The truth was that her gorgeous, pale-skinned, dark-haired, brown-eyed daughter was more than a handful. From the moment she came home Marah was sick. Ear infections followed each other like cars on a train; just when one ended, another began. Colic caused her to cry in-consolably for hours at a time. Kate had lost count of the times she'd found herself in the living room in the middle of the night, holding her red-faced, shrieking daughter and quietly crying herself.
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It was embarrassing how ill-equipped she turned out to be for this blessed event that had been her secret girlhood dream. So embarrassing, in fact, that she told no one how overwhelmed she sometimes felt. When asked, she smiled brightly and said motherhood was the best thing that had ever happened to her. It was even true.
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Yet sometimes it wasn't.
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Marah would be a year old in three days and she had yet to sleep through the night. Four hours was her record so far. Thus, in the past twelve months, Kate hadn't slept through the night. Johnny always offered to get up. In the beginning he'd even gone so far as to throw back the covers, but Kate had always stopped him. It wasn't that she wanted to play the martyr, although she often felt like one.
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The first twelve months of motherhood was a riptide of cold dark water that all too often sucked Kate under.
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There were other problems, too. First off, her looks had gone to hell. She was pretty sure this was yet another ripple in the no-sleep pool. No amount of makeup or moisturizer helped. Her skin, always pale, was J. P. Patches white lately, except for the shadows under her eyes, which were a lovely shade of brown. She'd lost all of her baby weight except for ten pounds, but when you were five-foot-three, ten pounds was two sizes. She hadn't worn anything but sweats in almost a year.
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Johnny had a job; it was that simple. Kate had given up her career to be a mom. Thus, getting up in the night was her job. At first she'd done it willingly, then at least with a smile. Lately, though, when Marah let out her first wail at eleven o'clock, Kate found herself praying for strength.
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She needed to start on an exercise program. Last week she'd found her old Jane Fonda workout tapes, a leotard, and leg warmers. Now all she had to do was hit play and get going.
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"Today's the day," she said aloud as she carried her daughter back to bed and gently tucked her in beneath the expensive pink and white cashmere blanket that had been a gift from Tully. Luxuriously soft, it had become the thing Marah chose to sleep with. No matter what toys or blankets Kate offered, Tully's was the one. "Try to sleep till seven o'clock. Mommy could use it."
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"Believe me, I have no problem with nudity. We can order room service instead of going out. Although you're the only one who thinks you haven't lost the weight. Try on something. I think you'll be surprised."
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"Yeah, how's that?"
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"Are you kidding? With your mood swings lately it's like having three wives. The last thing I want is another woman."
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She opened her eyes, staring blearily at him. "Okay, who is she? Guilt is the only reason you'd say I was beautiful at this godforsaken hour."
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"Funny ha ha, or funny I-can't-remember-the-last-time-we-made-love?"
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He kissed her lips, lingering as if maybe he wanted to start something, and then he murmured, "You're so beautiful."
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"But sex would be nice."
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"Sex would be nice. It's funny you brought that up."
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"I've already talked to your mom. She's taking Marah after the birthday party and you and I are going to have a romantic night in downtown Seattle."
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"Funny that you're getting lucky this weekend."
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Yawning, Kate went back to bed and snuggled up to her husband.
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"What if I can't fit into any of my nice clothes?"
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"No wonder I love you so much."
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It was too late. The dial tone blared at her.
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"Oh. Right."
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"Lucky guess." Kate rubbed the bridge of her nose, feeling the start of a headache. Beside her, Johnny grumbled something about people who couldn't tell time.
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"Oh. I thought you'd want to watch the broadcast. Sorry I bothered you. 'Bye."
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"I'm a god. There's no doubt about it."
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Kate cursed under her breath and hung up the phone. She couldn't seem to do anything right lately. She and Tully had so little in common these days there wasn't much to talk about. Tully didn't want to hear endless "mommy" stories and Kate could only stand so many my-life-and-career-are-great anecdotes. The postcards and calls from distant, exotic places were vaguely irritating.
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"It's five-thirty in the morning."
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She picked up on the second ring, saying, "Hello, Tully."
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"Hey, Katie," Tully said. "How did you know it was me?"
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"You don't sound very excited, Katie."
