In record time she was in Snohomish, driving past the altered landmarks of her youth. The town was a tourist stop now, full of trendy cafés and upscale antique shops.
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Tully should have gone straight home and tried to forget the whole thing, but by the time the ferry pulled back into downtown Seattle, she was a wreck. Instead of turning left on Alaskan Way, she turned right and hit the gas.
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None of it mattered much to her; what changed, what stayed the same… she didn't care. Even under the best of circumstances, she was only barely connected to the yesterdays of her life, and tonight was far from the best of circumstances. Still, when she turned onto Firefly Lane, it was like rocketing into the past.
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She turned onto the paved driveway and drove up to the small white farmhouse with the glossy black trim. Over the years Mrs. Mularkey had turned the ragged yard into an English-style garden full of flowers. In this late autumn, the whole garden seemed to glow golden. The yard and hanging baskets were a riot of red geraniums, visible in the orangey porch light.
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Mr. M. answered, and for a second there, standing on the porch, looking up at him, Tully felt her whole life flash before her eyes. He looked older, of course, with a vanishing hairline and an expanding waistline, but dressed as he was in a white T-shirt and worn jeans, he looked so much like he used to that she felt young again, too. "Hey, Mr. M."
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"You're here late. Everything okay?"
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In no time, Mrs. M. came down the stairs, zipping up the red velour robe she'd worn for as long as Tully had known her. No matter how many expensive robe-and-nightgown sets Tully sent Mrs. M. over the years, this old red one remained her favorite. "Tully," she said, pulling off her big beige-rimmed bifocals. "Is everything okay?"
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Tully parked the car and went to the front door, ringing the bell.
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"I just needed to talk to Mrs. M. I won't stay long."
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"You know you're welcome to stay as long as you want." He stepped back to let her in, then went to the base of the stairs and yelled up, "Margie, come on down. Trouble's here." He flashed Tully a smile that coaxed out one of her own.
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Mrs. M. went straight to the wet bar in the living room -- an addition in the late eighties -- and poured two glasses of wine. Handing one to Tully, she led the way into the living room and sat down on the new leopard-print sofa. Behind their heads the wall was full of family photos now. Jesus and Elvis still held center stage, but around them were dozens of school photos of Marah and the twins; Johnny and Kate's wedding pictures; Sean's graduate school graduation photos; and a few here and there of Tully. "Okay, what's the problem?"
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There was no point in lying. "Not really."
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Tully sat down in the newest edition of Mr. Mularkey's favorite recliner. "Kate is mad at me."
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"Marah called me last week and wanted to talk to me about a modeling thing in New York --"
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"Oh, boy."
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"Why?"
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"I offered to help her talk to her folks about it, but the second Kate heard about it, she went wacko. She refused to even listen to Marah."
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"That's old enough to --"
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"No," Mrs. M. said crisply, then she smiled gently. "I know you're just trying to help, Tully, but Kate's right to try to protect Marah."
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"Marah is thirteen years old."
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"That's how it seems with thirteen-year-old girls and their mothers. You don't know, maybe, because Cloud was so different, but girls and their mothers often go through a rough patch. You don't make it better by giving the kids everything they want."
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"She'd be rich and famous. She could be a millionaire by seventeen."
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"Marah hates her."
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"I'm not suggesting they should give her everything, but she has real talent. I think she could be a supermodel."
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"Right."
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"And if she were, what would happen?"
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"Does that make you whole? Is success worth what Marah would give up for it -- her childhood, her innocence, her family? I have watched some of those made-for-TV movies about young models. There's all kinds of drugs and sex and such around them."
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Mrs. M. leaned forward. "You're mega-rich, right?"
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"I'd watch out for her. What matters is that she has found something she loves. That should be nurtured, not ignored. And I'm afraid Marah and Kate won't find their way back. You should hear how Marah talks about her."
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"The problems with Marah are eating her up alive. Those two have to figure out how to talk to each other without screaming or crying." She looked at Tully. "And you need to be Katie's friend first."
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"Kate?"
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"Of course not. I'm saying that Katie needs her best friend beside her. You two have always been each other's armor and sword. I know how much Marah idolizes you -- and how much you like to be idolized." She smiled knowingly. "But you can't take sides in this unless it's Katie's."
