SUMMER INTERNSHIP POSITIONS/DEPARTMENT 21 page

By the spring of 2003, she was exhausted, worn down by the violence. When she finally returned home, it wasn't much better. Everywhere she went she was in a crowd, and nowhere did she feel more isolated than in a group of people who fawned over her, and sucked up to her, but didn't really know her.

Although no one who watched her on television would notice it, she was quietly coming undone. Grant hadn't called her in almost four months, and the last time they'd spoken before that it hadn't gone well.

I just don't want what you want, love, he'd said, not even bothering to look sad when he said it.

And what is that? she'd snapped back, surprised to feel tears sting her eyes.

What you always want: more.

It shouldn't have surprised her. God knew she'd heard the same thing often enough in her life. She could even admit the truth of it. She did want more lately. She wanted a real life, not this perfect, glittery cotton candy one she'd created for herself.

But she had no real idea how to go about starting over at her age. She loved her job too much to give it up; besides, she'd been famous and rich for so long that she couldn't imagine being ordinary again.

Now, beneath a surprisingly warm sun, she walked down the busy streets of Manhattan, watching the fast-moving locals dodging between brightly dressed tourists. Today was the first sunny day after a long snowy winter, and nothing changed the mood of New York like the sun. People poured out of their boxy apartments, put on their walking shoes, and went outside. To her right, Central Park was a green oasis. For a moment, when she looked at it, she saw her own past: the Quad at UW; kids running around, throwing Frisbees, playing hacky sack. It had been twenty years since she'd left the campus for the last time. So much life had happened in those years, but right now it all felt as close as her own shadow.

Smiling, she shook her head to clear it. She'd have to call Katie tonight and tell her about this senior moment.

She was just about to start walking again when she saw him.

Down a low green hillside, standing on the paved path, watching two teenage girls roller-skate around him.

"Chad."

It was the first time she'd said his name aloud in years and it tasted as sweet as almond liquor. Just the sight of him peeled back the carapace of years and made her feel young again.

She walked down to the start of the path and turned toward him. A huge tree spread out above her like an umbrella, blocking out the sunlight, making her instantly cold.

What would she say to him after all these years? What would he say to her? The last time they'd been together he'd asked her to marry him; they'd never seen each other again. He'd known her so well then, enough that he hadn't stuck around to be told no. But they'd loved each other. With the wisdom of time and the passing of years, she knew that. She knew, too, that love didn't evaporate. It faded, perhaps, lost its weight like bones left out in the sun, but it didn't go away.

It occurred to her suddenly, sharply, that she wanted to be in love. Like Johnny and Kate. She wanted not to feel so damned alone in the world.

She faltered only once as she walked toward him. Out of the shadows and into the sunlight.

And there he was, standing in front of her, the man she'd never quite been able to evict from her dreams. She said his name aloud, too quietly for him to hear.

He looked up and saw her, his smile fading slowly. "Tully?"

She saw his mouth move and felt him say her name, but just then a dog barked and a pair of skateboarders rumbled past her.

And then he was moving toward her. It was like every movie she'd ever seen, every dream she'd ever had. He pulled her into his arms and held her.

Too soon, though, he let go of her and stepped back. "I knew I'd see you again."

"You always had more faith than I did."

"Almost everyone does," he said, smiling. "So how are you?"

"I'm on CBS. I do—"

"Believe me," he said gently, "I know. I'm proud of you, Tully. I always knew you'd get to the top." He studied her for a long time, then said, "How's Katie?"

"She married Johnny. I hardly see them lately."

"Ah," he said, nodding as if a question had been answered.

She felt exposed by his glance. "Ah, what?"

"You're lonely. The world isn't enough after all."

She frowned up at him. They were standing so close that the merest move would be a kiss, but she couldn't imagine crossing that small distance. He looked younger than she remembered, more handsome. "How do you do that?" she whispered.

"Do what?"

"Dad, watch this!"

As if from far away, Tully heard the girl's voice. She turned slowly around, saw two young women roller-skating toward them. She'd been wrong before; they were older than teenagers. One was the spitting image of Chad—sharp features, black hair, eyes that crinkled when she smiled.

But it was the other woman who held her attention. Maybe thirty, thirty-five, with a bright smile and a ready laugh. She wore the colors of a tourist: brand-new jeans, thick pink cable-knit sweater, aqua-blue hat and gloves.

"My daughter. She's in grad school at NYU," Chad said. "And Clarissa. The woman I live with."

