SUMMER INTERNSHIP POSITIONS/DEPARTMENT 4 page

Mom sat down on the bed beside Kate, just as they did after every fight. "Cancer? That's quite a load for a girl your age to carry."

"Tully seems cool with it."

"Does she?"

"She seems cool with everything," Kate said, unable to keep the pride out of her voice.

"How so?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"I'm too old, huh?"

"I didn't say that."

Mom smoothed the hair off Kate's forehead in a touch that was as familiar as breathing. Kate always felt five years old when her mom did that. "I'm sorry you thought I was judging your friend."

"You should be."

"And you're sorry for being so mean to me, right?"

Kate couldn't help smiling. "Yeah."

"I'll tell you what: Why don't you invite Tully over for dinner Friday night?"

"You'll love her. I know you will."

"I'm sure I will," Mom said, kissing her forehead. "'Night."

"'Night, Mom."

Long after her mother had left and the house had gone quiet for the night, Kate lay there, too wound up to sleep. She couldn't wait to invite Tully for dinner. Afterward, they could watch I Dream of Jeannie, or play Operation, or practice putting on makeup. Maybe Tully would even want to spend the night. They could—

Tap.

—talk about boys and kissing and—

Tap.

Kate sat up. That wasn't a bird on the roof or a mouse in the walls.

Tap.

It was a small rock, hitting the glass!

She threw the covers back and hurried to the window, shoving it open.

Tully was in her backyard, holding a bike beside her. "Come on down," she said, much too loudly, making a hurry gesture with her hand.

"You want me to sneak out?"

"Uh. Duh."

Kate had never done anything like this, but she couldn't act like a nerd now. Cool kids broke the rules and sneaked out of the house. Everyone knew that. Everyone knew, too, that trouble could follow. And this was exactly what her mom had been talking about.

You think for yourself around Tully Hart.

Kate didn't care about that. What mattered was Tully.

"I'm on my way." Closing the window, she looked around for clothes. Fortunately, her overalls were in the corner, folded neatly beneath a black sweatshirt. She slipped out of her old Scooby-Doo jammies and dressed quickly, then crept down the hall. As she passed her parents' bedroom, her heart was pounding so fast she felt light-headed. The stairs creaked ominously with every footfall, but finally she made it.

At the back door she paused just long enough to think, I could get in trouble for this, and then she opened the door.

Tully was there, waiting. Beside her was the most amazing bike Kate had ever seen. It had curly handlebars, a tiny kidney-shaped seat on a platform, and a bunch of cables and wires. "Wow," she said. It would take a lot of berry-picking money to get a bike like that.

"It's a ten-speed," Tully said. "My grandma gave it to me last Christmas. You want to ride it?"

"No way." Kate closed the door quietly behind her. In the carport she found her old pink bicycle with the U-shaped handlebars, flowerdecaled banana seat, and white wicker basket. It was hopelessly uncool; a little girl's bike.

Tully didn't even seem to notice. They mounted up and rode down the wet, bumpy driveway to the paved road. There, they veered left and kept going. At Summer Hill, Tully said, "Watch this. Do what I do."

They crested the hill as if they were flying. Kate's hair whipped back from her head; tears stung her eyes. All around them black trees whispered in the breeze. Stars glittered in the velvet black sky.

Tully leaned back and put her arms out. Laughing, she glanced at Kate. "Try it."

"I can't. We're going too fast."

"That's the point."

"It's dangerous."

"Come on. Let go, Katie. God hates a coward." Then, quietly, she added, "Trust me."

Now Kate had no choice. Trust was part of being friends, and Tully wouldn't hang out with a chicken. "Come on," she said to herself, trying to sound stern.

Taking a deep breath, she said a prayer and eased her arms out.

She was flying, sailing through the night sky, down the hill. The air smelled of the riding stable nearby, of horses and sweet hay. She heard Tully laughing beside her, but before she could even smile, something went wrong. Her front tire hit a rock; the bike bucked like a Brahman bull and twisted sideways, catching Tully's tire in its arc.