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"Are you saying it's my fault?"
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"You're worried about Marah," Mrs. M. said, eyeing Tully over the rim of her glass. "I think you're looking at the wrong player. Kate is the one who needs you now."
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"I just wanted to --"
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"She's not your daughter."
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And there it was. Tully hadn't realized until just now, this second, what had driven her to get so involved. She loved Marah, sure, but there was more to it than that, wasn't there? And Mrs. M. had seen it. Marah was the perfect child for Tully -- gorgeous, ambitious, a little selfish. Best of all, she thought Tully was flawless. "So, what do I say to Marah?"
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"That she has her whole life in front of her. If she's as good and talented as you believe, she'll make it when she's old enough to handle it."
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Tully sat back in the recliner, sighing. "How long do you think Kate will stay mad at me?"
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Mrs. M. laughed. "You two have more ups and downs than an Internet stock. Everything will be fine. Just quit trying to be Marah's best friend and be there for Katie."
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Sounds were clearer here by the water as well. Maple leaves turned color and fell from the nearby trees, landing like quickened footsteps on the marshy ground; squirrels scurried from branch to branch, no doubt gathering their food for a cold they sensed was drawing near, and as always there was the tide, moving forward and back against the shore with a rhythm connected to the faraway moon. Here, on her back porch, only the seasons changed, and each gave the landscape an amazing new look.
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Kate never tired of the view from her own back porch. Tonight, on this crisp late October evening, the sky above Seattle was an endless, star-filled black. In the glorious moonlight, every skyscraper looked sharp and distinct, so much so it was easy to imagine you could actually see the individual squares of glass and granite and steel.
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Only a few feet behind her, through an antique wooden door, the changes came fast enough to leave you breathless. Her teenage daughter was sprouting like a tree, blooming every day into another variation of who she would someday become. Moods twisted her up and left her looking sometimes like a girl who'd just washed up onshore, unable to quite remember who she was and who she wanted to be.
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So fast…
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Kate's baby boys were growing up, too. Kindergartners now, they were beginning to make their own friends and choose their own clothes and selectively answer her questions. In the blink of an eye, they, too, would be approaching adolescence, pinning magazine pictures to their bedroom walls and demanding privacy.
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She stood on the porch a few minutes longer, until the sky was charcoal-gray and the stars appeared above the distant city, then she went back inside, locking the door behind her.
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The house was quiet, empty downstairs. As she made her way through the living room, she picked up several toy dinosaurs that lay scattered in front of the TV.
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Giggles erupted from the makeshift tent.
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They launched themselves at her, enthusiastic as always. She held them tightly, smelling the sweet, familiar baby shampoo scent of their hair. "Do you guys need another bedtime story?"
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"Lucas," William hissed from inside, "pretend you're sleeping."
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Kate reached for the book and settled in her usual position -- seated against the headboard, legs stretched out, with a boy tucked on either side of her. Then she opened Where the Wild Things Are and began to read. Max was halfway through his adventure when they fell asleep.
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Upstairs, she turned the doorknob quietly, opening the door to the boys' room, expecting to see them sleeping. What she saw was a tent of sheets on William's bed, and the telltale light from a flashlight glowing through the red and blue Star Wars images.
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Lucas was the first to emerge. With his spiky black hair and gap-toothed grin, he looked like Peter Pan being caught by Wendy. "Hi, Mommy."
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Kate opened her arms. "Give Mommy a hug."
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William stared up at her, flashlight in one hand, gray plastic T. rex in the other. "Oops," he said, then laughed.
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"I know two little boys who are supposed to be asleep."
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"Read us about Max, Mommy," Lucas said.
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Kate went to the bed and gently pulled the sheets back.
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"What do you mean?"
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"I think it's more than that."
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"Marah," was all she said. All she had to say.
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She tucked William in, kissed his cheek, and carried Lucas to his bed. "'Night, Mommy," he murmured as she put him down.
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"'Night." She turned off the flashlight and left the room, closing the door behind her.
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Johnny was already in bed, reading. At her entrance, he glanced up. "You look exhausted."
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Taking off his glasses, he set them on the nightstand and began gathering up the papers spread out around him. Without looking up, he said, "Tully tells me you're still mad at her."