"You still live in Nashville?" It was like rolling a log uphill, pushing those words out. The last thing she wanted was to make ordinary conversation with him. "Still teaching bright-eyed believers about the news?"

He took her by the shoulders, turned her to face him. "You didn't want me, Tully," he said, and this time she heard the gruffness of deep emotion in his voice. "I was ready to love you forever, but—"

"Don't. Please."

He touched her cheek in a fleeting, almost desperate caress.

"I should have come to Tennessee with you," she said.

He shook his head. "You have big dreams. That was one of the things I loved most about you."

"Loved," she said, knowing it was foolish to be hurt.

"Some things just don't happen."

She nodded. "Especially when you're too afraid to let them."

He took her in his arms again and held her with more passion in that instant than Grant had tendered in years. She waited for a kiss that never came. Instead, he let her go, then took her arm and walked her back up to the road.

In the sudden coldness of shade, she shivered and leaned against him. "Give me some advice, Wiley. I seem to have screwed up my life."

Out on the sunny sidewalk, he faced her again. "You're successful beyond your wildest dreams and it still isn't enough."

She winced at the look in his eyes. "I guess I should have stopped to smell a few of those flowers. Hell, I didn't even see them."

"You're not alone, Tully. Everyone has people in their life. A family."

"I guess you've forgotten Cloud."

"Or maybe you have."

"What do you mean?"

He glanced down to the park, where his daughter was holding hands with his girlfriend; one was teaching the other to skate backward. "I lost a lot of years with my daughter. One day I just decided it had been too long and I went to find her."

"You always were an optimist."

"That's the funny thing. So were you." He leaned down, kissed her on the cheek, and drew back. "Keep lighting the world on fire, Tully," he said, and then walked away.

They were almost the exact same words he'd written to her all those years ago. She hadn't recognized the sad desperation in them when they were letters on a piece of paper. Now she saw the truth: they were both an encouragement and an indictment. What good did it do to light the world on fire if she had to watch the glow alone?

If there was one thing Tully had always done well, it was to ignore unpleasantness. For most of her life she'd been able to box up bad memories or disappointments and store them deep in the back of her mind, in a place so dark they couldn't be seen. Sure, she dreamed about the bad times, and woke occasionally in a cold sweat with memories on the oily surface of consciousness, but when daylight came, she pushed those thoughts back into their hiding place and found it easy to forget.

But now, for the first time, she'd found something she could neither file away in the darkness nor forget.

Chad. Seeing him like that, standing there in her adopted city, had shaken her to the core. She couldn't seem to dislodge the memory. There was so much she hadn't said to him, hadn't asked.

In the three months since they'd run into each other, she found herself remembering every detail, going over the seconds like a forensic scientist, looking for clues to the meaning of it all. He became a kind of marker for everything she'd given up for this life of hers. The road she hadn't taken.

And even worse than all of that was the memory of what he'd said about Cloud. You're not alone, Tully. Everyone has a family. Those weren't precisely the words, but they were close enough. The gist of it.

Like a cancerous cell, the idea replicated in her mind and grew. She found herself thinking of Cloud, really thinking. She focused on the times her mother came back for her instead of the times she left. It was dangerous, Tully knew, to hang on to the positive when so much negative existed, and yet, she wondered suddenly if that had been her mistake. Had she been so intent on hating her mother, on shelving and forgetting the disappointments, that she'd missed the meaning of Cloud's many returns?

The thought of that, the hope of it, wouldn't fit in her box, wouldn't remain in the dark.

Finally, she quit running from the idea and sat down and studied it. That had led her to this strange and frightening journey. She had taken two weeks off of work, called it a vacation, packed a suitcase, and boarded a plane heading west.

A little less than eight hours after she left Manhattan, she was on Bainbridge Island, pulling up to the Ryan house in a sleek black limousine.

Now Tully stood in the driveway, listening to the car drive away, tires crunching on gravel. From beyond the house, in the backyard, she could hear waves washing onto the pea-gravel beach. That meant the tide was coming in. On this beautiful sunny early summer afternoon, the old-fashioned farmhouse looked like something out of a photo album of the Good Life. A fresh coat of stain made the shingles look like caramel and the white, glossy trim caught the sunlight and kept it. Flowers ran riot through the yard, creating bursts of color everywhere she looked. Toys and bikes lay scattered about, reminding her sharply of the old days, back when they'd been the Firefly Lane girls. Their bikes had been magic carpets to another world.

Come on, Katie. Let go.

Tully smiled. She hadn't thought about that summer in years. 1974. The beginning of it all. Meeting Kate had changed her life, and all because they'd dared to reach out for each other, dared to say, I want to be your friend.