She screamed, reached for the handlebars, but it was too late. She was in the air, really flying this time. The pavement rushed up, smacked her hard, and she skidded across it, landing in a heap in a muddy ditch.

Tully rolled across the asphalt and slammed into her. The bikes clattered to the ground.

Dazed, Kate stared up at the night sky. Every part of her hurt. Her left ankle might be broken. It felt swollen, tender. She could feel where the road had ripped off her skin in patches.

"That was incredible," Tully said, laughing.

"Are you kidding? We could have been killed."

"Exactly."

Kate winced in pain as she tried to get up. "We should get out of this ditch. A car could come along—"

"But wasn't that cool? Wait till we tell the kids about this."

The kids at school. This would be a story, and Kate would be one of the stars in it. People would listen raptly, ooh and aah, say things like, You sneaked out? Summer Hill without hands? It's gotta be a lie . . .

And suddenly Kate was laughing, too.

They helped each other to their feet and retrieved their bikes. By the time they were across the road, Kate barely noticed where she was hurt. She felt like a different girl suddenly—bolder, braver, willing to try anything. So what if trouble followed a night like this? What was a sprained ankle or a bloody knee next to an adventure? For the past two years she'd followed all the rules and stayed home on weekend nights. No more.

They left their bikes by the side of the road and limped toward the river. In the moonlight, everything looked milky and beautiful—the silvery waves, the jagged rocks along the shore.

Tully sat down by a decaying, moss-covered nurse log in a place where the grass was as thick as shag carpeting.

Kate sat down beside her, so close their knees were almost touching. Together they stared up at the star-spangled sky. The song of the river floated toward them, sounded like a young girl's laugh. Just now, with the world so still and silent, it was as if the breeze had drawn in its cool breath and left them all alone in this place that until right now had been just another bend in a river that flooded every autumn.

"I wonder who named our street," Tully said. "I haven't seen any fireflies."

Kate shrugged. "Over by the old bridge is Missouri Street. Maybe some pioneer was homesick. Or lost."

"Or maybe it's magic. This could be a magical street." Tully turned toward her. "That could mean we were meant to be friends."

Kate shivered at the power of that. "Before you moved here, I thought it was just a road that went nowhere."

"Now it's our road."

"We can go all kinds of places when we grow up."

"Places don't matter," Tully said.

Kate heard something in her friend's voice, a sadness she didn't understand. She turned sideways. Tully was staring up at the sky.

"Are you thinking about your mom?" Kate asked tentatively.

"I try not to think about her." There was a long pause, then she dug into her pocket for a Virginia Slims cigarette and lit up.

Kate was careful not to make a face about the smoking.

"You want a drag?"

Kate knew she had no choice. "Uh. Sure."

"If my mom were normal—not sick, I mean—I could have told her about what happened to me at the party."

Kate took a tiny drag, coughed hard, and said, "Do you think about it a lot?"

Tully leaned back against the log, taking the cigarette again. After a long pause, she said, "I have nightmares about it."

Kate wished she knew what to say. "What about your dad? Can you talk to him?"

Tully wouldn't look at her. "I don't think she even knows who he is." Her voice fell. "Or he heard about me and ran."

"That's harsh."

"Life is harsh. Besides, I don't need them. I've got you, Katie. You're the one that helped me through it."

Kate smiled. The sharp tang of smoke filled the air between them, stung her eyes, but she didn't care. What mattered was being here, with her new best friend. "That's what friends are for."

That next night Tully was on the last chapter of The Outsiders when she heard her mother yelling through the house. "Tully! Answer the damn door."

She slammed the book down and went out into the living room, where her mother sat sprawled on the sofa, taking a bong hit as she watched Happy Days.

"You're right by the door."

Her mother shrugged. "So?"

"Hide your bong."

Sighing dramatically, Cloud leaned over and put her bong beneath the end table beside the couch. Only a blind person would miss it, but that was as good as Cloud was likely to do.