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Then she walked down the hall and went into her own room.
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Across the hall, Marah's door was shut; a slice of light ran beneath it.
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Kate could tell by his voice and the studious way he avoided looking at her that he'd wanted to mention this for a while. Men, she thought. You had to be an anthropologist, studying clues to know what they were thinking. "She's the one who hasn't called."
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She paused, wanting to go in, but it would just start another fight. Nothing Kate said or did was right anymore, and in the weeks since the modeling fiasco, it had grown even more tense. Instead, she knocked on the door, said, "Lights out, Marah," and waited for her daughter to comply.
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"Tully, apologize?"
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Kate couldn't help smiling. "I know. I know. But how come I always have to be the one to let things go? How come I always have to make the first call?"
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"But you're the one who is mad."
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Kate couldn't deny that. "Not crazy-mad or pissed off, just irritated. That crap she pulled with Marah's modeling… she could at least have admitted she was wrong."
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"You just do."
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Kate went into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and climbed into bed with him.
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It was true; always had been. Friendships were like marriages in that way. Routines and patterns were poured early and hardened like cement.
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No wonder Tully had so many sharp angles and harsh edges; she'd never let herself be softened by love, wrapped up in it. Without kids or a husband or a mother's love, she'd grown selfish. And so, yet again, Kate would let go of her anger without an apology. She shouldn't have let it simmer so long anyway. It was remarkable how quickly time passed. Sometimes it felt as if they'd just had the blowup. What mattered now was not the words, spoken or withheld, but rather the years of friendship.
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He turned off the bedside lamp and rolled over to face her. Moonlight shone through the window and illuminated his profile. He held his arm out, waiting for her to snuggle up to him. She felt a surge of love for him that was surprisingly sharp, given their years together. He knew her so well, and there was a cashmere comfort in that; it wrapped around and warmed her.
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"For what?"
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She kissed him gently, touched his cheek. Of all the views she loved, this man's face was her favorite. "Everything."
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"Thanks," she whispered. Tomorrow she'd call Tully and invite her over to dinner. Like always, that would put an end to their fight. They'd move effortlessly back onto the road of their friendship.
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Marah sat slouched in the passenger seat, looking surly. Her expression and her mood had been dark ever since the blowup over the modeling class in New York.
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Before, Kate now saw, there had been bricks between her and her daughter. Lately there was a wall.
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On a gray, drizzly morning in mid-November, Kate turned her car into the middle school parking lot and joined the snakelike line of SUVs and minivans. In the stop-and-go traffic, she glanced to her right.
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Usually it fell to Kate to smooth over any of the rough patches in the road their family traveled. She was the peacemaker, the referee, and the mediator, but nothing she said had worked. Marah had stayed angry for weeks now and it was taking a toll on Kate. She wasn't sleeping well. It pissed her off, too, these silent treatments, because she knew Marah was manipulating her, trying to break Kate down.
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"Are you excited about the banquet?" she forced herself to ask. At least it was something to say. The whole eighth grade was excited about the winter banquet, as they should be. The parents -- including Kate -- had expended a huge amount of effort to create a magical night for the kids.
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Kate refused to be wounded by the remark. She told herself it was normal; she'd been telling herself that a lot lately. "I'm the decorations chairman. You know that. I'm hardly going to work on this event for two months and then not see our work."
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"So you'll be there," Marah said dully.
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"Whatever," Marah said, looking out the window, obviously searching for friends in the crowd of kids outside the school. "You're not going to chaperone, are you?"
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"Whatever."
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"Dad and I both will. But you'll still have fun."
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"That is so totally lame," Marah said, rolling her eyes.
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Kate came to the drop-off lane and stopped. "The Mularkey family school bus is here," she said. Behind her, the boys giggled at the familiar joke.
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Kate turned to her daughter. "'Bye, honey. Have a nice day. Good luck on your social studies test."
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"'Bye," Marah said, slamming the door.
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A few minutes later she dropped the boys off at school (kissed them both goodbye -- in public) and began her own day. First off was a stop at Bainbridge Bakers, where she got a latte, then she dropped off some books at the library and headed down to Safeway. By ten-thirty, she was home again, standing in her kitchen, putting the groceries away.
