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She went on. It was what she'd always done in her life when disappointment set in. She tucked her chin, squared her shoulders, and set a new goal for herself. This year, she was starting a magazine. Next year it would be a retreat for women. After that, who knew?

Two thousand six saw The Girlfriend Hour rise even higher in the ratings. Week after week, month after month, Tully created magic with her selection of guests and her rapport with the audience. She had definitely reached the top of her game and seized control of the board. No longer did she let herself think about what she didn't have in her life. Just as she'd done at six and ten and fourteen, she boxed all that negative stuff up and put it in the shadow box.

Now she sat in her newly decorated office in a corner of the building that didn't face Bainbridge Island, talking to her secretary on the phone. "Are you kidding me? He's canceling the show, forty minutes before we're scheduled to start taping? I have a studio full of people waiting to see him." She slammed the phone back onto the hook, then hit the intercom. "Get Ted in here."

"Jack just canceled."

"Now?" Ted glanced at his watch. "Son of a bitch. I hope you told him the next time he has a movie out he can pitch it on the radio."

Tully flipped open her calendar. "It's June first, right? Call Nordstrom and the Gene Juarez Spa. We'll do mothers' makeovers for summer. Give away a bunch of clothes and stuff. It'll suck, but it's better than nothing."

From the moment Ted left her office, the whole team was in high gear. People were tracking down new guests, calling the various spa and department store contacts, and keeping the studio audience entertained. The adrenaline was so high that everyone, including Tully, worked at supersonic speed, and the taping of the new segment began only one hour late. Judging by the audience's applause, it was a rousing success.

After the show, as always, Tully stayed around and talked with her fans. She posed for photographs and signed autographs and listened to one story after another about how she'd changed someone's life. It was her favorite hour of any day.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door and her producer walked into her office. His cheeks were pink from exertion and he was breathing hard. "You wanted to see me?"

She had just returned to her office when her intercom buzzed. "Tallulah? There's a Kate Ryan on line one."

"Tell her to go fuck herself." Tully wished she could take the words back as soon as she'd said them, but she didn't know how to bend now. During their long estrangement, she'd had to stay angry just to get by. Otherwise the loneliness would have been unbearable.

Tully's heart missed a beat; the hope she felt pissed her off. She stood at the corner of her huge desk and pushed the intercom button. "Ask her what she wants."

"Ms. Ryan says, and I quote: 'Tell that bitch to get her designer-clad ass out of her ridiculously expensive leather chair and come to the phone.' She also says that if you ignore her on this of all days she's selling those pictures of you with a bad perm to the tabloids."

A moment later, her secretary was back on the line. "Ms. Ryan says you need to pick up the phone and find out for yourself."

Tully almost smiled. How could two sentences peel back so many years and blast through the sediment of so many bad choices?

"I'm in the hospital, Tully. Sacred Heart. Fourth floor," Kate said. Then she hung up.

"Of course you are, you narcissist, and I'm not apologizing, but that doesn't matter anymore."

When the car pulled up in front of the hospital, she got out and ran for the glass doors, pausing for a moment while the sensors engaged. The second she stepped inside, people swarmed around her. Usually she factored what she called fan maintenance into her schedule -- thirty minutes at every location to meet and greet -- but now she didn't have time. She pushed through the crowd and went to the front desk. "I'm here to see Kathleen Ryan."

"It matters. You should have called long before --"

"Hurry up," Tully said to her driver for at least the fifth time in as many blocks.

The receptionist stared up at her in awe. "You're Tallulah Hart."

She picked up the phone. "You're the bitch, and I'm pissed at you."

"Yes, I am. Kathleen Ryan's room, please."

The receptionist nodded. "Oh. Right." She glanced at her computer screen, entered a few keys, and said, "Four-ten East."

Marah was in a chair beside William, with her eyes closed, listening to an iPod through tiny headphones. She moved to the beat of music only she could hear. The boys were so big; it was a painful reminder of how long Tully had been apart from them.