Tully smoothed the hair away from her face and opened the door.

A small, dark-haired woman stood there, holding a foil-covered casserole dish. Electric-blue eye shadow accentuated her brown eyes, and rose-hued blush—applied with too heavy a hand—created the illusion of sharp cheekbones in her round face. "You must be Tully," the woman said in a voice that was higher somehow than expected. It was a girl's voice, full of enthusiasm, and it matched the sparkle in her eyes. "I'm Kate's mom. Sorry to come without calling, but your line has been busy."

Tully pictured the phone by her mother's bed off the hook. "Oh."

"I brought you and your mom a tuna casserole for dinner. I imagine she doesn't feel much like cooking. My sister had cancer a few years ago, so I know the drill." She smiled and stood there. Finally, her smile faded. "Are you going to invite me in?"

Tully froze. This is going to be bad, she thought. "Um . . . sure."

"Thank you." Mrs. Mularkey moved past her and went into the house.

Cloud lay on the sofa, sort of spread-eagled; she had a pile of marijuana on her stomach. Smiling blearily, she tried to sit up and failed. The failure made her shoot out a few swear words and then laugh. The whole house reeked of pot.

Mrs. Mularkey came to a stop. Confusion pleated her forehead. "I'm Margie from next door," she said.

"I'm Cloud," Tully's mother said, trying again to sit up. "It's cool to meet you."

"And you."

For a terrible, awkward moment, they just stared at each other. Tully had no doubt at all that Mrs. Mularkey's sharp eyes saw everything—the bong under the end table, the bag of Maui-wowie on the floor, the overturned, empty wineglass, and the pizza boxes on the table. "Also, I wanted to let you know that I'm home most days, and I'd be happy to drive you to the doctor's office or run errands. I know how chemo can make you feel."

Cloud frowned blearily. "Who's got cancer?"

Mrs. Mularkey turned to look at Tully, who wanted to curl up and die.

"Tully, show our cool neighbor with the food where the kitchen is."

Tully practically ran for the kitchen. In that pink hell, junk food wrappers covered the table, dirty dishes clogged the sink, and overflowing ashtrays were everywhere; more evidence of her pathetic life for her best friend's mother to see.

Mrs. Mularkey walked past her, bent over the oven, put the casserole onto the rack, then shut the door with her hip and then turned to study Tully. "My Katie is a good girl," she said at last.

Here it comes. "Yes, ma'am."

"She's been praying for your mother to recover from her cancer. She even has a little altar set up in her room."

Tully looked at the floor, too ashamed to answer. How could she explain why she'd lied? No answer would be good enough, not for a mother like Mrs. Mularkey, who loved her kids. At that, a wave of jealousy joined the shame running through her. Maybe if Tully had had a mother who loved her she wouldn't find it so easy—so necessary—to lie in the first place. And now she'd lose the one thing that mattered to her: Katie.

"Do you think lying to your friends is okay?"

"No, ma'am." So intently was she staring at the floor that she was startled by a gentle touch on her chin that forced her to look up.

"Are you going to be a good friend to Kate? Or the kind that leads her to trouble?"

"I'd never hurt Katie." Tully wanted to say more, maybe fall to her knees and swear to be a good person, but she was so close to tears she didn't dare move. She stared into Mrs. Mularkey's dark eyes and saw something she never expected: understanding.

In the living room, Cloud stumbled over to the television and changed the channel. Tully could see the screen through the rubble of the messy room: Jean Enersen was reporting on the day's top story.

"You do it, don't you?" Mrs. Mularkey said quietly, as if she worried that Cloud might be eavesdropping. "Pay the bills, grocery-shop, clean the house. Who pays for everything?"

Tully swallowed hard. No one had ever seen through her life so clearly before. "My grandmother sends a check every week."

