The house was quiet and dark. She didn't bother turning on lights as she went from room to room, picking up toys and putting them away. She still couldn't quite believe today was going to happen. She'd waited so long, and prayed so hard, for a change in her relationship with Marah that she'd almost given up hope. Tully, and this program, had given it back to her. Even Johnny seemed optimistic. He'd done as Tully asked -- or demanded, actually -- and relinquished control over the segment. For this one broadcast, he was going to be simply an audience member, a father supporting his family.
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Kate and Johnny returned home, rested and refreshed, on the night before the big broadcast. The next morning, Kate woke up at five o'clock to go to the bathroom and found it impossible to go back to sleep.
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In the bathroom, after she'd taken a shower and gotten dressed, Kate stared at herself in the mirror, trying not to notice the lines that had begun to collect in the corners of her eyes as she practiced what she would say. "That's right, Tully. I've given up my career to be an at-home mom. Frankly, I think it would have been easier to work."
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"I still want to be a writer someday, but it's so hard to balance work and motherhood. And Marah needs me more now than she did as a toddler. Everyone talks about the terrible twos, but in my house, it's the terrible teens. I miss the days when I could put her in a playpen and know that she was safe."
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The audience would laugh at that.
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She went downstairs, made breakfast for everyone, and set it out on the table. The boys were down the stairs in record time, clambering over each other in their quest for the perfect chair.
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She turned and put her arms around him, gazing into his eyes. "I'm glad you're going to be my husband today and not her producer. I need you in the audience."
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When Marah came downstairs, clearly excited for the taping, Kate couldn't contain her excitement.
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A murmur of agreement would certainly follow that remark.
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This was going to work. She knew it.
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"Stop grinning, Mom. You're creeping me out," Marah said, pouring milk into her oatmeal bowl and carrying it to the table.
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"Leave your mom alone," Johnny said, walking past her. He paused behind Kate, squeezed her shoulders, and kissed the back of her neck. "You look gorgeous."
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The audience would laugh at her, say she should have done more with her life, been more.
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She'd look fat.
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From that moment on, the day flew forward like the Millennium Falcon in hyperspace. It wasn't until they were on the ferry, crossing the bay, that she started to get nervous.
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She was so caught up in her negative fantasies that when they parked she couldn't get out of the car. "I'm scared," she said to Johnny.
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Marah rolled her eyes and walked away.
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Johnny took her arm, unhooked her seat belt, and eased her out of the car.
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She heard her name ring through the busy hallway and looked up. Tully, looking thin and gorgeous, was coming at her with open arms.
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"Don't thank me. Tully pushed me completely on the outside. No one on-set is allowed to tell me anything or show me a script. Tully wants me to be surprised."
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"You'll be great," he said, leading her into the elevator. In the studio, there were people everywhere, running to and fro, yelling at one another. Johnny leaned close. "It's just like your old days in news, remember?"
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"Kate!"
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"A little?" Marah said. "She's been acting like Rain Man."
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Marah sat in the chair beside her. Another makeup artist went to work on her.
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"I'm a little nervous," Kate confided.
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Tully pulled her into a fierce embrace, and Kate finally felt herself relaxing. This wasn't just a TV show; it was Tully's show. Her best friend would make sure Kate did well.
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Tully laughed at that and looped her arm through Kate's. "There's nothing to worry about. You're going to be great. Everyone is excited to have you and Marah on the show." She led them to the makeup room and left them there.
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"This is exciting," Kate said, sitting in front of the giant mirror. The makeup artist -- a woman named Dora -- immediately went to work on Kate's face.
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Kate stared into the mirror. In no time, a stranger emerged beside her: the woman Marah would someday become. In her daughter's made-up face, she saw the future, recognized a truth that had until now been hidden from her beneath the pretty gauze of childhood. Soon Marah would be dating, and then driving, and then going off to college.
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Marah looked poised to say something, then she smiled instead. "I remember."
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Marah looked at her. For a second -- just that -- they were Mommy and Munchkin again, and though it didn't last, couldn't last in the hurricane of the teen years, it filled Kate with hope that after today they'd come together again, be as inseparable as they'd once been.
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"Kathleen and Marah Ryan?"
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Kate wanted to hug her daughter, but that would never have the desired effect. Physical contact, she had learned, was the surest way to put distance between them.
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She twisted around in her chair, saw a young, pretty woman with a clipboard standing behind her. "We're ready for you."