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Kate sighed and glanced in the rearview mirror. The twins were playing together in the backseat, making their plastic dinosaurs fight. "Girls," she whispered under her breath, wondering why it was that adolescent girls simply had to be mean to their mothers. Clearly it was normal behavior; she'd spent enough time with her friends and peers to know that. So normal it was probably part of evolution. Maybe the species needed girls who thought they were grown up at thirteen for some bizarre, hidden reason.
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Just as she was closing the fridge door, she heard the familiar Girlfriend Hour theme music coming from the TV in the living room, and she followed it. She rarely watched the show all the way through -- how could she, with her busy schedule?-- but she always turned it on so she knew what the episodes were about. Both Johnny and Tully sometimes quizzed her.
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"Welcome back to The Girlfriend Hour," she was saying now, trying to be heard over the din of applause. Kate knew that people sometimes stood in line for six hours to be in the studio audience, and why not? The Hour, as it was called by fans and media alike now, was fun and breezy and occasionally even inspiring. No one ever quite knew what Tully would say or do next. It was part of what kept people tuning in, and Johnny made sure that everything ran like a well-oiled machine. True to her word, Tully had made them all rich, and Johnny, in turn, always made Tully look good.
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Kate hitched her leg over the end of the sofa and sat down.
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On-screen, the theme music died down and Tully walked onto the cozy, we're-just-a-couple-of-girls-hanging-out-in-your-family-room set. As usual, she looked beautiful. Last year she'd decided to let her hair grow out into a sleek shoulder-length bob, and she'd returned to her natural reddish-brown color. The sophisticated girl-next-door cut and color only emphasized her high cheekbones and chocolaty eyes. A few well-placed shots of collagen had given her perfect lips, which she coated in just a hint of gloss but almost no color.
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"Kate, is this you?"
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Kate was instantly hooked. While she watched Tully reveal her makeup and hair secrets to the rest of America, Kate paid bills and dusted the Levolor blinds and folded laundry. After the show, she clicked off the television and sat down again to work on her Christmas list. She was so engrossed in this project, it took her a moment to realize her phone was ringing. She glanced around, saw the cordless phone on the floor under a pile of Legos, and answered it. "Hello?"
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Tully sat onstage, in the cream-colored chair that was hers. The pale color made her look more vibrant, larger than life. She leaned forward to talk intimately with both the audience and the camera.
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"Yes."
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"Thank goodness. It's Ellen, from Woodward. I'm calling because Marah isn't in her fourth-period class. If you forgot to sign her out, that's --"
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"I didn't forget," Kate said, realizing how sharp she sounded. "Sorry, Ellen. Marah is supposed to be in class. Let me guess: Emily Allen and Sharyl Burton are absent, too."
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"I can't believe you did that," Marah said when they reached the parking lot.
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Kate grabbed her purse and headed out, pulling into the Pavillion lot at just before one. Trying not to be royally pissed took some real effort, and by the time she'd spoken to the manager, walked through the darkened theaters, found the girls, and herded them back into the lobby, she was losing the battle.
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It didn't take an advanced degree to figure out where the girls were. Today was Thursday, the day the new movies opened at the Pavillion. Coincidentally, that new teen queen -- Kate couldn't remember her name -- had a new movie out.
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But her anger was nothing compared to her daughter's.
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"Sorry, Kate."
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"Oh, boy," Ellen said. "Do you know where they are?"
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"I have a pretty good idea. When I find them I'll call you. Thanks, Ellen."
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She hung up the phone and glanced at the clock: 12:42.
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Kate ignored the tone and said tightly, "I told you you could see the Saturday matinee with your friends."
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Kate didn't bother to answer. "Come on, girls. Out to the car. They're waiting for you at school."
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"If my room was clean."
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Marah crossed her arms. "Tully would understand."
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"Oh. Like you'd never take me out of class to see a movie," Marah said. "I must have dreamed I saw Harry Potter on a school day."
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Starting the car, Kate drove out of the parking lot and onto the main road. "You are supposed to be in school. Period."
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Emily groaned. "My mom's gonna flip out."
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Kate pulled into the circular drive in front of the middle school and parked. "Okay, girls, they're waiting for you at the office."
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The girls climbed quietly into the backseat, murmuring how sorry they were.