"Thanks." Tully headed for the elevators, but noticed that she was being followed. Her fans would nonchalantly enter the elevator with her. The brave ones would initiate conversation between floors. The weirdos might follow her out.

Just down the hall, she found a small waiting area. The television was turned on to her show -- a rerun from two years ago.

She took the stairs instead, thankful by the third flight that she attended daily aerobics classes and worked with a personal trainer. Still, she was out of breath when she reached the fourth floor.

Johnny sat there, in an ugly blue love seat, with Lucas curled up beside him. With one son's head in his lap, Johnny was reading to the other.

She knew the moment she stepped into the small room that it was Bad, this thing with Kate.

Beside Marah, Mrs. Mularkey sat, staring intently at her knitting. Sean was beside his mother, talking on his cell phone. Georgia and Ralph were watching TV in the corner.

At the sound of her voice, they all looked up, but no one said anything and suddenly Tully remembered the last time they'd all been together.

"Kate called me," she explained.

It took a huge act of will to step forward. "Hey, Johnny."

By the looks of it, they'd been here a long time.

Johnny eased out from under his sleeping son and stood up. There was only a beat of awkwardness, a clumsy pause, before he took her in his arms. She could tell by the ferocity of his embrace that it was more to comfort himself than her. She clung to him, trying not to be afraid. "Tell me," she said, more harshly than she intended, when he let go of her and stepped back.

Mrs. M. stood up slowly.

He sighed and nodded. "We'll go into the family room."

Tully was struck by how much Mrs. M. had aged. The woman looked frail and a little hunched. She'd stopped dyeing her hair and it was snow-white. "Katie called you?" Mrs. M. said.

"Come on," Johnny said, breaking up the hug, and leading the way to another room. Inside there was a smallish fake wood conference table and eight molded plastic chairs.

"Kate has cancer," Johnny said. "It's called inflammatory breast cancer."

Then Mrs. M. did the most amazing thing: she hugged Tully, enveloped her once again in an embrace that smelled of Jean Naté perfume and menthol cigarettes, with just a hint of hairspray to give it spice.

"I came right away," she said, as if speed mattered now, after all this time.

Johnny and Mrs. M. sat down.

Tully remained standing. No one spoke for a moment and every passing second was a turn of the screw. "Tell me."

Tully had to concentrate on each breath to remain upright. "She'll have a mastectomy and get radiation and chemotherapy, right? I have several friends who have fought --"

"She's already had all of that," he said gently.

"What? When?"

"She called you several months ago," he said, and this time his voice had an edge she'd never heard before. "She wanted to have you at the hospital with her. You didn't return her call."

"She didn't say anything about being sick," Tully said.

Tully remembered the message, word for word. I can't believe you haven't called to apologize to me. Tully? Are you listening to this? Tully? And the click. Had something happened to the rest of the message? Had the power gone out or the tape hit its end?

Tully felt tackled by guilt, overcome. She should have sensed something was wrong. Why hadn't she just picked up the phone? Now all that time had been lost. "Oh, my God. I should have --"

"She called," Mrs. M. said.

"None of that matters now," Mrs. M. said.

Mrs. M. laid her hand on his. "The cancer is in her brain now."

Tully thought she had known fear before -- like on that Seattle street when she was ten years old, or when Katie had had her miscarriage, or when Johnny had been hurt in Iraq -- but nothing had felt like this. "Are you saying…"

Johnny nodded and went on. "The cancer has metastasized. Last night she had a minor stroke. They got her into the OR as quickly as possible, but once they were inside, they saw there was nothing they could do." His voice broke.

A look passed between Johnny and Mrs. M.

"She might not know who you are."

As soon as Mrs. M. left, Johnny moved even closer, said, "She's fragile right now, Tul. Her faculties have been impacted by the cancer in her brain. She has good moments… and not-so-good moments."

Tully shook her head, unable to think of what to say. "W-where is she?" The question came out sounding choppy and broken. "I need to see her."

"What are you saying?" Tully asked.

"What?" Tully said.

Closing the door behind her, she reached for a smile, found one that was the best she could do under the circumstances, and went toward the bed, where her friend lay sleeping.