"My dad was a fall-down drunk and the whole town knew it," Mrs. Mularkey said in a soft voice that matched the look in her eyes. "He was mean, too. Friday and Saturday nights, my sister, Georgia, would have to go to the tavern and drag him home. All the way out of the bar he'd be smacking her and calling her names. She was like one of those rodeo clowns, always stepping between the bull and the cowboy. By the end of my junior year I figured out why she ran with the fast crowd and drank too much."

"She didn't want people to look at her like she was pitiful."

Mrs. Mularkey nodded. "She hated that look. What matters, though, isn't other people. That's what I learned. Who your mom is and how she lives her life isn't a reflection of you. You can make your own choices. And there's nothing for you to be ashamed of. But you'll have to dream big, Tully." She glanced through the open door to the living room. "Like that Jean Enersen on the TV there. A woman who gets to a place like that in her life knows how to go after what she wants."

"How do I know what I want?"

"You keep your eyes open and do the right thing. Go to college. And trust your friends."

"I do trust Kate."

"So you'll tell her the truth?"

"What if I just promise—"

"One of us is going to tell her, Tully. It should be you."

Tully took a deep breath and released it. Though telling the truth went against every instinct she had, she had no choice, really. She wanted Mrs. Mularkey to be proud of her. "Okay."

"Good. So I'll see you for dinner tomorrow night. Five o'clock. It'll be your chance to start over."

The next night, Tully changed her clothes at least four times, trying to find exactly the right outfit. By the time she was actually ready, she was so late that she had to run all the way across the street and up the hill.

Kate's mom opened the door. She wore a pair of purple gabardine bell-bottoms and a striped V-neck sweater with angel sleeves. Smiling, she said, "I warn you, it's loud and crazy in here."

"I love loud and crazy," Tully said.

"Then you'll fit right in." Mrs. Mularkey put an arm around Tully's shoulder and led her toward the beige-walled living room with its moss-green shag carpeting, bright red sofa, and black recliner. A small gold-framed photo of Jesus and another of Elvis were the only decorations on the walls, but dozens of family pictures cluttered the top of the console TV. Tully couldn't help thinking of the TV in her house; its top was covered with overflowing ashtrays and empty cigarette packs, but no family photos.

"Bud?" Mrs. Mularkey said to the beefy, dark-haired man sitting in the recliner. "This is Tully Hart from next door."

Mr. Mularkey smiled at her and put down his drink. "Well, well. So you're the one we've been hearin' about. It's nice to have you here, Tully."

"It's nice to be here."

Mrs. Mularkey patted her shoulder. "Dinner's not till six. Katie's upstairs in her room. It's the one at the very top of the stairs. I'm sure you girls have plenty to talk about."

Tully got the message and nodded, unable to rouse her voice. Now that she was here, in this warm house that smelled of home-cooked meals, standing shoulder to shoulder with the world's most perfect mom, she couldn't imagine losing it all, becoming unwelcome. "I'll never lie to her again," she promised.

"Good. Now go." With a last smile, Mrs. Mularkey walked into the living room.

Mr. Mularkey put an arm around his wife and drew her into the La-Z-Boy with him. Immediately they bent their heads together.

Tully felt a longing so sharp and unexpected, she couldn't move. Everything would have been different for her if she'd had a family like this. She didn't want to turn away from it just yet. "Are you watching the news?"

Mr. Mularkey looked up. "We never miss it."

Mrs. Mularkey smiled. "Jean Enersen is changing the world. She's one of the first women to anchor a nightly news program."

"I'm going to be a reporter," Tully said suddenly.

"That's wonderful," Mr. Mularkey said.

"There you are," Kate said suddenly, coming up beside her. "Nice of everyone to tell me you were here," she said loudly.

"I was just telling your mom and dad that I'm going to be a news reporter," Tully said.

Mrs. Mularkey beamed at that. In her smile, Tully saw everything that had been missing in her life. "Isn't that a grand dream, Katie?"