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Kate reached out for Marah, who was excited enough to take her hand. They followed the woman up to the greenroom, where they were put to wait.
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"There's water in that fridge, and feel free to eat anything in that basket," the woman said. Then she handed Kate a lapel microphone and the corresponding pack that attached to her waistband. "Tallulah said you'd know how to work this?"
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"I love you, Munchkin," she said, purposely using the nickname that had gone out of fashion with Winnie-the-Pooh lunch boxes and Tickle Me Elmo. "Remember when we used to dance to those old Linda Ronstadt songs?"
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"Mom!" Marah said sharply, as if she'd just remembered something important. "I need to tell you something."
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Suck in your stomach. Stand up straight.
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She heard Tully say, "And now I'd like you all to meet my good friend Kathleen Ryan…"
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And then she was gone.
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"We're ready for you, Kathleen," the woman said. "Marah, stay here. We'll come for you in a minute."
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"It's been a while, but I think I can still manage. I'll show Marah. Thanks."
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"Great. I'll come and get you when it's time. As you know, we're live today, but don't let that worry you. Just be yourself."
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Breathe.
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An instant later there was a knock on the door.
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At the edge of the stage, the woman paused. "When you hear your name, you'll walk out."
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Kate headed for the door.
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Kate looked back, smiling. "Don't worry, honey. We'll be great." Then she followed the woman down the busy corridor. Through the walls she could hear applause, even a smattering of laughter.
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This was really happening. It meant so much to her, this chance to reconnect with her daughter.
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Tully swept over to her side, took her arm. Beneath the swell of applause, she said, "We're live, Katie, so just roll with it."
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There was Tully, standing center stage, smiling at her.
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Tully faced them. "Today we're talking about overprotective mothers and the teenage daughters who hate them. Our goal is to get a dialogue going, to break up the logjam of communication that comes with adolescence and get these two talking again."
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Behind her was Dr. Tillman, the psychiatrist who specialized in family counseling.
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Kate glanced over at the screen behind them. There was a huge image of two women shouting at each other. Then she looked at the audience. Johnny and her parents were in the front row.
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Behind her, Dr. Tillman moved from his place in the shadows to a chair onstage. "Some mothers, especially the controlling, domineering type, actually damage their children's fragile psyches without ever really seeing what they're doing. Children can be like flowers, trying to blossom in too small a space. They need to break out, make their own mistakes. We don't help them by wrapping them in rules and rigid expectations and pretending that we can keep them safe."
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Kate actually felt the blood drain from her face. "What?"
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Kate stumbled around the corner and found herself standing beneath the bright glare of the stage lights. It was so disorienting that it took her a second to process her surroundings.
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They were calling her a bad mother, on national television, with her family right here.
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She wrenched her arm away from Tully. "What are you doing?"
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The full impact of what was happening hit Kate.
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Kate felt the start of tears, and the vulnerability fueled her anger. "I can't believe you'd do this to me."
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"You need help," Tully said, sounding reasonable and just a little sad. "You and Marah both do. I'm scared for you. So is your husband. He begged me to help. Marah wants to confront you about it, but she's afraid."
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Dr. Tillman came forward. "Come on, Kathleen, Tully is being your friend here. You're crushing your daughter's tender spirit. Tully just wants you to address your parenting style --"
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Marah walked onstage, smiling brightly at the audience.
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"She's going to help me be a better mother?" She turned to Tully. "You?" Then she looked at the audience. "You're taking advice from a woman who doesn't know the first thing about love or family or the hard choices women have to make. The only person Tully Hart ever loved is herself."
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Backstage, Johnny rushed at her, took her in his arms, and held her tightly, but even his body heat couldn't reach her. Her parents and the boys ran up behind him, creating a circle around Kate and her daughter. "I'm sorry, honey," he said. "I didn't know…"
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Kate wrenched off her microphone and power pack and threw them on the floor. As she stormed offstage, she snagged Marah's arm and pulled her along.
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"That's all you care about, isn't it? Your ratings. Well, I hope they keep you warm when you're old, because you won't have anything or anyone else. What the hell do you know about motherhood or love?" Kate stared at her, feeling sick enough that she thought she might throw up. "Your own mother didn't love you. And you'd sell your soul for fame. Hell, you just did." She turned back to the audience. "There's your icon, folks. A woman so fucking warm and caring that she's probably never told a single human being she loved them."