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"I'm not sorry," Marah said, slamming her door and yanking her seat belt into place. "We only missed dumb old algebra."
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"In the no-good-deed-goes-unpunished category," Kate said, trying not to raise her voice.
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When they were alone in the car, Kate turned to her daughter.
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"Dad would understand," Marah said. "He knows how much movies and modeling mean to me."
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"You think so?" Kate pulled out her cell phone and hit the speed-dial list, then handed it to Marah. "Tell him."
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"I didn't skip school and go to the movies." She held the phone out.
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"Y-you tell him."
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Marah took it, put it to her ear. "Daddy?" Marah's voice instantly softened and tears filled her eyes.
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"Guess what, Daddy? Remember that movie I told you about, the one where the girl finds out that her aunt is really her mom? I went to see it today and it was totally… What? Oh." Her voice fell to a near-whisper. "During fourth period, but… I know." She listened for a few moments and then sighed. "Okay. 'Bye, Dad." Marah hung up the phone and handed it back to Kate. For a split second, she was a little girl again. "I can't go see the movie this weekend."
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Kate felt a clutch of jealousy. How was it that Johnny had maintained such a lovely relationship with their daughter when it was Kate who was practically the kid's indentured servant?
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Kate wanted nothing more than to seize the instant's possibility and pull Marah into her arms for a hug, to hang on to her little girl for just a moment and say, I love you, but she didn't dare. Motherhood at times like this -- most times -- was about the steel in your spine, not the bend. "Maybe next time you'll think about the consequences of an action."
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Marah snorted. "Ha. You never let me do anything, but as soon as I can I'm moving in with Tully."
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"Someday I'll be a famous actress and I'll tell the TV that you were totally no help at all. None. I'll give all the credit to Aunt Tully, who believes in me." She got out of the car and started walking.
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"When hell freezes over," she muttered under her breath. Thankfully, she and her daughter had no more opportunity to speak. When they stepped into the school, the principal was waiting for them.
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Kate followed, fell into step beside her. "I believe in you."
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The summer before Marah started high school was hands down the worst summer of Kate's life. A thirteen-year-old daughter in middle school had been bad; in retrospect, though, it looked a hell of a lot better from a distance. A fourteen-year-old girl getting ready for high school was worse.
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It didn't help that for the last year Johnny had been working sixty hours a week, either.
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"You are not going to wear jeans that show the crack of your butt to school," Kate said, striving to keep her voice even. In her busy end-of-the-summer schedule, she'd budgeted four hours to buy Marah's school clothes. They'd been in the mall two hours already and the only thing in their arms was hostility.
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Marah threw the jeans on a rounder and stomped off.
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"Do you even know how to walk away anymore?" Kate muttered, following her daughter.
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"Everyone is wearing these jeans at the high school."
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By the time they were finished, Kate felt like Russell Crowe in Gladiator: beaten, bloodied, but alive. No one was happy. The boys were whining over the Lord of the Rings action figures she'd denied them, Marah was fuming over the jeans she hadn't gotten and the practically see-through blouse that had also gotten away, and Kate was angry that school shopping could so drain her energy. The only good news was that she'd drawn her line in the sand and defended it. Kate hadn't completely won the day, but neither had Marah.
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"Everyone except you, then." Kate pressed a pair of fingertips to her throbbing temples. She was vaguely aware of the boys running through the store like banshees, but she let that go for now. If she was lucky, maybe security would come and lock her up for failing to control her children. Right now a little solitary confinement sounded heavenly.
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Behind her, the boys unhooked their seat belts and climbed over each other in their haste to get out. Kate knew that whoever got to the living room first controlled the remote.
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"Take it easy," she said, glancing at them in the rearview mirror.
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They were tangled together like lion cubs trying to crawl out of a hole.
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On the drive home from Silverdale, the car was divided into two discernible halves: the backseat was noisy, boisterous, and full of fighting; the front seat was frigid and silent. Kate kept trying to make conversation with her daughter, but every sentence was an unreturned volley; by the time they'd turned down the gravel driveway and parked in the garage, she felt utterly defeated. That vague triumph over holding the line, being a mother and not a friend, had lost its luster.
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She turned to Marah. "You got some lovely things today."