The walk to Kate's room was the longest journey of Tully's life. She felt people all around her, talking quietly among themselves, but never had she felt more alone. Johnny led her to a doorway and stopped there.

"They're only allowing one person in at a time," Mrs. M. said. "Bud is in there now. I'll go get him."

Tully nodded, trying to gather strength as she walked into the room.

"She's dying," Mrs. M. said quietly.

"Kate?" Tully said quietly, moving forward. The moment she heard her voice she winced. It sounded too loud in this room, too alive somehow.

Angled up to a near-sit, Kate looked like a broken doll against the stark white sheets and piled pillows. She had no hair or eyebrows left, and her bald head was a pale oval that nearly disappeared against the pillowcase.

Kate opened her eyes, and there was the woman Tully knew, the girl she'd sworn to be best friends with forever.

How had it happened, after all their decades together, that they were estranged now? "I'm sorry, Katie," she whispered, hearing how small the words were; all her life she'd hoarded those few and simple words, kept them tucked inside her heart as if to let them out would harm her. Why, of all the lessons she should have learned from her mother, had she held on to this most hurtful one? And why hadn't she called when she'd heard Kate's voice on the answering machine?

"I'm so sorry," she said again, feeling the burn of tears.

Put your arms out, Katie. It's like flying.

Kate just stared up at her.

Tully reached down, let her knuckles graze Kate's warm cheek. "It's Tully, the bitch who used to be your best friend. I'm so sorry for what I did to you, Katie. I should have told you that a long time ago." She made a tiny, desperate sound. If Kate didn't remember her, remember them, she didn't think she could bear it. "I remember when I first met you, Katie Mularkey Ryan. You were the first person who ever really wanted to know me. Naturally I treated you like shit at first, but when I got raped you were there for me." The memories overtook her. She wiped her eyes. "You're thinking I'm only talking about me, right? Typical, you say. But I remember you, too, Katie; every second. Like when you read Love Story and couldn't figure out what sonovabitch meant because it wasn't in the dictionary… or when you swore you'd never French-kiss because it was gross-o-rama." Tully shook her head, fighting to keep it together. Her whole life was in the room with them now. "We were so damned young, Katie. But we're not young anymore. You remember that first time I left Snohomish, and we wrote about a million letters? We signed them Forever friends… or Best friends forever. Which was it…"

Kate didn't smile or give any indication of welcome or surprise. Even the apology -- as little and late as it was -- seemed to have no effect. "Please say you remember me."

"Stop."

Tully spun out the story of their years; sometimes she even laughed, like when she told about riding their bikes down Summer Hill or running from the cops on the night they got busted. "Oh, here's one you'll know. Remember when we went to Pete's Dragon because we thought it was an action movie, only it was a cartoon? We were the oldest kids in the theater, and we came out singing 'You and Me Against the World,' and we said it would always be that way --"

There were tears in her friend's eyes, and more streaking down her temples. They'd formed a small gray patch of wetness on the pillow behind her head. "Tully," Kate said in a soft, swollen voice, "did you really think I could forget you?"

Tully drew in a sharp breath.

"I did call."

Tully's relief was so huge she felt weak in the knees. "Hey," she said. "You didn't have to go so far to get my attention, you know." She touched her friend's bald head, let her fingers linger on the baby-soft skin. "You could have just called."

Tully flinched. "I'm so sorry, Katie. I --"

"You're a bitch," Kate said, smiling tiredly. "I've always known that. And I could have called back, too. I guess no one stays friends for more than thirty years without a few broken hearts along the way."

"That only leaves ahead," Tully said, and the words were like bits of broken metal, sharp and cold.

"No looking back, okay?"

"I am a bitch," Tully said miserably, her eyes welling up. "I should have called. It was just…" She didn't even know what to say, how to explain this dark rip that had always been inside of her.

"No," Kate said. "It leaves now."

"I'm done with treatments. I've had them all and none has worked. Just… be with me."