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"Katie," Tully said in a low, warning voice. "We're live."
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"I can't believe Tully would do that," Mom said. "She must have thought --"
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Tully ran out into the hallway, but Kate was gone.
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"Don't," Kate said sharply, wiping her eyes. "I don't care what she thought or wanted or believed. Not anymore."
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"I just wanted to help her," she said to the audience, interrupting him. She sat down on the edge of the stage. "Did I do something wrong?"
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Their applause was loud and went on and on, their approval as unconditional as their presence. It should have filled up the empty places in her, that had always been their role, but now the applause didn't help.
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She stood there too long, then turned and went back onstage, where she stared at a sea of unfamiliar faces. She tried to smile, she really did, but for once her cast-iron will failed her. She heard the quiet murmuring of the crowd; it was the sound of sympathy. Behind her, Dr. Tillman was talking, filling the void with words she could neither follow nor understand. She realized that he was keeping the show going since they were live.
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Somehow she made it through the rest of the broadcast.
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Finally, though, she was as alone onstage as she felt. The audience had filed out and her employees had all left. None had had the courage to even speak to her on the way out. She knew they were angry at her for ambushing Johnny, too.
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Pale morning light came through the windows, brightening the white-painted sills. Outside, seagulls cawed and dove through the air; the sound, combined with the waves slapping against the shore, meant that the ferry was chugging past their house.
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"But… tell her to call me. I'll explain."
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"I was just trying to help her. You told me she was falling apart. Dr. Tillman told me that drastic situations call for drastic measures. He said suicide was --"
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Johnny gave her a look so cold she began to shake. "I think that ended today."
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"I wouldn't count on hearing from her."
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Ordinarily, Kate loved these morning noises. Even though she'd lived on this beach for years now, she still loved to watch the ferries pass by, especially at night when they were lit like floating jewel boxes.
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"What do you mean? We've been friends for thirty years."
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"I quit," he said.
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As if from a great distance, she heard footsteps. Someone was coming toward her.
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Dully, she looked up.
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Johnny stood there. "How could you do that to her? She trusted you. We trusted you."
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And Dr. Tillman, coming toward her, saying she was a terrible parent; her mother in the front row, starting to cry; Johnny jumping from his seat, shouting something to a cameraman that Kate couldn't hear.
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Today, though, she didn't even smile. She sat in bed, with a book open in her lap so that her husband would leave her alone. As she stared at the pages, the type blurred and danced like black dots on the creamy paper. Yesterday's fiasco kept playing in her mind, over and over. She saw it from a dozen angles. The title: Overprotective mothers and the teenage daughters who hate them.
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Hate them.
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Crushing your daughter's tender spirit…
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She still felt shell-shocked by all of it, numb. Beneath the numbness, though, was a raw and terrible anger that was unlike anything she'd felt before. She had so little experience with genuine anger that it scared her. She actually worried that if she started screaming, she'd never stop. So she kept the lid on her emotions and sat quietly.
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She kept glancing at the phone, expecting Tully to call.
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"I'll hang up," she said. And she would. She was actually looking forward to it. For all the years of the friendship, Tully had pulled shit like this (well, nothing really like this), and it had fallen to Kate to apologize, whether it was her fault or not. Tully never said she was sorry; she just waited for Kate to smooth things over.
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This time Kate was so hurt and angry, she didn't care if they stayed friends or not. If they were to get back together, Tully was going to have to work for it.
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I'll hang up a lot of times.
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Not this time.
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She sighed, wishing the thought made her feel better, but it didn't. She felt… broken by yesterday.
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There was a knock at her door. It could be any member of her family. Last night they'd circled the wagons around her, treating her like a breakable princess, protecting her. Mom and Dad had spent the night; Kate thought her mom was on suicide watch, that was how overbearing she was. Dad kept patting her shoulder and saying how pretty she was, and the boys, who didn't know exactly what was wrong but sensed that it was big, hung on her constantly. Only Marah stood back from the drama, watching it all from a distance.
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"Come in," Kate said, sitting up taller, trying to look more durable than she felt.
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Kate was relieved beyond measure simply by her daughter's presence. She moved to the middle of her bed and patted the empty place beside her.
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Marah sat opposite her instead, leaning back against the silk-upholstered footboard, with her legs drawn up. Ragged holes in her favorite jeans showed the knobby curl of her knees.