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Marah shrugged. "Yeah."
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"You know, Marah, life is full of --" Kate stopped herself midsentence and almost laughed. She'd been about to offer one of her mother's life-is speeches.
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Kate reached out, gently tucked some hair behind Marah's ear. "Believe me, I remember the feeling. I had to wear cheap, secondhand clothes to school when I was your age. The kids used to make fun of me."
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"What?"
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"Yeah."
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"Maybe we could sign you up for that new modeling class, after all. The one in Seattle."
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"Compromises. You can go around seeing what you did get, or you can focus on what you didn't. The choice you make will ultimately determine what kind of woman you become."
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Marah jumped on that scrap like a hungry dog. "You'll finally let me go off-island? The next session starts Tuesday. I checked. Tully said she'd pick me up from the ferry." Marah smiled sheepishly. "We've been talking about it."
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"I know what you mean, but you can't get everything you want. It's that simple."
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"I just want to fit in," Marah said in a voice that was unexpectedly small. It reminded Kate how young her daughter really was, and how frightening it was to start high school.
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Kate looked at her daughter. For once, she wasn't scowling or turning away. "I'm sorry we fight so much."
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"So you know what I mean."
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"It's a pair of jeans, Mom. Not world peace."
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"You get mad pretty easily these days."
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"Oh, you have, have you?"
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"And whose fault is that?"
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"Daddy said it would be okay if I kept my grades up."
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"He knows, too? And no one talks to me? Who am I, Hannibal Lecter?"
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Long after Marah had run into the house, Kate was still sitting in the car, staring after her daughter, wondering if the modeling class was a good idea. That was the sly, ruinous thing about motherhood, the thing that twisted your insides with guilt and made you change your mind and lower your standards: giving in was so damned easy.
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"Can I go?"
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It wasn't that she didn't want Marah to take the classes, precisely. It was that she didn't want Marah on that difficult road so young. Rejections, corruption, beauty that went no deeper than the skin, drugs, and anorexia. All that lay beneath the surface of the modeling world. Self-esteem and body image were too fragile in the teen years. God knew a girl could fall off the track even without the burden of constant beauty-based rejection.
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Kate had no choice, really. "Okay. But if your grades --"
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Marah launched herself out of her seat and into Kate's arms. She held her daughter tightly, reveling in the moment. She couldn't remember the last time Marah had initiated a hug.
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In short, Kate wasn't afraid her gorgeous daughter wouldn't make it in the world of runways and taped-on clothing. Rather, she was afraid she would, and then her childhood would be lost.
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"Mom! It's Grandma for you," Marah screamed down the stairs. "But don't take too long. Gabe is gonna call me."
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Finally, she left the car and went inside, muttering, "I should have held firm."
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The mother's lament. She was trying to figure out how to backtrack (impossible now) when the phone rang. Kate didn't even bother answering. In these last few weeks of summer, she'd learned one true thing: teenage girls lived on the phone.
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She picked up the phone and heard the exhalation of smoke on the other end. Smiling, she ignored the groceries and plopped onto the couch, curling up under an afghan that still smelled like her mother. "Hey, Mom."
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"Believe me, I was never this bad."
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"You can tell that from my breathing?"
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Mom laughed; it was a horsey, hacking sound. "I guess you don't remember all the times you told me to butt out of your life and then slammed the door in my face."
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"You sound terrible."
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"You have a teenage daughter, don't you?"
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"What?"
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"Thirty years what?"
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Marah rolled her eyes. "I gotta go, Gabe. My mom wants to talk to me. Later." To Kate, she said, "What?"
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There was a pause. Then Mom said, "Thirty years."
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She went inside. Trying to ignore the clothes and books and junk scattered everywhere, she picked her way to the white four-poster bed, where Marah sat, knees drawn up, talking on the phone. "Could I talk to you for a minute?"
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Kate knocked on Marah's door, heard a muffled, "Come in."
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"That's how long before you'll get an apology, too, but you know what's great?"
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Kate groaned. "That I might not live that long?"
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Kate sat on the edge of the bed, remembering suddenly all the times this very scene had played out in her own teenage years. Her mother had started every reconciliation with a life-is speech.
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"That you'll know she's sorry long before she does." Mom laughed. "And when she needs you to babysit, she'll really love you."