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She smiled and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him softly.
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"Today's the day, remember? My report on the reservists Bush called up to active duty. My first honest-to-God important story."
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They had just closed their eyes again when the phone rang. Kate sat up slowly, and looked at the clock: 5:47.
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"Tully, wait --"
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But it was Tully who demanded attention. She looked trim and utterly professional and beautiful. She'd tamed her curly auburn hair into a sleek, sophisticated bob and applied just enough makeup to accentuate her eyes.
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Then, suddenly, Tully was on the air. She stood in front of some rundown concrete building, talking to an impossibly fresh-faced kid with a thick red crew cut and freckles. He looked as if he could have been wearing braces and a letterman's jacket ten seconds ago.
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Johnny threw the covers back and turned on the television. They sat up together, listening to Norville's report on the buildup of hostilities in Iraq and the president's response.
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"Wow is right," Johnny said. "She looks gorgeous."
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"She's on Sunrise this morning, remember?" Kate said. "She wanted to remind us."
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"Wow," Kate whispered. When had that transformation occurred? She wasn't overblown Tallulah anymore, child of the cocaine-and-glitter eighties. She was reporter Tallulah Hart, as beautiful as Paulina Porizkova, as professional as Diane Sawyer.
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"She looks gorgeous," Kate muttered, leaning sideways for the phone.
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She punched in Tully's number. The NBC receptionist answered and said she'd need to leave a message.
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So Tully was pissed.
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They watched the rest of the broadcast. Then he kissed Kate's cheek and headed into the bathroom. Within moments she heard the shower start.
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Tully was probably right there, standing next to the phone, wearing her expensive designer skirt and blouse, digging through her quilted designer handbag, watching the light flash on her phone.
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"Tell her Katie called to say the story was great."
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Kate got out of bed and went into the bathroom. There was no point in trying to sleep any more. Marah would waken any minute. In the shower, her husband was singing a very off-key version of an old Rolling Stones' song.
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Against her better judgment she looked in the mirror. Steam clouded her reflection but didn't obscure it.
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Her hair was straggly and too long. Dark blond roots showed how long it had been since she'd had a foil. She had bags under her eyes the size of open umbrellas and enough cleavage for two women.
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Sure enough, Marah was screaming.
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Turning off the water, she opened the door.
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No wonder she tried to stay away from reflective surfaces. With a sigh, she reached for the toothpaste and began brushing her teeth. Before she'd finished, she felt Marah wake up.
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Still, the party went on, with all the women in the living room and the kids on the floor, making more noise than Sherman marching into Atlanta.
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When the big day arrived, Kate wondered why in the hell she'd planned such a ridiculous birthday party for her daughter. In the morning, after another sleepless night, she got up and began the preparations, putting the finishing touches on the pink Barbie doll cake and wrapping the last few presents. In a moment of obvious madness, she'd invited all the children from Marah's Mommy and Me class, as well as two former sorority sisters who had similarly aged daughters and her parents. Even Johnny had taken the morning off work for the extravaganza. When they all arrived, on time, bearing gifts, Kate immediately got a headache. It didn't help that Marah picked that moment to start screaming, either.
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Kate's day had begun.
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"Marah didn't sleep again last night."
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"But I'm a genius. Clearly my daughter is not as bright."
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"That's because she sleeps through the night," Vicki pointed out. "And her clothes don't always have puke on them."
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"She never sleeps through the night, and why is that? Because --"
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"You're awfully quiet today," her mother pointed out when the last guest left.
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"I know. I know. I need to let her cry." Kate tossed the last of the used paper plates into the trash. "I just can't."
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"I let you cry. It took three nights and you never woke up in the wee hours again."
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"No, I'm the genius. Clearly my daughter is not as bright." Mom looped an arm around Kate's shoulder and led her to the sofa.
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"I was up, too," Charlotte said, reaching for her coffee. "She looked great, didn't she?"
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"I saw Tully on that really early show the other morning," Mary Kay said. "I was up with Danny."
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Kate wanted to join in, but she couldn't. Her headache was killing her and she had this nagging sense that something was wrong. It was so acute that when Johnny left the party at just past one, she'd almost pleaded with him to stay.