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Marah walked into the room. Dressed for school in low-rise jeans, pink UGG boots, and a gray hoodie sweatshirt, she tried to smile, but it was a failure. "Grandma said I had to talk to you."
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Kate couldn't help longing for the time when she could have scooped her daughter into her arms and held her. She needed that now. "You knew about the show, didn't you?"
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"And?"
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"Tully and I talked about it. She said it would help us."
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The concert. It hurt Kate deeply, that simple, selfish answer. She'd forgotten about the concert and Marah's running away. The trip to Kauai had cleared her mind of all of that.
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Marah shrugged. "I just wanted to go to the concert."
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"Say something," Marah said.
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But Kate didn't quite know what to say, how to handle this. She wanted Marah to understand how selfish she'd been and how deeply that selfishness had hurt Kate, but she didn't want to load guilt on her. The weight of this debacle fell on Tully. "Did it occur to you when you and Tully were hatching this plan that I might be hurt and embarrassed by it?"
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"Did you think that I'd be hurt or embarrassed by not getting to go to the concert? Or rockin' midnight bowling? Or to --"
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"Whatever." Marah got off the bed, but she moved slowly. At the door, she paused and turned around. "When Tully comes over --"
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Kate held up a hand. "So it's still about you," she said tiredly. "If this is all you have to say, you can leave. I don't have the strength to fight with you now. You were selfish and you hurt my feelings, and if you can't see that and take responsibility for it, I feel sorry for you. Get out. Go."
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No doubt as Tully had intended. It had also gotten Johnny out of the way so he couldn't stop the plan.
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Quiet came instantly. Somewhere outside a rooster crowed and a pair of dogs barked at each other. She heard people walking around downstairs. The floorboards of this old house creaked with the movement.
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"It's not my fault."
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Kate sighed. "How could it be, Marah? Nothing ever is."
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It was exactly the wrong thing to say. Kate knew it the second she said it, but she couldn't take it back.
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"What do you mean?"
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For the first time, Marah looked scared. And it was at the prospect of losing Tully.
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"Tully won't be coming over."
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"Your idol owes me an apology. That's not something she's good at. I'd say it's something else you two have in common."
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"You better think about how you're treating me, Marah." Kate's voice broke on that; she struggled to sound in control. "I love you more than the world and you're hurting me on purpose."
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Marah yanked open the door and slammed it shut behind her.
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"I think it was Mother Teresa who said that loneliness is the worst kind of poverty," Tully said, sipping her dirty martini.
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Kate looked at the phone, waiting for it to ring.
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Disgusted with herself, she finished the martini -- her second -- and walked over to the makeshift bar that had been set up in the corner of her penthouse. Behind the tuxedoed bartender, the glittering starburst of the Seattle skyline was a magical combination of bright lights and black sky.
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And why had she made such a ridiculously transparent remark to a stranger?
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Tully stood there, trying -- and failing -- to remember his name. He was her guest; she ought to know who in the hell he was.
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The man to whom she spoke looked startled for a moment, as if he were driving on some dark, empty stretch of road and a deer had suddenly bounded into his path. Then he laughed, and there was so much in the sound, a shared camaraderie, a hint of superiority, an undercurrent of privilege. No doubt he'd learned to laugh like that in the hallowed halls of Harvard or Stanford. "What do people like us know about poverty or loneliness? There must be one hundred people here, at your birthday party, and God knows the champagne and caviar didn't come cheap."
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She waited impatiently for her third martini, making small talk with the bartender. The minute the drink was ready, she set a course for the terrace, sailing past the table overflowing with foil- and ribbon-wrapped gifts. She knew without opening a single package the kind of gifts she'd received: champagne glasses from Waterford or Baccarat; silver bracelets and frames from Tiffany; Montblanc pens; perhaps a cashmere throw or a pair of blown-glass candlesticks. The kind of expensive presents that strangers and co-workers gave each other when they'd reached a certain economic status.
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There wouldn't be anything personal in any of those beautifully wrapped packages.
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She took another sip of her martini and went out onto the deck. From the railing, she saw the barest outline of Bainbridge Island. Moonlight painted the forested hills silver. She wanted to look away but couldn't. It had been three weeks since the broadcast. Twenty-one days. Her heart still felt cracked beyond repair. The things Kate had said to her kept running on an endless loop through her mind. And when she managed to forget, she saw them in print, in People magazine or on the Internet. Her own mother didn't even love her… there's your icon: a woman so warm and caring, she's probably never said I love you to another human being…
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"Hey, Tully, happy birthday."