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The memory was vague but not impossible to recall. "I'm sorry, Mom."
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She smiled at the memory.
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Marah smiled at that, just a little, and sidled left to make room for Katie, just as Kate had once done for her own mother.
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"I know we've been fighting a lot lately, and I'm sorry about that. Most of the time it's because I love you and I want the best for you."
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"And the rest of the time, what's it about then?"
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She moved more fully onto the bed and cautiously reached down to hold her daughter's hand. There were lots of things she could say right now, conversations she could try to knit out, but instead she just sat there, holding her daughter's hand. It was the first quiet, connected moment they'd spent together in years and it filled her with hope. "I love you, Marah," she said finally. "It was you, more than anyone else, who showed me what love could be. When they put you in my arms for the first time…" She paused, feeling her throat tighten. Her love for this child was so enormous, so overwhelming. Sometimes in the day-to-day war zone of adolescence, she almost forgot that. She smiled. "Anyway, I was thinking we should do something special together."
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"Because you've really pissed me off."
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Before Kate had even said, "Sure," Marah was reaching for the phone, punching in numbers. As she headed for the door and closed it behind her, she heard Marah said, 'Em, you won't believe this. Guess where I'm going on Saturday --"
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"Like what?"
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"Like the anniversary party for Dad's show."
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She held on to her daughter, reveling in the moment.
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"Can I tell Emily?"
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"I love you," Marah said, hugging her.
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"You mean it?" Marah had been begging for this opportunity for weeks. Kate had repeatedly said she was too young.
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"We could go shopping together, get our hair done, get beautiful dresses --"
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"You're smiling," Johnny said when she entered the room. He was sitting up in bed, wearing the drugstore reading glasses he'd grudgingly purchased.
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Kate closed the door and went to her own room, thinking about how quickly things changed with kids. One minute you were an old Eskimo woman, floating away from everyone, forgotten; the next you were climbing Mount Rainier, stabbing your flag in the snow. The changes could leave you dizzy sometimes, and the only way to survive was to enjoy the good moments and not dwell too much on the bad.
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"Is that so remarkable?"
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"Frankly, yes."
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She laughed. "I guess it is. Marah and I had a bad week. She got invited to an overnight party with boys -- I still can't believe it -- and I told her she couldn't go."
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"I invited her to the anniversary party. We'll make a girl's day out of it. Shopping, manicures, haircuts, the works. We'll need to get a suite at the hotel, or get a rollaway."
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"I'll be the luckiest guy in the room," he said.
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Kate smiled at him, feeling hopeful for the first time in longer than she could remember. She and Marah would have a perfect mother-daughter evening. Maybe it would finally tear down that wall between them.
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Tully should have been on top of the world. Tonight was the anniversary party for her show. Dozens of people had been working for months to make it the event of the year in Seattle. Not only were the locals expected to attend, but the RSVPs indicated a celebrity-studded night. In short, everyone who was anyone would be here, and they were coming to honor her, to applaud her phenomenal success.
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"So why the smile?"
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The room was full of her peers, her colleagues, her partners, many of her A-list celebrity guests, and a few of her key employees. Everyone she saw raised a glass in celebration. They all loved her.
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She glanced around the glittery, traditional ballroom of the Olympic Hotel. Actually, she thought it was called something else these days -- chains kept acquiring and selling the property -- but to Seattleites, it was and would always be the Olympic.
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And not one of them really knew her.
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There it was. Edna had been unable to come, and Grant hadn't even returned her phone call. The latest tabloid she'd read claimed he was marrying some starlet, and although the news shouldn't bother Tully, it did. It made her feel old and lonely, especially tonight. How was it that she'd reached this age alone? Without a special person with whom she could share her life?
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A waiter passed by her and she tapped his shoulder, snagging a second glass of champagne from his tray. "Thanks," she said, flashing the Tallulah Hart smile, looking around the ballroom for the Ryans. They still weren't here. She was drifting in a sea of acquaintances.
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"We totally rock," Marah said.
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Kate knew she'd never forget the sight of them so close together: the tall, gangly daughter with the exquisite face, smiling so broadly her eyes tilted up, with her skinny arm around Kate's bare shoulder.