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Side by side, they sat down. Kate leaned against her mother, who stroked her hair. The gentle, soothing motion transported her back a few decades. "Remember when I wanted to be an astronaut, and you said I was lucky because my generation could have it all? I could have three kids, a husband, and still go to the moon. What a bunch of bullshit that was." She sighed. "It's hard to be a good mother."
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"Amen," Kate said. The truth was that she loved her daughter, ached sometimes with the intensity of that love, but the responsibility was overwhelming, and the pace of life exhausting.
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"It's hard to be good at anything."
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"I know how tired you are. It'll get better. I promise."
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No sooner had her mother said the words than her father walked into the room. He'd spent most of the party hiding out in the family room, watching some sports team or another. "We'd best get a move on, Margie. I don't want to get stuck in traffic. Get Marah ready."
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Kate felt a flash of panic. Was she ready to be away from her daughter for a night? "I don't know, Mom."
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Kate knew her mother was right, even knew it was a good thing to do. So why was her stomach clenched?
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"You have a lifetime to be afraid," Dad said. "That's what parenting is. Might as well embrace it, kiddo."
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"How we still feel," Dad said. Mom took her by the hand. "Let's go gather Marah's things. Johnny's going to be back in a couple of hours to pick you up."
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Her mother touched her hand gently. "Your father and I raised two kids, Katie. We can watch our granddaughter for a night. Go out with your husband. Kick up your heels and have some fun. Marah will be safe with us."
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Kate tried gamely to smile. "This is it, huh? How you guys felt all the time."
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When she held Marah one last time and kissed her soft cheek, Kate had to hold back tears. It was ridiculous and embarrassing and inevitable, for it didn't matter that motherhood had kicked the hell out of her and ruined her confidence; it had also swamped her so with love that she was only half a person without her daughter.
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Kate packed Marah's clothes, making sure she had her pink blanket, her pacifiers, and her beloved Pooh bear. Then she gathered up the formula and bottles and tiny jars of strained fruit and vegetables, and wrote out a feeding and sleeping schedule that would have made an air traffic controller proud.
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Kate stood on the porch of her new beachfront Bainbridge Island house, with her hand tented across her eyes until long after the car had disappeared down the driveway.
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Then, back inside, she wandered aimlessly for a few moments, not quite certain of how to be alone anymore.
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Finally she found herself in her closet, staring at her prepregnancy clothes, trying to figure out what she had that was sexy and grown-up and would fit her. She'd just finished packing when she heard the door downstairs open and close, heard her husband's footsteps on the hardwood floor.
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She went down to meet him. "Where are we going, Mr. Ryan?"
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"You'll see." He took her hand and got her overnight bag and closed up the house. Out in his car, the radio was on. Loud, like the old days. Bruce Springsteen was singing, Hey, little girl, is your daddy home…
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Kate laughed, feeling young again. They drove down to the ferry terminal and onto the waiting boat. Instead of sitting in their car for the passage, as they usually did, they bundled up in coats and hats and stood on the bow with the tourists. It was five o'clock on this cold January evening, and the sky and Sound were a Monet of lavender and pink. In the distance, Seattle sparkled with a million lights.
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She tried calling Tully again, left another message.
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"No, but I'll tell you what we're going to do."
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As the ferry chugged into port, they returned to their car. Once they were off the boat, Johnny maneuvered through the stop-and-go downtown traffic and pulled up in front of the Inn at the Market, where a liveried doorman opened her door and collected her bags.
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Johnny came around for her and took her hand. "We're already checked in." To the bellman, he said, "Room 416."
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"Are you going to tell me where we're going?"
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She laughed. "I know what we're going to do."
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They strolled through the quiet brick courtyard and into the intimate, European-style lobby. On the fourth floor, they went to their room, a corner suite that had a sweeping view of the Sound. Bainbridge Island looked almost purple; the water was steel-blue; the distant mountains were back-lit by pink light. On a table by the window a bottle of champagne stood tilted in a silver ice bucket, a plateful of strawberries beside it.
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Kate smiled. "I see someone wants to get laid in the worst way."
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"What you see is a man who loves his wife." He swept her into his arms and kissed her.
