Kate didn't smile or give any indication of welcome or surprise. Even the apology—as little and late as it was—seemed to have no effect. "Please say you remember me."
Kate just stared up at her.
Tully reached down, let her knuckles graze Kate's warm cheek. "It's Tully, the bitch who used to be your best friend. I'm so sorry for what I did to you, Katie. I should have told you that a long time ago." She made a tiny, desperate sound. If Kate didn't remember her, remember them, she didn't think she could bear it. "I remember when I first met you, Katie Mularkey Ryan. You were the first person who ever really wanted to know me. Naturally I treated you like shit at first, but when I got raped you were there for me." The memories overtook her. She wiped her eyes. "You're thinking I'm only talking about me, right? Typical, you say. But I remember you, too, Katie; every second. Like when you readLove Storyand couldn't figure out whatsonovabitchmeant because it wasn't in the dictionary . . . or when you swore you'd never French-kiss because it was gross-o-rama." Tully shook her head, fighting to keep it together. Her whole life was in the room with them now. "We were so damned young, Katie. But we're not young anymore. You remember that first time I left Snohomish, and we wrote about a million letters? We signed themForever friends. . . orBest friends forever. Which was it . . ."
Tully spun out the story of their years; sometimes she even laughed, like when she told about riding their bikes down Summer Hill or running from the cops on the night they got busted. "Oh, here's one you'll know. Remember when we went toPete's Dragonbecause we thought it was an action movie, only it was a cartoon? We were the oldest kids in the theater, and we came out singing 'You and Me Against the World,' and we said it would always be that way—"
"Stop."
Tully drew in a sharp breath.
There were tears in her friend's eyes, and more streaking down her temples. They'd formed a small gray patch of wetness on the pillow behind her head. "Tully," Kate said in a soft, swollen voice, "did you really think I could forget you?"
Tully's relief was so huge she felt weak in the knees. "Hey," she said. "You didn't have to go so far to get my attention, you know." She touched her friend's bald head, let her fingers linger on the baby-soft skin. "You could have just called."
"I did call."
Tully flinched. "I'm so sorry, Katie. I—"
"You're a bitch," Kate said, smiling tiredly. "I've always known that. And I could have called back, too. I guess no one stays friends for more than thirty years without a few broken hearts along the way."
"I am a bitch," Tully said miserably, her eyes welling up. "I should have called. It was just . . ." She didn't even know what to say, how to explain this dark rip that had always been inside of her.
"No looking back, okay?"
"That only leaves ahead," Tully said, and the words were like bits of broken metal, sharp and cold.
"No," Kate said. "It leaves now."
"I did a show on breast cancer a few months ago. There's a doctor in Ontario doing amazing things with some new drug. I'll call him."
"I'm done with treatments. I've had them all and none has worked. Just . . . be with me."
Tully took a step back. "I'm here to watch you die. Is that what you're telling me? Because I say no fucking way to that. I won't do it."
Kate looked up at her, smiling just a little. "That's all there is, Tully."
"But—"
"Do you really think Johnny just gave up on me? You know my husband. He's just like you and we're almost as rich. For six months I saw every specialist on the planet. I did conventional and unconventional and naturopathic remedies. I even went to that faith healer in the rain forest. I have kids; I did everything I could to stay healthy for them. None of it worked."
"So what do I do?"
Kate's smile was almost like the old days. "That's my Tul. I'm dying of cancer and you ask about you." She laughed.
"That's not funny."
"I don't know how to do this."
Tully wiped her eyes. The truth of what they were really talking about pressed in on her. "We'll do it like we've done everything else, Kate. Side by side."
Tully came out of Kate's room shaken. She made a small sound, a kind of gasp, and covered her mouth with her hand.
"You can't hold it in," Mrs. M. said, coming up to her.
"I can't let it out."
"I know." Mrs. M's voice cracked, stumbled. "Just love her. Be there for her. That's all there is. Believe me, I've cried and argued and bargained with God, I've begged the doctors for hope. All that's past now. She's most worried about the kids. Marah especially. They've had such a rough go of it—well, you know about that—and Marah seems to have shut down for all of this. No tears, no drama. All she does is listen to music."
