Tully reached across the table, taking her hand. "Trust him, Katie."
She knew it was the best advice she could get. "Thanks."
"Now let's talk about the important shit, like names. You don't have to name her after me. Tallulah sort of sucks. No wonder dopehead picked it, but my middle name is Rose. That's not so bad . . ."
The rest of the afternoon passed in quiet conversation. They avoided talk of the baby and focused on inconsequential things. By the time they'd left the restaurant and driven back to town, Kate's desperation had eased. It wasn't gone, but having a plan of action helped.
When Tully parked behind the houseboat, Kate gave her friend a fierce hug and said goodbye.
Alone in Johnny's house, she changed into a pair of sweats and an old T-shirt, then went into the living room to wait for him.
As she sat there, knees pressed together (too late for that), her hands clasped, she listened to the ordinary sounds of this life she'd grown accustomed to—the slap of the waves on the pilings around her, the squawking of seagulls, the ever-present chug of a motorboat going past. It had never felt quite so fragile before, or so bittersweet. All her life she'd imagined love as a durable thing, a polyester emotion that could handle the wear and tear of everyday action, but now she saw how dangerous that perception was. It lulled you, put you at risk.
Across the room, the lock clicked and the door opened. Johnny smiled when he saw her. "Hey, there. I called you before I left the office. Where were you?"
"I played hooky with Tully."
"Happy hour, huh?" He pulled her up into his arms and kissed her.
She let herself melt against him. When she put her arms around him, she found that she couldn't let go.
She held on so tightly he had to actually pull her away. "Katie?" he said, stepping back enough to look down at her. "What's wrong?"
In the last hour she'd imagined a dozen different ways to tell him, to ease him into the news, but now, standing here in front of him, she saw what a waste all those plans were. This wasn't a gift that could be wrapped in pretty paper and she wasn't the kind of woman who could stay silent.
"I'm pregnant," she said in as firm a voice as she could manage.
He stared at her for an eternity, uncomprehending. "You're what? How did that happen?"
"The normal way, I'm pretty sure."
He let out a long, slow breath and sank to the sofa. "A baby."
"I didn't mean for it to happen." She sat down beside him. "I don't want you to feel trapped."
The smile he gave her was a stranger's, not the one she loved, that crinkled up his eyes and made her smile back. "You know how much I want to just pick up and leave when I'm finally ready. Follow a big story and redeem myself. It's been in my head for so long . . . ever since I screwed up in El Salvador."
She swallowed hard, nodded. Her eyes stung, but she refused to draw attention to her tears by wiping them away. "I know."
He reached out, touched her flat stomach. "But I couldn't just leave anymore, could I?"
"Because of the baby?"
"Because I love you," he said simply.
"I love you, too, but I don't want to—"
He slid off the couch, positioned himself on one knee, and she drew in a sharp breath. "Kathleen Scarlett Mularkey, will you marry me?"
She wanted to say yes, scream it, but she didn't dare. Fear was still too much a part of how she felt. So she had to say instead, "Are you sure, Johnny?"
And then, finally, she saw his smile. "I'm sure."
Kate had taken Tully's advice—of course—and gone for timeless elegance. Her wedding dress was an ivory silk gown with a heavily beaded bodice and an off-the-shoulder neckline. Her hair, carefully lightened in a trio of blonds, had been drawn back from her face and coiled into a Grace Kelly twist. The veil, when she put it on, would float over her face and fall down to her shoulders like a sparkling cloud. For the first time in her life she felt movie-star beautiful. Mom thought so, too; she took one look and started to cry. A few moments ago she had hugged Kate fiercely, kissed her cheek, and gone into the church, leaving Kate and Tully alone for the first time all day.
Now, standing in front of a full-length mirror that captured her fairy-tale reflection, Kate glanced over at Tully, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet on this grand poobah of hair and makeup days. Dressed in the pale pink strapless taffeta bridesmaid's gown, she looked vaguely out of place and fidgety.
"You look like you're gearing up for a funeral instead of a wedding."