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Kate waited impatiently for the bellman to leave. The second he was gone she began unbuttoning her blouse. "I'm not sure exactly what to wear tonight." When Johnny looked at her -- he wasn't smiling now; he looked as hungry as she felt -- she unzipped her pants, let them fall to the floor. For the first time in months she didn't worry about her weight gain. Instead she let his gaze be her mirror.
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When someone knocked, they broke apart like teenagers, laughing at their own passion.
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"No fair starting without me," he said, wrenching off his shirt, throwing it aside, then unbuttoning his pants.
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She unhooked her bra, let it dangle from her fingertips and drop to the ground.
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They fell into bed together and made love as if they hadn't done it in months instead of weeks, with every part of their minds and bodies. Sensation carried Kate away. When he finally entered her with all the pent-up longing of too many passionless nights, she cried out at the joy of it, and everything inside of her, everything she was, melded with this man she loved more than her own life. By the time she came, shuddering hard, holding him against her damp body, she was utterly spent.
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He pulled her against him. Naked, panting, they lay entwined, the expensive hotel sheets tangled around their bare legs.
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She rolled onto her side, instantly worried. "What is it?"
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"What do you mean?" He eased away from her and went to the table, where he poured two glasses of champagne. "Do you want some strawberries?"
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"You know how much I love you, don't you?" he said quietly. They were words he'd said hundreds of times, so often that she knew how they were supposed to sound.
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Slowly -- too slowly -- he turned, but he wouldn't meet her gaze.
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"Look at me, John."
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"You're scaring me."
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"Tell me."
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He went over to the window and stared out. His profile looked sharp suddenly, distant. Damp, tangled hair obscured his cheek. She couldn't tell if he was smiling. "Let's not do this now, Katie. We have all night and all day tomorrow to talk. For now, let's --"
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He put the glass of champagne down on the windowsill and turned to her. Finally, he let his gaze meet hers, and in his blue eyes she saw the kind of sadness that made her breath catch. He went to the bed, knelt beside it so that he was looking up at her. "You know what's going on in the Middle East."
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"There's the irony; you gave it back to me. I'm tired of feeling like I failed, Katie. I need to prove to myself that I can do it this time."
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The three letters coalesced into something as big and black as a thundercloud. She knew what this was about.
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"Okay, no. You can't go. I won't let you. I love you, Johnny. You could die over there."
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War.
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"If you say no, I won't go."
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"There's going to be a war, Katie. You know that. The whole world knows it."
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"You'll go no matter what I say, so why the big act?"
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"It matters."
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"I have to go." The simple, quiet way he said it was worse than any yell.
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"I need it."
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"And you want my blessing," she said dully.
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"I need you. Marah needs you, but that doesn't matter, does it?"
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He came up on his knees, took her face in his hands, and held her steady. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let her. "They need me. I've got experience."
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She felt the heat of tears flood her eyes; they blurred her vision.
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"You said you lost your nerve."
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His words were so unexpected that she just stared at him. "What?"
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The tears fell, streaked down her cheeks. Angrily, she wiped them away. She wanted to say, Yes. Fuck, yes. That's my answer.
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But how could she deny him this? Not only was it what he wanted, but down even deeper, there was something else, that tattered, ugly remnant of fear that floated to the surface sometimes, reminded her that he'd loved Tully first. It made Kate afraid to deny him anything. She wiped her eyes again. "Promise me you won't die, Johnny."
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He let go of her, sat back on his heels, and stared at her. "Is that your answer?"
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He climbed into bed and took her in his arms and while she held him as tightly as she could, already it didn't feel safe. It felt as if he were dissolving in her embrace, disappearing bit by bit. "I promise I won't die."
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She couldn't help thinking of this morning, when she'd woken with the feeling that something would go wrong today. "I mean it, Johnny. If you die over there I'll hate you forever. I swear to God I will."
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They were empty words, made worse by the fervor with which he spoke.
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The words, and the easy, victorious way he said them made her want to cry all over again. It wasn't until much later, after they'd had a romantic dinner in their room and made love and snuggled into each other's waiting arms, that she thought about what she'd said to him, the terrible, wrenching horror of her threat; the gauntlet she'd thrown down to God.
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"You know you'll always love me."
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"I'm so glad you were in town this weekend. This was exactly what I needed."
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"You and me both, my love."