"Do you really think Johnny just gave up on me? You know my husband. He's just like you and we're almost as rich. For six months I saw every specialist on the planet. I did conventional and unconventional and naturopathic remedies. I even went to that faith healer in the rain forest. I have kids; I did everything I could to stay healthy for them. None of it worked."

"But --"

Kate looked up at her, smiling just a little. "That's all there is, Tully."

Tully took a step back. "I'm here to watch you die. Is that what you're telling me? Because I say no fucking way to that. I won't do it."

"I did a show on breast cancer a few months ago. There's a doctor in Ontario doing amazing things with some new drug. I'll call him."

"That's not funny."

Kate's smile was almost like the old days. "That's my Tul. I'm dying of cancer and you ask about you." She laughed.

"So what do I do?"

"I don't know how to do this."

Tully wiped her eyes. The truth of what they were really talking about pressed in on her. "We'll do it like we've done everything else, Kate. Side by side."

"You can't hold it in," Mrs. M. said, coming up to her.

Tully came out of Kate's room shaken. She made a small sound, a kind of gasp, and covered her mouth with her hand.

"I know." Mrs. M's voice cracked, stumbled. "Just love her. Be there for her. That's all there is. Believe me, I've cried and argued and bargained with God, I've begged the doctors for hope. All that's past now. She's most worried about the kids. Marah especially. They've had such a rough go of it -- well, you know about that -- and Marah seems to have shut down for all of this. No tears, no drama. All she does is listen to music."

They walked back out to the waiting room, only to find everyone gone.

"I can't let it out."

Mrs. M. nodded. "It's good to have you back, Tully. I missed you."

Mrs. M. looked at her watch. "They're in the cafeteria. You want to join us?"

"No, thanks. I think I need some fresh air."

"You're here now. That's what matters." She patted Tully's arm and walked away.

Tully went outside, surprised to find that it was light out here, warm and sunny. It seemed vaguely wrong that the sun was still shining while Kate lay up in that narrow bed, dying. She walked down the street, her watery eyes hidden behind huge, dark sunglasses so that no one would recognize her. The last thing she wanted now was to be stopped.

"I should have taken your advice and called her."

Her legs gave out on her, and she went down, hard, scraping her knees on the concrete sidewalk, but she didn't notice, hardly cared, she was crying so hard. She'd never felt so swollen with emotion; it was as if she couldn't handle it all. Fear. Sorrow. Guilt. Regret.

She passed a coffee shop, heard a bit of music waft through the door as someone came out. Bye, bye, Miss American Pie.

"Oh, Katie…"

"Why didn't I call her?" she whispered. "I'm so sorry, Katie," she said, hearing the hollow desperation in her voice, feeling sick that now the words came so easily, when it was too late to matter.

She didn't know how long she knelt there, her head bowed, sobbing, thinking of all their times together. It was a bad part of Capitol Hill, full of homeless people, so no one stopped to help her. Finally, feeling spent and shaky, she climbed back to a standing position and stood there, feeling as if she'd been beaten up. The music took her back in time, reminded her of so many shared moments. Swear we'll always be best friends.

And she was crying again. Quieter this time.

There, in a store on the corner, she found what she hadn't even realized she'd been looking for. She had the gift wrapped and ran all the way back to Kate's room.

She walked dully up one street and down another until something in one of the display windows caught her eye.

She was out of breath when she opened the door and went inside.

Kate stared down at the blank page for a long time, saying nothing.

"I was never really a writer," she finally said. "You and Johnny and Mom all wanted it for me, but I never did it. Too late now."

Kate opened her eyes. "What I need can't be bought."

"Very funny." She eased around the curtain and stood by the bed. "Your mom tells me you're still having trouble with Marah."

"You always were her role model." Kate closed her eyes. "I'm tired, Tully…"

Kate smiled tiredly. "Let me guess: you've got a film crew with you."

"I have a present for you."

Inside was a hand-tooled, leather-bound journal. On the first page, Tully had written: Katie's story.

Tully tried not to react to that. Instead, she handed Kate the beautifully wrapped gift and helped her open it.

"It's not your fault. She's scared of all this and she doesn't know how easy it is to say you're sorry."