She walked up the weed-veined concrete path to the front door. Even before she got to the stoop, she could hear the noise coming from within. It didn't surprise her. According to Kate, the first half of 2003 had been wild and crazy. Marah hadn't eased into the teen years; she'd lurched. And the boys had gone from loud, into-everything toddlers to louder, even more destructive five-year-olds. Every time Tully called, it seemed, Kate was driving someone somewhere.

Tully rang the doorbell. Normally, of course, she'd just walk in, but normally, she'd be expected. This trip had been so spur-of-the-moment that she hadn't called ahead. To be honest, she hadn't really expected to make it. She'd thought she'd chicken out along the way. But here she was.

The sound of footsteps shook the old house. Then the door opened and Marah stood there. "Aunt Tully!" she shrieked, launching herself forward.

Tully caught her goddaughter and held her tightly. When they drew apart, she stared at the girl in front of her, a little nonplussed. It had been only seven or eight months since she'd seen Marah—a blip of time—and yet the girl in front of her was a stranger. A near-woman, Marah was taller than Tully, with milky pale skin, penetrating brown eyes, lush black hair that fell in a waterfall down her back, and cheekbones to die for. "Marah Rose," she said. "You're all grown up. And you're gorgeous. Have you tried modeling?"

Marah's smile made her even more breathtakingly beautiful. "Really? My mom thinks I'm a baby."

Tully laughed. "You, my dear, are no baby." Before she could say more, Johnny came down the stairs, holding a squirming boy in each arm. Halfway down, he saw her and stopped. Then he smiled. "You shouldn't have let her in, Marah. She's got a suitcase."

Tully laughed and closed the door behind her.

"Katie," Johnny yelled up the stairs. "You better come down here. You won't believe who has come to visit." He put the boys down on the floor at the base of the steps and went to Tully, drawing her into his arms. She couldn't help thinking how good it felt simply to be held. It had been a long time.

"Tully!" Kate's voice rose above the other sounds in the room as she hurried down the stairs and pulled Tully into a hug. When Kate drew back, she was smiling.

"Now, what in the hell are you doing here? Don't you know I need notice for one of your trips? Now you'll give me crap about the haircut I need and the foil I missed."

"Don't forget the makeup you don't have on. But I could give you a makeover. I'm good at that. It's a gift."

The past enveloped them, made them laugh.

Kate linked arms with Tully and led her to the sofa. There, with her suitcase positioned at the door like a bodyguard, they spent at least an hour catching up on each others' lives. At around three o'clock they moved their little party to the backyard, where the boys and Marah competed with Kate for Tully's attention. When darkness began to fall, Johnny fired up the barbeque, and on a picnic table in the grass, beneath a dome of stars and beside the placid Sound, Tully had her first home-cooked meal in months. Afterward, they played a rousing game of Candy Land with the boys. While Kate and Johnny were upstairs putting the twins to bed, Tully sat out in the backyard with Marah, each wrapped against the night's chill in yet another of Mrs. Mularkey's famous afghans.

"What's it like to be famous?"

Tully hadn't really thought about that in years; she'd simply taken it for granted. "It's pretty great, actually. You always get the best tables, get into all the best places; people give you free stuff all the time. Everyone waits for you. And since I'm a journalist instead of a movie star, the paparazzi leave me alone for the most part."

"Parties?"

Tully smiled. "It's been a while since I cared about parties, but yeah, I get invited to a lot of them. And don't forget the clothes. Designers send me dresses all the time. All I have to do is wear them."

"Wow," Marah said. "That is so totally cool."

Behind them, a screen door screeched open and banged closed. There was the sound of something—a table, maybe—being dragged across the deck. Then the music started. Jimmy Buffet, "Margaritaville."

"You know what that means," Kate said, appearing beside them with two margaritas.

Marah immediately whined, "I'm old enough to stay up. Besides, there's no school tomorrow. It's a teacher contract day."

"Bedtime, little one," Kate said, bending down to offer Tully a drink.

Marah looked at Tully as if to say, See? I told you she thinks I'm a baby. Tully couldn't help laughing. "Your mom and I were once in a hurry to grow up, too. We used to sneak out of the house and steal my mother's—"

"Tully," Kate said sharply. "The old stories won't interest her."

"My mom sneaked out of the house? What did Grandma do?"

"She put her on restriction for life. And made her wear clothes from the sale rack at Fred Meyer," Tully answered.

Marah shuddered at the thought.

"Polyester," Kate added. "For an entire summer I was afraid to be near open flames."