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"Indeed it was."
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Tully eased off Grant's naked body and flopped onto the bed, still breathing hard. "Wow," she said, closing her eyes. "That was great."
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Grant sat up in bed.
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She loved listening to his accent, feeling his naked body against hers. This was a moment to hang on to, to cling to, even, because as soon as he left her bed, she knew her unease would come back. She'd been battling it since her call to Kate. Nothing could disrupt her self-confidence or make her feel edgy like being mad at her best friend.
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She touched his back, thought about asking him to stay the night again, to put off his meeting, but that wasn't the kind of relationship they had. They were friends who met for sex and laughter for a few hours and then went their own ways.
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"I'll take the call."
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Beside him, the bedside phone rang. He reached for it.
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"Don't answer it. I don't want to talk to anyone."
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Grant handed her the phone and walked naked toward the bathroom. When he shut the door, Tully brought the phone to her ear and said, "Who is this?"
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"I gave the office this number." He picked up the phone and answered. "Hello?… Grant," he said. "And who are you? Oh, I see." He paused, frowning, then laughed. "I can do that." He held the phone to his naked chest and turned to Tully. "Your best friend forever says -- and I quote -- that you are to get your lily-white ass out of your bed and come to the damn phone. She says further that if you give her any shit on this of all days that she will beat you until you beg for mercy." He chuckled again. "She sounds serious."
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"Very funny."
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"I had a best friend forever once, but she was a real bitch to me, so I figured --"
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"Look, Tully, normally I'd grovel for an hour or so and spoon a bunch of humble pie down my throat, but I don't have time for the ritual today. I'm sorry. Your phone call came at a bad time and I was snotty. Okay?"
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"It's Johnny. He's going to Baghdad tomorrow."
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"What's wrong?"
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Tully should have seen this coming. The whole station was buzzing over what was happening in the Middle East. Everyone at the station and around the world was trying to guess when President Bush was going to drop the first bomb. "A lot of journalists are going over there, Katie. He'll be fine."
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"I'm scared, Tully. What if --"
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"Don't," Tully said sharply. "Don't even think it. I'll follow him from the station. We get most of the news first. I'll watch for you."
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Tully sighed. Their familiar promise didn't sound as airy and hopeful as usual; suddenly it had a dark, ominous edge that she had to force herself to ignore. "No matter what, Katie. But you don't have to worry. This war won't last long. He'll be home before Marah takes her first step."
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"I'm always right. You know that."
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"And you'll tell me the truth, no matter what?"
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"I pray you're right."
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Tully hung up the phone, listening to the sound of Grant turning on the shower. His humming, which usually made her smile, had no effect. For the first time in a long time she was afraid.
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And so she'd waited.
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Johnny in Baghdad.
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Kate received the first message from Johnny two days after he left. Until then, she'd walked around the house in a daze, never far from the new fax/phone they'd put on the kitchen counter. As she went about the business of her day -- changing diapers, reading stories, watching Marah crawl from one potentially dangerous piece of furniture to the next -- she thought: Okay, Johnny: let me know you're alive and well. He'd told her that phone calls could only be made with dire need (to which she'd argued that her need was dire, and why didn't that count?), but that faxes were not only possible but relatively easy.
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Dear Katie:
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When the phone rang at four in the morning, she threw the blanket away and rolled off the sofa, stumbling toward the kitchen, waiting for the message to unfurl.
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Before she'd read a word, she started to cry. Just seeing the bold scrawl of his handwriting made missing him almost unbearable.
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It's crazy here. Flat-out insane. We don't know exactly what's happening -- it's a waiting game right now. The journalists are all in the Al-Rashid Hotel in the middle of Baghdad and we've got unprecedented access to both sides. The coverage of this war will change everything. Tomorrow we're leaving the city for the first time. Don't worry, I'll be careful.
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Am being careful.
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After that, the faxes came about once a week. Not nearly often enough.
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The bombing started last night. Or should I say this morning? We had a bird's-eye view from the hotel and it was gut-wrenching and horrific and amazing. It was a gorgeous, starry night in Baghdad and the bombs turned this city into hell. An office tower exploded close to the hotel and the heat was like an oven.
