They walked back out to the waiting room, only to find everyone gone.
Mrs. M. looked at her watch. "They're in the cafeteria. You want to join us?"
"No, thanks. I think I need some fresh air."
Mrs. M. nodded. "It's good to have you back, Tully. I missed you."
"I should have taken your advice and called her."
"You're here now. That's what matters." She patted Tully's arm and walked away.
Tully went outside, surprised to find that it was light out here, warm and sunny. It seemed vaguely wrong that the sun was still shining while Kate lay up in that narrow bed, dying. She walked down the street, her watery eyes hidden behind huge, dark sunglasses so that no one would recognize her. The last thing she wanted now was to be stopped.
She passed a coffee shop, heard a bit of music waft through the door as someone came out.Bye, bye, Miss American Pie.
Her legs gave out on her, and she went down, hard, scraping her knees on the concrete sidewalk, but she didn't notice, hardly cared, she was crying so hard. She'd never felt so swollen with emotion; it was as if she couldn't handle it all. Fear. Sorrow. Guilt. Regret.
"Why didn't I call her?" she whispered. "I'm so sorry, Katie," she said, hearing the hollow desperation in her voice, feeling sick that now the words came so easily, when it was too late to matter.
She didn't know how long she knelt there, her head bowed, sobbing, thinking of all their times together. It was a bad part of Capitol Hill, full of homeless people, so no one stopped to help her. Finally, feeling spent and shaky, she climbed back to a standing position and stood there, feeling as if she'd been beaten up. The music took her back in time, reminded her of so many shared moments.Swear we'll always be best friends.
"Oh, Katie . . ."
And she was crying again. Quieter this time.
She walked dully up one street and down another until something in one of the display windows caught her eye.
There, in a store on the corner, she found what she hadn't even realized she'd been looking for. She had the gift wrapped and ran all the way back to Kate's room.
She was out of breath when she opened the door and went inside.
Kate smiled tiredly. "Let me guess: you've got a film crew with you."
"Very funny." She eased around the curtain and stood by the bed. "Your mom tells me you're still having trouble with Marah."
"It's not your fault. She's scared of all this and she doesn't know how easy it is to say you're sorry."
"I didn't."
"You always were her role model." Kate closed her eyes. "I'm tired, Tully . . ."
"I have a present for you."
Kate opened her eyes. "What I need can't be bought."
Tully tried not to react to that. Instead, she handed Kate the beautifully wrapped gift and helped her open it.
Inside was a hand-tooled, leather-bound journal. On the first page, Tully had written:Katie's story.
Kate stared down at the blank page for a long time, saying nothing.
"Katie?"
"I was never really a writer," she finally said. "You and Johnny and Mom all wanted it for me, but I never did it. Too late now."
Tully touched her friend's wrist, feeling how fragile and thin it was; the tiniest pressure could leave a bruise. "For Marah," she said quietly. "And the boys. Someday they'll be old enough to read it. They'll want to know who you were."
"How do I know what to write?"