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Kate smiled. "Totally."
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Now they were in Marah's bedroom in the suite at the Olympic. Crowded into the bathroom, they stood side by side, studying themselves in the mirror.
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She downed the champagne and went in search of another drink. The day of beauty with her daughter was everything Kate had hoped it would be. For the first time in ages, they didn't fight. Marah even listened to Kate's opinions on things. After they'd chosen their gowns -- a one-shouldered black silk gown for Kate and a beautiful pink chiffon strapless one for Marah -- they checked into the Gene Juarez day spa, where they got manicures and pedicures, haircuts, and their makeup done.
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Marah kissed her cheek impulsively, said, "Thanks, Mom," and grabbed her beaded evening bag from the bed on her way to the door. "Here I come, Daddy," she said, opening it, stepping into the sitting room.
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Kate followed her daughter into the room. She knew she wasn't as shapely as she'd once been, or quite as pretty, but in this dress, with Johnny's diamond-heart necklace at her throat, she felt beautiful, and when she saw the way her husband smiled, she felt sexy, too.
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"Marah," she heard him say, whistling. "You're gorgeous."
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Johnny took Kate's hand and led her through the crowd to the bar, where he got two drinks and a Coke for Marah.
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"Wow," he said, coming toward her. Leaning close, he kissed her. "You look hot, Mrs. Ryan."
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"You, too, Mr. Ryan."
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"Look, Mom," Marah whispered, sidling close. "It's Brad and Jennifer. And there's Christina. Wow. I can't wait to call Emily."
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Laughing, the three of them left the room and went down to the ballroom, where hundreds of people were already celebrating.
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Then they eased back and stood there, sipping their drinks and surveying the crowd.
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Even in a room like this, Tully stood out in a flowing silk gown the color of Burmese emeralds. She sailed toward them, waving, her gown rippling behind her. "You guys look fabulous," she gushed, laughing.
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Kate couldn't help noticing that Tully appeared a little unsteady on her feet already. "Are you okay?"
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"Don't you have a date?" Johnny asked.
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"Couldn't be better. Johnny, we need to say a few things onstage after dinner. Then we'll go to the dance floor to get the ball rolling?"
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Marah practically swooned. "Are you kidding?"
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Tully's smile faltered. "Marah can be my date for the evening. You don't mind if I borrow her, do you, Katie?"
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Tully leaned close to Marah. "Ashton is here. Do you want to meet him?"
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"Well --"
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"Why should she care?" Marah said, gazing at Tully in adoration. "She sees me every day."
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Kate watched them walk away, hand in hand, heads cocked together like a pair of cheerleaders talking about the captain of the football team.
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After that, the night lost some of its luster for Kate. Sipping her champagne, she followed her husband around the room, smiling when she was supposed to, laughing when it seemed appropriate, saying, "I'm an at-home mom," when asked, and watching how those few words -- a sentence that made her so proud -- could kill a conversation.
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Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore. She made an excuse to Johnny and headed for the bathroom. In line, every woman there seemed to be talking about Tully, remarking on how gorgeous she looked.
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She'd pinned her happiness to a teenage girl's chest. Idiot. The realization made her almost smile. She certainly knew better than that. Feeling better, more in control of her silly emotions, she headed back to the party.
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Kate tried not to let any of it get to her. A few times she even tried to get her daughter's attention, but it was impossible to compete with Tully.
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"No wonder they look so close."
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When it was finally time for dinner, Kate took her place at the head table, with Johnny on one side of her and the president of Syndiworld on the other. Tully held court all through the meal. There was no other way to describe it. She was lively, animated, funny; every person seated around her -- especially Marah -- seemed awestruck.
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All the while, she watched Tully pretend that Marah was her daughter, introducing her to one celebrity after another, letting her have sips of her champagne.
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"And did you see the girl she's with --"
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"I wish my daughter treated me like that."
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That was her mistake.
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"So do I," Kate murmured too quietly to be heard. She stared at herself in the mirror, seeing a woman who'd done her best to look beautiful for her husband and daughter, only to fade into the wallpaper beside her best friend. She knew it was ridiculous to feel so hurt and excluded. It wasn't her night, after all. Still… she'd had such high hopes.
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"I think it's her daughter."
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