Tully didn't miss a beat. She started talking about yesterday's rehearsal, then went on to her troubles with the carpool protocol.
Kate closed her eyes, and suddenly they were kids again, sitting by the Pilchuck River, wondering how their lives would unfold.
We'll be TV journalists. Someday I'll tell Mike Wallace that I couldn't have done it without you.
Dreams. They'd had so many of them, and a surprising number had come true. The funny thing was that she hadn't valued them all highly enough when she'd had the chance.
Leaning back in her seat, she said quietly, "Do you still know the guy who runs the drama program at USC?"
"I do." Tully looked at her. "Why?"
Kate felt Tully's scrutiny on her profile. Without making eye contact, she straightened her wig. "Maybe you could call him. Marah would love to go there." With the words came the thought:I won't be there for her. For any of it. Marah would go off to college without her . . .
"I thought you didn't want her to be in the arts."
"It scares the hell out of me to think of my baby in Hollywood. But you're a TV star. Her dad's a news producer. The poor kid is surrounded by dreamers. What chance did she ever have?" She reached over, squeezed Tully's hand. More than anything, she wanted to look at Tully, but she couldn't do it, didn't dare. "You'll watch out for her and the boys, right?"
"Always."
Kate felt the start of a smile; that one word released a little of her sadness. One thing about Tully: she kept her word. "And maybe you'll look up Cloud again."
"It's funny you'd mention that. I was planning on it. Someday."
"Good," Kate said softly but firmly. "Chad was right, and I was wrong about that. When you get . . . to the end, you see that love and family are all there is. Nothing else matters."
"You're my family, Katie."
"I know. You'll need more after—"
"Please don't say it."
Kate looked at her friend. Bold, brassy, larger-than-life Tully, who'd barreled through the years like a lion in a jungle, always the king. Now she was quiet, afraid. The very idea of Kate's death had unraveled her, made her smaller. "I'm going to die, Tully. Not saying it won't change it."
"I know."
"Here's what I want you to know: I loved my life. For so long I was waiting for it to start, waiting formore. It seemed like all I did was drive and shop and wait. But you know what? I didn't miss a thing with my family. Not a moment. I was there for all of it. That's what I'll remember, and they'll have each other."
"Yes."
"I'm worried about you, though," Kate said.
"You would be."
"You're afraid of love, but you've got so much of it to give."
"I know I've spent a lot of years whining about being alone, and I've had a history of hooking up with inappropriate or unavailable men, but the truth is my career has been my love, and mostly it's been enough. I've been happy. It's important to me that you know that."
Kate gave her a tired smile. "I'm proud of you, you know. Have I told you that often enough?"
"And I'm proud of you." Tully looked at her best friend, and in that one look, thirty plus years crowded in between them, reminded them both of the girls they'd been and the dreams they'd shared, and of the women they'd become. "We've done all right, haven't we?"
Before Kate could answer, the auditorium doors banged open and people streamed in.
Johnny, Mom, Dad, and the boys took their seats just as the house lights flickered.
Then the stage lights came on, the heavy red velvet curtains parted slowly, dragging across the wooden stage at their hem, and revealing the poorly painted set of a small town.
Marah walked onstage, dressed in a high school drama version of a nineteenth century gown.
