"Yeah." Tully grabbed a bottle of scotch from the counter and made him a stiff drink, then she poured herself a glass of wine and went to him.
"Let's sit on the dock," he said, taking the glass from her. "I don't want to wake her up."
Tully got her coat and followed him outside. They sat side by side on the dock, as if they were kids, hanging their legs out over the black waters of Lake Union.
It was still and peaceful out here. A full moon hung in the sky, illuminating the rooflines and reflecting in various windows. The distant hum of cars on the bridge was syncopated by the water slapping against the pilings.
"How are you doing, really?" Tully asked.
"It's Katie I'm worried about."
"I know," she answered, "but I asked about you."
"I've been better." He sipped his drink.
Tully leaned against him. "You're lucky," she said. "She loves you, and when a Mularkey falls in love, it's for life." The minute she said the words, she felt that strange sense of unraveling again. Of loneliness that was somehow just out of view, but moving toward her. For the first time, she wondered what her life could have been like if she'd been like Kate and chosen love. Would she then know how it felt to truly belong somewhere, with someone? She stared out across the water.
"What is it, Tully?"
"I guess I'm jealous of Kate and you."
"You don't want this life."
"What life do I want?"
He put an arm around her. "That's one thing you've always known. You want the networks."
"Does that make me shallow?"
He laughed. "I'm hardly the one to ask. I'll tell you what: I'll start making some calls. Sooner or later we'll find you a network job."
"You'd do that?"
"Of course. But you'll have to be patient. These things take time."
She twisted around and hugged him, whispering, "Thanks, Johnny." He knew her so well. Somehow he'd already known what she'd only just discovered: it was time for her to move on.
As tired as Kate was, she couldn't fall asleep. She lay in bed, staring up at the peaked ceiling, and waited for her husband.
It was in the very core of their relationship, this anxiety of hers. When things went bad, she remembered that she'd been his second choice, and no matter how often she told herself it wasn't true, there was a slim, shadowy version of herself that believed it, worried about it.
It was a destructive neurosis. Like water rising in the Pilchuck River, it eroded everything around it, sent big chunks of earth tumbling away.
Downstairs she heard a sound.
He was home.
"Thank God."
She eased painfully out of bed and went downstairs.
The lights were off. The fire was almost dead; only a faint orange glow remained. At first she thought she'd been wrong, that he wasn't home; then she noticed the shadows on the deck. Two people, sitting side by side, their shoulders touching. Moonlight revealed their shapes, turned them silver against the blackness of the water. She crossed the house quietly, opened the door, and stepped out into the night. A slight breeze ruffled her hair and nightgown.
Tully twisted around, hugged Johnny, whispered something in his ear. His response was muted by the sound of the water slapping the dock. He might have laughed; Kate couldn't be sure.
"You two having a party without me?" She heard the break in her voice and drew in a sharp breath to cover it. In her heart she knew that Johnny hadn't been turning to kiss Tully, but that shadow self of hers wasn't so sure. The ugly, toxic thought was smaller than a drop of blood, yet it poisoned the entire stream.
Johnny was at her side in an instant. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. When he drew back, she looked around for Tully, but they were alone on the deck.