"Katie?"

Tully touched her friend's wrist, feeling how fragile and thin it was; the tiniest pressure could leave a bruise. "For Marah," she said quietly. "And the boys. Someday they'll be old enough to read it. They'll want to know who you were."

"I didn't."

Kate closed her eyes, as if the thought alone were too much to bear. "Thanks, Tully."

Tully had no real answer for that. "Just write what you remember."

Kate didn't open her eyes, but she smiled just a little. "I know."

Kate didn't remember falling asleep. One minute she was talking to Tully, and the next -- she was waking up in a dark room that smelled of fresh flowers and disinfectant.

"I won't leave you again, Katie."

But right now she didn't want to be here. She wanted to be at home, in her own bed, in her husband's arms rather than watching him sleep in the hospital bed on the other side of the room.

She'd been in this room for so long it almost felt like home, and sometimes, when her family's hope was more than she could bear, this small beige room comforted her with its silence. Within these blank walls, when no one else was around, she didn't have to pretend to be strong.

Or with Tully, sitting on the muddy banks of the Pilchuck River, talking about David Cassidy's newest album and sharing a bag of Pop Rocks.

"How do I know what to write?"

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. Leaning sideways, she turned on the bedside lamp. Johnny, who'd grown used to her weird waking/sleeping schedule, rolled onto his side and murmured, "You okay, baby?"

She knew she wouldn't fall back asleep without medication and she didn't want to wake the night nurse. Besides, she had little enough life left to her; what was the point in sleeping?

She'd done it all, and done it with vigor. Even more important, she'd believed in all of it, believed she'd be cured.

Surgery -- Sure, cut me open and take my breasts.

Chemotherapy -- Another dose of poison, please.

Crystals. Meditation. Visualization. Chinese herbs.

Tofu and miso soup -- Yum. May I have some more?

Radiation -- Absolutely. Burn me up.

The memory made her smile, and with it came a lessening of the fear that had wakened her.

It had only been in the last few weeks that such morbid thoughts had come to her. Before that, in the months since her diagnosis -- what she thought of as D-Day -- she did everything she was supposed to do, and she did it with a smile for everyone in the room.

The effort had winded her; the belief had broken her.

It would hurt to do this; of that she had no doubt. To pick up a pen and write down her life, she'd have to remember it all, who she was, who she'd wanted to be. Those memories would be painful, both the good and the bad would wound her.

Kate reached over for the journal Tully had bought her. Holding it, she traced the leather etchings and the gold-edged sheets of paper.

Mumbling something, he rolled back over. In no time, she heard his quiet snore.

"I'm fine. Keep sleeping."

Panic always comes to me in the same way. First, I get a knot in the pit of my stomach that turns to nausea, then a fluttery breathlessness that no amount of deep breathing can cure. But what causes my fear is different every day; I never know what will set me off. It could be a kiss from my husband, or the lingering look of sadness in his eyes when he draws back. Sometimes I know he's already grieving for me, missing me even while I'm still here. Worse yet is Marah's quiet acceptance of everything I say. I would give anything for another of our old knock-down drag-out fights. That's one of the first things I'd say to you now, Marah: Those fights were real life. You were struggling to break free of being my daughter but unsure of how to be yourself, while I was afraid to let you go. It's the circle of love. I only wish I'd recognized it then. Your grandmother told me I'd know you were sorry for those years before you did, and she was right. I know you regret some of the things you said to me, as I regret my own words. None of that matters, though. I want you to know that. I love you and I know you love me.

She flipped the journal open. Because she had no clear idea of where to start, she simply began to write.

But her children would see through the illness to her, the woman they would always remember, but never truly have time to know. Tully was right. The only gift Kate could give them now was the truth of who she was.

But these are just more words, aren't they? I want to go deeper than that. So, if you'll bear with me (I haven't really written anything in years), I have a story to tell you. It's my story, and yours, too. It starts in 1960 in a small farming town up north, in a clapboard house on a hill above a horse pasture. When it gets good, though, is 1974, when the coolest girl in the world moved into the house across the street…