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"You have to make things right with Katie."
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How could Kate have said that? And then not called to apologize… or to say hello… or even to wish her a happy birthday?
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There was a long pause on the other end, then a tired sigh. "Oh, Tully."
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She finished the drink and set the empty glass on the table beside her, still staring out across the black expanse of water. Behind her, she heard the phone ring. She knew it! She ran back into the condo, pushed through the people crowded in her living room, and went into her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.
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"Hello," she said, a little out of breath.
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She sat down on the end of her bed. "I was only trying to help."
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"Hey, Mrs. M. I knew you'd call. I could come down and see you and Mr. M. right now. We could --"
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"But you didn't help. Surely you see that?"
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"Did you hear the things she said to me on TV? I was trying to help her and she told all of America…" She couldn't even say it. That was how much it still hurt. "She owes me an apology."
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Like a daughter. There was a whole sea in that single word, an ocean of distance.
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And where was she left, then?
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"What your mother did to you is a crime, Tully." Mrs. M. made a sad sound, then said, "Bud is calling me. I better go. I'm sorry for the way things are, but I need to go now."
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Everyone she loved was a member of Kate's family, not her own, and when the chips were down, they took sides.
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She heard the disappointment in Mrs. M.'s voice, and she felt like a kid again in the police station. No words came to her, for once.
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Tully didn't even say goodbye. She just quietly hung up the phone. The truth she'd been trying to outrun landed on her chest, so heavy she could hardly breathe.
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As the old song said, alone again. Naturally.
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"I love you like a daughter," Mrs. M. finally said. "You know that, but…"
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"What about how she hurt me?"
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"You have to see how you hurt her."
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She got up slowly, and returned to her party, surprised that she'd been so blind. If there was one central lesson of her life, it was this: people leave. Parents. Lovers.
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In the room full of acquaintances and colleagues, she smiled brightly, made small talk, and went straight to the bar.
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Friends.
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Only with Katie had she ever really been herself.
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By the following autumn, Kate had stopped waiting for Tully to call. In the long months of their estrangement, she'd settled -- albeit uncomfortably -- into a rarefied and contained world, a kind of snow globe of her own creation. At first, of course, she'd cried about their lost friendship, ached for what had been, but in time, she accepted that there would be no apology from Tully, that if one were to be offered it would have to -- as always -- come from her.
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The story of their lives.
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It wasn't so hard to act normal, to pretend she was happy. It was what she'd done for so much of her life. Acted.
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Kate's ego, usually such a fluid and convenient thing, became solid on this point. For once, she would not yield.
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And so the time passed, and the curved glass walls of the snow globe hardened. Less and less often she thought of Tully, and when she did, she learned to stop crying about it and go on.
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"You're depressed," he'd said, pulling her against him on the sofa. "And frankly, Kate, you don't look good."
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That all would have been okay, and by that she meant acceptable levels of depression, if only it had ended there. Last week, unfortunately, she'd been too tired to brush her teeth in the morning, and she'd driven the kids to school in her pajamas.
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But it exhausted her, drained her. As the weather had begun to turn cold again, it took all her effort to get up in the morning and take a shower. By November, washing her hair had been such a daunting prospect that she'd avoided it altogether. Cooking dinner and doing the dishes sapped so much energy that halfway through she had to sit down.
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"I don't know why that's such a big deal," she'd said to her husband that night when he asked her about it. He'd taken a job at his old station, and the lessened responsibilities gave him too much time to notice Kate's flaws. "It's just a slip in personal hygiene. It's not like I went postal."
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That had hurt, although, to be honest, not as much as it should have. "So make me an appointment with a plastic surgeon. I hardly need a physical exam. I see my doctors regularly. You know that."
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When the ferry docked, she drove off the bumpy ramp and merged into the early morning traffic. It was a gray dismal day that matched her mood. She drove through downtown and negotiated the hill up to the hospital, where she found a parking spot in the garage, then walked across the street and into the lobby. After a quick check-in, she headed for the elevator.
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There was a picture of Tully, mugging for the camera, tilting up an empty champagne glass. She looked gorgeous in a black Chanel dress and glittery, beaded shrug. Below the photograph, it read: Tallulah Hart at a gala charity event at the Chateau Marmont, with her date, media tycoon Thomas Morgan.