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K --
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K --
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Love U
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Seventeen hours of bombing and still counting. There will be nothing left when it finally stops. Back to work.
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J
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Gotta run. Kiss M for me.
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J
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Sorry it's been so long since the last letter. The team is out so much on assignment that I can't get five seconds to myself. But I'm good. Tired. Hell, more than that. Exhausted. The first US female POW was captured last night and I have to say that it hit us all hard. I hope that someday I can tell you how it feels to see all this, but I can't think that way now, not if I want to sleep. Anyway, there's talk that the Iraqis are going to ignite oil wells in Kuwait and we're off to cover it. Kisses to Marah and more to you.
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Love U
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K --
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Kate stared down at the last fax she'd received. It was dated February 21, 1991, almost one week ago.
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The waiting had worn her down to nothing. She'd lost fifteen pounds and hadn't had a good night's sleep since their night at the hotel.
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She folded the latest fax in half and placed it on the small pile of others. Every day she told herself she wouldn't unfold them and reread his words; every day she returned to them.
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Today she'd begun several chores and left all of them unfinished. Instead, she sat on the couch, watching television. She'd been here for more than two hours.
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She sat in her living room, watching the war coverage on television. The last six weeks had been the longest, hardest days of her life. She was waiting, always waiting, for a phone call that said he was coming home, for a special report that heralded the end of the war. Now they were saying that the final allied assault should begin any day. A ground assault. That scared her as much as or more than anything else because she knew her Johnny. Somehow, he'd end up on a tank, directing a story that no one else could tell.
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Johnny's chair.
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Marah stood by the coffee table, clutching its wooden edge in her pink, pudgy hands, swaying like a break-dancer and babbling in baby talk. Finally, she plopped down on her diaper-padded butt and immediately began to crawl away from the couch.
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"Stay by Mommy," Kate said automatically. On TV, the oil wells were burning; the air above them was a thick cloud of black smoke.
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Across the room, Marah found something. Kate could tell by the sudden quiet. She jumped up and went over to the chair by the fireplace.
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She bent down and picked up her curious daughter, who looked up at her through huge, bright brown eyes and started to babble. Kate couldn't help smiling at how earnestly Marah was trying to communicate, and as always, her daughter's obvious joy lifted her spirits. "Hey, Munchkin what have you got there?" She carried her back toward the sofa, turning off the TV as she passed it. Enough was enough. She turned on the radio instead. It was tuned to an oldies channel, which always made her shake her head. To her mind the seventies weren't that distant. The Eagles were singing "Desperado."
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Don't think about that, she told herself. He'd be back any day to sit there again and read the paper after work.
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Kate let the music take her back to an easier time. Holding her daughter close, she danced in the living room, singing along. Marah giggled and bounced in her arms, which made Kate laugh for the first time in days. She kissed her daughter's plump cheek, nuzzled her velvety neck, and tickled her until she screamed happily.
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They were having so much fun Kate didn't register instantly that the phone was ringing. When she did hear it, she ran for the radio, turned it down, and answered.
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"Mrs. John Ryan?" The connection was scratchy. Clearly long-distance. Only in dire need.
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"This is Lenny Golliher. I'm a friend of your husband's. I'm over here in Baghdad with him. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs. Ryan, there was a bombing yesterday…"
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She froze, tightened her hold on Marah, who squirmed in her arms. "This is she."
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The maître d' showed Edna to her regular table, and Tully followed along behind, trying not to gape at all the power brokers and celebrities who were here today for lunch. Clearly 21 was one of the places to be seen in Manhattan. Edna stopped at nearly every table to say hi to someone and she introduced them all to Tully, saying, "Here's a girl you should keep your eye on."
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She knew the value of what had just happened. Edna had just given her the gift of recognition. "Why me?" she asked when their waiter left.
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By the time they took their seats, Tully felt as if she were floating. She couldn't wait to call Kate and tell her she'd met John Kennedy, Jr.
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Edna lit up her cigarette and leaned back. Nodding at someone across the room, she seemed not to have heard the question. Tully was about to ask it again when Edna said quietly, "You remind me of me. That surprises you, I see."
