"Hello?" Tully said.
"It's me. I'm having a crisis."
"I'll be there in twenty," Tully said without hesitation.
For the first time all day, Kate smiled. Just being with Tully would help; it always had. Fifteen minutes later, she tidied up her already neat desk, grabbed her purse, and left her office.
Outside, the sun was a pale white ball in a washed-out blue sky. A few hardy tourists walked up and down Pioneer Square. Across the street, the homeless people who lived in Occidental Park lay sprawled out on the cobblestoned ground and the ironwork benches, huddled beneath filthy blankets and old sleeping bags. The trees around them were in full bloom.
Kate buttoned up her coat just as Tully pulled up in her brand-new metallic-blue Corvette convertible.
As always, the car made Kate both shake her head and smile. It was so damned . . . phallic, and yet somehow Tully fit it perfectly. Her wool pants and silk blouse were even the same color blue as the car.
Kate hurried around to the passenger side and got in.
"Where do you want to go?"
"Surprise me," Kate answered.
"You got it."
In no time at all, they'd snaked through the downtown traffic, rocketed over the West Seattle Bridge, and arrived at a restaurant on Alki Beach. On this faded spring day the place was empty, and they were seated instantly at a table overlooking the steely Sound.
"Thank God you called," Tully said. "This was the week from hell. They've had me traveling to every armpit town in the state. Last week I interviewed a guy in Cheney who's built a truck that runs on wood. I kid you not. He has a stove in the bed that's the size of an aircraft carrier and it takes a half a cord a week. I could barely see the damn truck through the black smoke it belched out, and he wanted me to report that he'd discovered the future. Tomorrow I'm supposed to go to Lyn-den to interview some Hutterite chick who won thirty-two blue ribbons at the fair. Yippee. Oh, and last week—"
"I'm pregnant."
Tully's mouth dropped open. "Are you kidding me?"
"Do I look like I'm kidding?"
"Holy shit . . ." Tully leaned back in her seat, looking stunned. "I thought you were on the pill."
"I am. And I've never missed one."
"Pregnant. Wow. What did Johnny say?"
"I haven't told him yet."
"What are you going to do?" The question was heavy, weighed down as it was by the unspoken option.
"I don't know." Kate looked up, met Tully's gaze. "But I know what I'm not going to do."
Tully stared at her for a long time, saying nothing. In those amazingly expressive dark eyes, Kate saw a parade of emotions—disbelief, fear, sadness, worry, and finally, love. "You'll be a great mother, Katie."
She felt the start of tears. It was what she wanted; now, here, for the first time she dared to admit it to herself. That was what a best friend did: hold up a mirror and show you your heart. "He's never said he loved me, Tully."
"Oh. Well . . . You know Johnny."
With that, Kate felt the past rear up between them. She knew Tully was feeling it, too, this thing they tried so hard to forget: their shared knowledge of John Ryan. "You're like him," she finally said. "How will he feel when he finds out?"
"Trapped."
It was exactly what Kate had told herself. "So what do I do?"
"You're asking me? The woman who can't keep a goldfish alive for more than a week?" Tully laughed; it sounded only the tiniest bit bitter. "You go home and tell the man you love that he's going to be a dad."
"You make it sound so easy."