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When she was left alone again, Kate picked up the new People and flipped it open.
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"Better safe than sorry," was his answer, and so now, here she was on the ferry, going in to the city. The truth was -- although she wouldn't have admitted it to her husband -- she was glad to be going in. She was tired of being depressed, tired of feeling worn out. Maybe a prescription of some kind would help; a pill to forget a thirty-year friendship that had ended badly.
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Forty minutes later, after she'd read every article in the newest edition of Parents magazine, she was led back to an examination room, where a nurse took all the usual stats and information.
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"Are you?"
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The door opened. Dr. Marcia Silver stepped into the room. "Hey, there, Kate. It's good to see you again." Sitting down on her wheeled stool, she glided forward, reading Kate's chart. "So, is there anything you want to tell me?"
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"My husband thinks I'm depressed."
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Kate shrugged. "A little blue maybe."
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Marcia made a note in the chart. "It's been almost exactly twelve months since your last appointment. Way to go."
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Marcia smiled and closed the chart, reaching for her gloves. "Okay, Kate, we'll start with the pap smear. Slide on down to the end here…"
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"You know us Catholic girls. Rule-followers."
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For the next few minutes Kate gave herself over to the little indignities that came with female health care: the speculum, the probing, the sampling. All the while she and Dr. Silver made stilted, impersonal conversation. They talked about the weather, the latest show at the 5th Avenue Theater, and the approaching holidays.
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It wasn't until nearly thirty minutes later, when the exam had moved to her breasts, that Marcia actually stopped making chitchat. "How long have you had this discoloration on your breast?"
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Marcia stared down at Kate's breast, frowning. Kate added: "I had my mammogram on time. Everything was clean."
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Kate glanced down at the quarter-sized red patch beneath her right nipple. The skin was slightly puckered like an orange peel. "Nine months or so. Maybe a year, come to think of it. It started as a bug bite. My family doctor thought it was an infection and put me on antibiotics. It went away for a while and then came back. Sometimes it feels hot -- that's how I know it's an infection."
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"I hope it's nothing, Kate, but I want to be sure, okay?"
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"But what --"
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"I see that." Marcia went to the wall phone, punched in a number, and said, "I want to get Kate in for a breast ultrasound. Now. Tell them to fit her in. Thanks." She hung up and turned around.
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"No. I'm sure it's fine. Oh, here's Janis."
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Kate sat up. "You're scaring me, Marcia."
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"Should he be?"
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Kate's mind was a whirl. Before she knew it, she was dressed again and being shepherded up three floors and down the hall. There, after an interminable wait, she endured another breast exam, more clucking and frowning, and an ultrasound.
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"Let's talk when we know what's going on. Janis will take you down to radiology. Okay? Is your husband here?"
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"I always do my self-exams," she said. "I haven't felt a lump."
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When the ultrasound was over, she was again shuffled out of the exam room and deposited back in the waiting room. Like all the other women in the small room, she read magazines, trying to concentrate on random sentences and Bundt cake recipes; anything except the results of the ultrasound.
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Above her, as she lay in the dark room, the nurse and radiologist exchanged a look.
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"What?" Kate said, hearing fear in her voice now.
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Finally, a plump, doe-eyed nurse came for her. "Kathleen Ryan?"
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She stood up. "Yes?"
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"I'm going to take you across the hall. Dr. Krantz is waiting to do a biopsy on you."
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It'll be fine, she told herself whenever the worry crept through. Nothing to worry about. Cancer wasn't something that crept up on you; certainly not breast cancer. There were warning signs and she watched for them religiously. It had already struck her family once with Aunt Georgia, so they were vigilant. One by one, the other women left; still Kate waited.
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Kate couldn't seem to move; she could barely nod. Clutching her purse, she stumbled along behind the nurse. "My last mammogram was clear, you know. I do regular self-exams, too."
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"Biopsy?"
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"Just to be sure. Come on."
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Or Tully.
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She wished suddenly that Johnny were here, holding her hand, telling her everything was going to be fine.
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She took a deep breath and tried to control her fear. Once, several years ago, she'd had a bad pap smear and needed a biopsy. It had ruined a weekend, waiting for results, but in the end she'd been fine. Remembering that, clinging to it like a life ring in cold, turbulent water, she followed the silent nurse to the office down the hall. The sign by the door read: THE GOODNO FOUNDATION CANCER CARE CENTER.
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