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"I'm from a little town in Oklahoma. When I got to New York -- with a degree in journalism and a job in the secretarial pool -- I discovered the ugly truth about this career. Practically everyone is Someone or related to Someone. A nobody has to work damn hard. I don't think I slept more than five hours at a time, had a family holiday, or had sex that meant something for almost a decade."
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The waiter brought their food, set it down with an obsequious nod, and disappeared again. Smoking cigarette in hand, Edna began cutting her steak. "When I saw you, I thought, There's the girl I'll help. I don't know why except, like I said, you reminded me of me."
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"Flatters me."
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Edna nodded and went back to her food.
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"My lucky day."
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"Ms. Guber?" It was the maître d' again, carrying a phone. "There's an urgent call for you."
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She took the phone, said, "Talk." Then she listened for a long time. "What're their names? How? Bomb?" She began taking notes. "Seattle reporter killed, producer wounded."
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Edna pressed the phone to her chest. "Two guys from the affiliate in Seattle were injured in a bombing. Actually, the reporter was killed. The producer, John Ryan, is in critical condition." She went back to her call. "What was the reporter's name?"
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Tully drew in a sharp breath. All she could think was: Johnny. She closed her eyes, but it didn't help; in the darkness she collected a dozen painful memories: sitting on the deck of his houseboat, talking about her future… dancing at that ridiculous nightclub in the seedy part of downtown all those years ago… seeing him look at Marah for the first time, with tears in his eyes. "Oh, my God," she said, getting to her feet. "I have to go."
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Tully didn't hear anything after producer. Edna's voice turned into white noise. She leaned forward. "Who is it?"
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"Really?" Edna looked at her, then said into the phone, "Maury, put Tully on the story. She has an in. I'll call you back," and hung up. "Sit down, Tully."
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Numbly, she complied. Her legs had practically given out anyway. Those memories kept hammering her. "I need to help Katie," she muttered.
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Edna looked up at her, mouthed, "What is it?"
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"It's a big story, Tully," Edna said.
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"Don't care?" Edna said sharply. "Oh, you care. Everyone wants this assignment, but you have an in. Do you know what that means?"
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Tully frowned, trying to switch gears from her worry. It seemed vaguely wrong, to make this about her career. "I don't know."
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She could barely form the words; they burned her mouth. "Johnny Ryan is my best friend's husband."
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Tully waved that off impatiently. "I don't care about that. She's my best friend."
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"Then you're not the woman I thought you were. Why can't you get an exclusive and comfort your friend?"
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"What other way is there? You can get an interview that no one else will have. A thing like this will put you on the map. Could get you the news nook."
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Tully thought about that. "When you put it that way…"
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"Exactly." Edna picked up the phone and dialed the number. "Hart can get us an exclusive, Maury. It's as good as done. I'll vouch for her." When she hung up, Edna's look was steely. "Don't let me down."
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All the way from the restaurant and back to the office, Tully convinced herself that she'd done the right thing. At her desk, she threw her coat onto the back of her chair and called Kate. The phone rang and rang. Finally the answering machine picked up: You've reached the Ryan household. Neither Johnny nor Kate can come to the phone right now, but if you'll leave a message we'll get back to you as soon as we can.
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Tully couldn't help but be seduced by that. The news nook was a desk on the morning show's set from which the day's biggest news stories were covered. The recognition factor for anyone assigned there was high. Daily national exposure. Several people had made the jump from news nook to host. "And I can protect Kate from everything while I'm there."
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At the beep, Tully said, "Hey, Katie, it's me. I just heard --"
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Kate picked up the phone and disabled the answering machine. "Hey," she said, sounding completely lost. "You got my message. Sorry about the machine. Those bloodsucking reporters won't leave me alone."
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"He's in a hospital in Germany. I'm catching a military flight in two hours. I'll call you when I land."
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"Katie, how --"
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"Hardly. I'll meet you at the hospital."
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"In Germany?"
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"Of course. I'm not going to let you go through this alone. Your mom has Marah, right?"
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"Best friends forever, isn't it?"
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"Right. You mean it, Tully?" Kate's voice lifted on the last question, took on an edge of hope.
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Tully wanted to say, That's what friends are for, but the words stuck in her throat. All she could think of was the exclusive she'd promised Edna.
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"No matter what." On that, Kate's voice broke. "Thanks, Tully."
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