny about this?"
"He's worried about you and Marah. He says it's like World War II around here some nights."
That was about the third sucker punch tonight, and it hurt so much she said, "You better leave, Tully. This is a family matter."
"But . . . I thought I was family."
"Goodnight," Kate said quietly, then walked out of the room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Tully should have gone straight home and tried to forget the whole thing, but by the time the ferry pulled back into downtown Seattle, she was a wreck. Instead of turning left on Alaskan Way, she turned right and hit the gas.
In record time she was in Snohomish, driving past the altered landmarks of her youth. The town was a tourist stop now, full of trendy cafés and upscale antique shops.
None of it mattered much to her; what changed, what stayed the same . . . she didn't care. Even under the best of circumstances, she was only barely connected to the yesterdays of her life, and tonight was far from the best of circumstances. Still, when she turned onto Firefly Lane, it was like rocketing into the past.
She turned onto the paved driveway and drove up to the small white farmhouse with the glossy black trim. Over the years Mrs. Mularkey had turned the ragged yard into an English-style garden full of flowers. In this late autumn, the whole garden seemed to glow golden. The yard and hanging baskets were a riot of red geraniums, visible in the orangey porch light.
Tully parked the car and went to the front door, ringing the bell.
Mr. M. answered, and for a second there, standing on the porch, looking up at him, Tully felt her whole life flash before her eyes. He looked older, of course, with a vanishing hairline and an expanding waistline, but dressed as he was in a white T-shirt and worn jeans, he looked so much like he used to that she felt young again, too. "Hey, Mr. M."
"You're here late. Everything okay?"
"I just needed to talk to Mrs. M. I won't stay long."
"You know you're welcome to stay as long as you want." He stepped back to let her in, then went to the base of the stairs and yelled up, "Margie, come on down. Trouble's here." He flashed Tully a smile that coaxed out one of her own.
In no time, Mrs. M. came down the stairs, zipping up the red velour robe she'd worn for as long as Tully had known her. No matter how many expensive robe-and-nightgown sets Tully sent Mrs. M. over the years, this old red one remained her favorite. "Tully," she said, pulling off her big beige-rimmed bifocals. "Is everything okay?"