Kate looked confused for a moment. Then she hooked her arm through Tully's and pulled her away from the living room and up the stairs. In her small attic bedroom, Kate went to the record player and flipped through a small stack of records. By the time she'd chosen one—Carole King's Tapestry—and put it on, Tully was at the window, staring out at the lavender evening.

The surge of adrenaline she'd gotten from her announcement faded, leaving a quiet kind of sadness behind. She knew what she had to do now, but the thought of it made her sick.

Tell her the truth.

If you don't, Mrs. Mularkey will.

"I got the new Seventeen and Tiger Beat," Kate said, stretching out on the blue shag carpeting. "You want to read 'em? We can take the 'Can You Be Tony DeFranco's Girlfriend?' quiz."

Tully lay down beside her. "Sure."

"Jan-Michael Vincent is so foxy," Kate said, flipping to a picture of the actor.

"I heard he lied to his girlfriend," Tully said, daring a sideways glance.

"I hate liars." Kate turned the page. "Are you really going to be a news reporter? You never told me that."

"Yeah," Tully said, really imagining it for the first time. Maybe she could be famous. Then everyone would admire her. "You'll have to be one, too, though. 'Cause we do everything together."

"Me?"

"We'll be a team like Woodward and Bernstein, only with better clothes. And prettier."

"I don't know—"

Tully bumped her. "Yes, you do. Mrs. Ramsdale told the whole class that you're an excellent writer."

Kate laughed. "That's true. Okay. I'll be a reporter, too."

"When we get famous, we'll tell Mike Wallace we couldn't have done it without each other."

After that, they fell silent, flipping through the magazines. Tully tried twice to bring up the subject of her mother, but both times Kate interrupted her, and then someone was yelling, "Dinner," and her chance for coming clean had slipped away.

All through the best meal of her life, she felt the weight of her lie. By the time they'd cleared the table and washed and dried the dishes, she was stretched to the breaking point. Even dreaming about fame on television couldn't ease her nerves.

"Hey, Mom," Kate said, putting away the last white CorningWare plate, "Tully and me are going to ride our bikes down to the park, okay?"

"Tully and I," her mother answered, reaching down into the magazine pouch of the La-Z-Boy's arm for the TV guide. "And be back by eight."

"Aww, Mom—"

"Eight," her father said from the living room.

Kate looked at Tully. "They treat me like I'm a baby."

"You don't know how lucky you are. Come on, let's get our bikes."

They rode at a breakneck speed down the bumpy county road, laughing all the way. At Summer Hill, Tully flung her arms out and Kate followed.

When they got to the river park, they ditched their bikes in the trees and lay on the grass, side by side, staring up at the sky, listening to the river gurgling against the rocks.

"I have something to tell you," Tully said in a rush.

"What?"

"My mom doesn't have cancer. She's a pothead."

"Your mom smokes dope. Yeah, right."

"It's true. She's always high."

Kate turned to her. "Really?"

"Really."

"You lied to me?"

Tully could barely maintain eye contact, she was so ashamed. "I didn't mean to."

"People don't lie accidentally. It's not like tripping over a crack in the sidewalk."

"You don't know how it feels to be embarrassed by your mom."

"Are you kidding? You should have seen what my mom wore out to dinner last—"

"No," Tully said. "You don't know."

"Tell me."

Tully knew what Kate was asking of her; she wanted the truth that had spawned the lie, but Tully didn't know if she could do it, turn all her pain into words and pass them out like cards. All her life she'd kept these secrets close. If she told Kate the reality and then lost her as a friend, it would be unbearable.

Then again, if she didn't tell the truth, she'd lose the friendship for sure.

"I was two years old," she finally said, "when my mom first dumped me at my grandparents' house. She went to town for milk and came back when I was four. When I was ten, she showed up again and I thought it meant she loved me. That time she let go of me in a crowd. The next time I saw her I was fourteen. My gran's letting us live in this house and sending us money every week. That'll last until my mom bails again—which she will do."

"I don't understand."

"Of course you don't. My mom isn't like yours. This is the longest amount of time I've ever spent with her. Sooner or later she'll get bored and move on without me."

