Kate opened her eyes and saw them.
Mrs. Mularkey stood up, moved next to the bed, standing shoulder to shoulder with Tully.
"Hey," Kate whispered. "How long until Johnny—" At her husband's name, her voice cracked like an egg and she started to shake.
"Did someone say my name?"
Tully spun around.
He stood in the open doorway, carrying a bouquet of flowers that wilted slightly to the left. Everything about him looked disheveled—his unshaven face was a contrasting palette of pale skin and stubbly black beard, his hair was a long, tangled black mess, and his eyes bespoke a bone-deep exhaustion. His Levi's were torn and dirty, his khaki shirt had more wrinkles than an unmade bed. "I hired a private plane. It's going to be a hell of a Visa bill."
He tossed the flowers on a chair and went to his wife. "Hey, baby," he whispered. "I'm sorry it took me so long."
"It was a boy," Katie said, bursting into tears, clinging to him.
Tully heard Johnny start to cry with Kate.
Mrs. Mularkey came up beside her, slipped an arm around her waist.
"He loves her," Tully said slowly. The memory of her night with Johnny had somehow blinded her, trapped her like an insect in the sap of a forgotten time. She'd imagined that Kate was his second choice somehow, his Miss Runner-Up to love.
But this . . . this was no second choice.
Mrs. Mularkey pulled her away from the bed. "Of course he loves her. Come on, let's leave them alone."
They took their coffees and went out into the hallway, where Mr. M. was sitting on an uncomfortable chair. When he looked up, his eyes were bloodshot. "How is she?"
"Johnny's with her now," Mrs. M. said, touching his shoulder.
For the first time in years, Tully felt like an outsider in this family. "I should be with her."
"Don't you worry, Tully," Mrs. M. said, watching her closely. "She'll always need you."
"But things are different now."
"Of course they are. Katie's married. You girls are on separate paths, but you'll always be best friends."
Separate paths.
There it was; the thing she should have seen but somehow hadn't.
They took turns being with Kate during the next few days. On Thursday, it was Tully's time. She called in sick at work and spent the day with Kate. They played cards and watched television and talked. Most of the time, to be honest, Tully just listened. When it was her turn to answer, she tried to say the right thing, but she was pretty sure she failed more often than not. There was a sadness in her friend now, a graying around the edges that was so foreign Tully felt as if she'd stumbled upon some negative version of their friendship. Nothing she said was quite right.
Finally, around eight o'clock, Kate said, "I know you'll think I'm crazy, but I'm going to bed. Johnny will be home in an hour. You can go on home. Go have wild, crazy sex with that new guy, Ted."
"Todd. And I'm not exactly in a make-out mood. Then again . . ." Smiling, she helped Kate up the stairs and got her settled in bed. Then she looked down at her. "You don't know how much I want to say the right thing to make you feel better."
"You do. Thanks." Kate closed her eyes.
Tully stood there a moment longer, feeling uncharacteristically impotent. With a sigh, she went back downstairs and started on the dishes. She was drying the last glass when the door opened quietly, then clicked shut.
Johnny stood there, holding a bouquet of pink roses. With his newly cropped hair and stonewashed jeans and his white Adidas tennis shoes with the tongues hanging out, he looked about twenty years old. In all the years she'd known him, he'd never looked so sad and ruined.
"Hey," he said, putting the flowers on the coffee table.
"You look like you could use a drink."
"How about an IV drip?" He tried to smile. "She asleep?"
