. . . with her beloved Winston.
. . . wouldn't want you to cry.
She took as much of it as she could because she knew Gran would have wanted that, but by eleven o'clock, she was ready to scream. Didn't any of the well-wisherssee,didn't they realize that Tully was a seventeen-year-old girl, dressed in black and all alone in the world?
If only Katie and the Mularkeys were here, but she had no idea how to reach them in Canada, and since they wouldn't be home for two days, she had to endure this alone. With them beside her, a pretend family, maybe she would have made it through the service.
Without them, she simply couldn't do it. Instead of sitting through the terrible, heart-wrenching memories of Gran, she got up in the middle of the funeral and walked out.
Outside, in the hot August sunlight, she could breathe again, even though the tears were always near to the surface, as was the pointless query,How could you leave me like this?
Surrounded by dusty old-model land yachts, she tried not to cry. Mostly, she tried not to remember, or to worry about what would happen to her.
Nearby, a twig snapped and Tully looked up. At first all she saw were the haphazardly parked cars.
Then she saw her.
Over by the property's edge, where a row of towering maple trees delineated the start of the city park, Cloud stood in the shade, smoking a long slim cigarette. Dressed in tattered corduroy bell-bottoms and a dirty peasant blouse, parenthesized by a wall of frizzy brown hair, she looked rail-thin.
Tully couldn't help the tiny leap of joy her heart took. Finally, she wasn't alone. Cloud might be a little nuts, but when the chips were down, she came back. Tully ran toward her, smiling. She would forgive her mother for all the missing years, all the abandonments. What mattered was that she was here now, when Tully needed her most. "Thank God you're here," she said, coming to a breathless stop. "You knew I'd need you."
Her mother lurched toward her, laughing when she almost fell. "You're a beautiful spirit, Tully. All you need is air and to be free."
Tully's stomach seemed to drop. "Not again," she said, pleading for help with her eyes. "Please . . ."
"Always." There was an edge to Cloud's voice now, a sharpness that belied the glassy look in her eyes.
"I'm your flesh and blood and I need you now. Otherwise I'll be alone." Tully knew she was whispering, but she couldn't seem to find any volume for her voice.
Cloud took a stumbling step forward. The sadness in her eyes was unmistakable, but Tully didn't care. Her mother's pseudo-emotions came and went like the sun in Seattle. "Look at me, Tully."
"I'm looking."
"No.Look. I can't help you."
"But I need you."
"That's the fucking tragedy of it," her mother said, taking a long drag on the cigarette and blowing smoke out a few seconds later.
"Why?" Tully asked. She was going to add,Don't you love me? but before she could form the pain into words, the funeral let out and black-clad people swarmed into the parking lot. Tully glanced sideways, just long enough to dry her tears. When she turned back, her mother was gone.
The woman from social services was as dry as a twig. She tried to say the right things, but Tully noticed that she kept glancing at her watch as she stood in the hallway outside Tully's bedroom.
"I still don't see why I need to pack my stuff. I'm almost eighteen. Gran has no mortgage on this house—I know 'cause I paid the bills this year. I'm old enough to live alone."
"The lawyer is expecting us," was the woman's only answer. "Are you nearly ready?"
She placed the stack of Kate's letters in her suitcase, closed the lid, and snapped it shut. Since she couldn't actually form the wordsI'm ready,she simply grabbed the suitcase, then slung her macramé purse over her shoulder. "I guess so."
"Good," the woman said, spinning briskly around and heading for the stairs.
Tully took one last, lingering look around her bedroom, noticing as if for the first time things she'd overlooked for years: the lavender ruffled bed linens and white twin bed, the row of plastic horses—dusty now—that lined the windowsill, the Mrs. Beasley doll on the top of the dresser, and the Miss America jewelry box with the pink ballerina on top.
Gran had decorated this room for the little girl who'd been dumped here all those years ago. Every item had been chosen with care, but now they'd all be boxed up and stored in the dark, along with the memories they elicited. Tully wondered how long it would be before she could think of Gran without crying.
She closed the door behind her and followed the woman through the now-quiet house, down the steps outside, to the street in front of house, where a battered yellow Ford Pinto was parked.
"Put your suitcase in the back."