"How can a mother do that?"

Tully shrugged. "I think there's something wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you. She's the loser. But I still don't get why you lied to me."

Tully finally looked at her. "I wanted you to like me."

"You were worried about me?" Kate burst out laughing. Tully was just about to ask her what was so funny when she sobered and said, "No more lies, right?"

"Absolutely."

"We'll be best friends forever," Kate said earnestly. "Okay?"

"You mean you'll always be there for me?"

"Always," Kate answered. "No matter what."

Tully felt an emotion open up inside her like some exotic flower. She could practically smell its honeyed scent in the air. For the first time in her life, she felt totally safe with someone. "Forever," she promised. "No matter what."

Kate would always remember the summer after eighth grade as one of the best times of her life. Every weekday, she rushed through her morning chores without complaint and babysat her brother until three o'clock, when her mom came home from running errands and volunteering on the 4-H council. After that, Kate was free. Weekends were, for the most part, her own.

She and Tully rode their bikes all over the valley and spent hours inner-tubing down the Pilchuck River. In the late afternoons, they stretched out on tiny towels, wearing neon-colored crocheted bikinis, their skin slick with a mixture of baby oil and iodine, listening to Top 40 music on the transistor radio they never left behind. They talked about everything: fashion, music, boys, the war and what was still going on over there, what it would be like to be a reporting duo, movies. Nothing was off-limits; no question couldn't be volleyed over the net. Now it was late August and they were in Kate's bedroom, packing makeup for their trip to the fair. As usual, Kate had to change clothes and put on makeup after she left the house. If she wanted to look cool, anyway. Her mom still thought she was too young for everything. "You got your tube top?" Tully asked.

"Got it."

Grinning at their own brilliant plan, they headed downstairs, where Dad was sitting on the sofa, watching television.

"We're going to the fair now," Kate said, thankful that her mother wasn't here. Mom would notice the bag that was too big for the county fair. Her X-ray vision would probably see through the macramé exterior to the clothes, shoes, and makeup within.

"Be careful, you two," he said without looking up.

It was what he always said now, ever since girls had started disappearing in Seattle. The news was calling the killer "Ted" these days because some girl at Lake Sammamish State Park had actually gotten away and given a description and his first name to the police. Girls all across the state were terrified. You couldn't see a yellow VW bug without worrying that it was Ted's car.

"We'll be super careful," Tully said, smiling. She loved it when Kate's parents worried about them.

Kate crossed the room to kiss her dad goodbye. He curled an arm around her and handed her a ten-dollar bill. "Have fun."

"Thanks, Daddy."

She and Tully headed down the driveway, swinging their bags beside them.

"Do you think Kenny Markson will be at the fair?" Kate asked.

"You worry too much about boys."

Kate bumped her friend, hip to hip. "He has a crush on you."

"Big whoop. I'm taller."

Suddenly Tully stopped.

"Jeez, Tully, be a spaz, why don'tcha? I almost fell over—"

"Oh, no," Tully whispered.

"What's the matter?"

Then she noticed the police car parked in Tully's driveway.

Tully grabbed Kate's hand and practically dragged her down the driveway, across the street, and to the front door, which stood open.

A policeman was waiting for them in the living room.

When he saw them, his fleshy face pleated into clownlike folds. "Hello, girls. I'm Officer Dan Myers."

"What did she do this time?" Tully asked.

"There was a spotted owl protest up by Lake Quinault that got out of hand yesterday. Your mother and several others staged a sit-in that cost Weyerhaeuser a full day's work. Worse, someone dropped a cigarette in the woods." He paused. "They just got the fire under control."

"Let me guess: she's going to jail."

"Her lawyer is seeking voluntary treatment for drug addiction. If she's lucky, she'll be in the hospital for a while. If not . . ." He let the sentence trail off.

"Has someone called my grandmother?"

The officer nodded. "She's expecting you. Do you need help packing?"

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 564