"You two are lying to me," Marah said, crossing her arms.

"Us? Lie? Never," Tully said, taking a sip of her drink.

Marah got out of her chair, gave them a long-suffering sigh, and headed back into the house. As soon as the door banged shut, Tully and Kate laughed.

"Tell me we weren't like that," Tully said.

"My mom swears I was. You were little Miss Perfect around her. Until you got us arrested, that is."

"The first chink in the armor."

Laughing, Kate sat down in the Adirondack chair beside her, wrapping herself in one of her mom's afghans.

Tully hadn't realized how tense she'd been, how tight her neck and shoulders had become, until that moment, when she began to relax. As always, Kate was her safety net, her security blanket. With her best friend beside her, she could finally trust herself. She leaned back in her chair and stared up at the night sky. She'd never been one of those people who felt insignificant beneath the heavens, but suddenly she understood why some people did; it was a matter of perspective. She'd spent so much of her life in a rush for the finish line that she'd been left out of breath. If she'd paid a little more attention to the scenery and a little less to the goal line, she might not be here now, a forty-two-year-old single woman searching for the tattered remnant of a family.

"So, are you going to make me ask?" Kate finally said.

There was no point in hiding the truth, although she had an almost instinctive need to do just that. The music changed to ABBA, "Knowing Me, Knowing You." "I saw Chad," she said quietly.

"A few months ago, right? In Central Park?"

"Yeah."

"And seeing him then made you jump on a plane and fly out to see me now. I completely understand."

Before Tully could answer, the door opened behind them again and Johnny walked out, holding a beer. Dragging another chair over to where they were, he sat down. The three of them formed a ragged semicircle in the grassy yard and faced the dark Sound. Moonlight illuminated the waves that lapped against the sand. "Has she told you yet?"

"What are you two, telepaths?" Tully said. "I was just getting started."

"Actually," Kate said, "she reminded me that she saw Chad a couple of months ago."

"Ah," Johnny said, nodding as if that explained Tully's unexpected cross-country trip.

"What does that mean, ah?" she asked, irritated suddenly. It was exactly what Chad had done.

"He's your Moby-Dick," Johnny answered.

Tully gave him a look. "I never said a thing about his dick."

"Come on, Tully," Kate said, putting her hand on her husband's arm. "What's the matter?"

She looked at both of them, sitting so close together, a wife and husband who still laughed together and touched each other after so many years of marriage, and her chest felt tight with longing. "I'm tired of being alone," she finally said. She'd held the words back so long that when they finally came out they sounded worn, as polished as beach stones.

"What about Grant?" Johnny asked.

"I thought you said Chad lived with a woman," Kate said, leaning forward.

"This isn't really about Chad. I mean, it is, but not in the way you think. He pointed out that I have a family," Tully said.

Kate drew back. "You mean Cloud?"

"She's my mother."

"Biologically speaking. A reptile is a better parent, and they bury their eggs and leave."

"I know you're only trying to protect me, Kate, but it's easy for you to discount her. You have a family."

"She hurts you every time you see her."

"But she kept coming back. Maybe that meant something."

"She kept leaving, too," Kate said gently. "And each time it broke your heart."

"I'm stronger now."

"What are you two actually saying? It's like you're speaking in code," Johnny said.

"I want to go find her. I've got her last known address—I send money every month. I thought maybe if I could get her into a treatment program we'd have a chance."

"She's been in treatment a lot," Kate pointed out.

"I know, but never with support. Maybe that's all she needed."

"I'm hearing a lot of maybes," Kate said.

Tully looked from Kate to Johnny and finally back to Kate. "I know it's crazy and it probably won't work and no doubt I'll end up sobbing or drinking or both, but I'm tired of being so damned alone and I don't have a lover or kids to count on. What I do have is a mother, as flawed as she is. And Katie, I want you to come help me find her. It shouldn't take more than a few days."

Kate looked completely taken aback by that. "What?"

"I want to find her. I can't do it alone."

"But . . . I can't just leave for a few days. The elementary school carnival is tomorrow. I'm the games chairman. I have to be there to run the games and distribute the prizes."

Tully's breath came out in a rush of disappointment. "Oh. Well. What about this weekend?"

"I'm sorry, Tul. Really. Mom and I are running the church food drive on Saturday and Sunday. If I didn't show up it would be a real mess. On Monday and Tuesday I'm volunteering at the Parks and Rec Department, but maybe I could go with you for a few days at the end of next week."

"If I wait I won't go," Tully said, trying to gather the courage to do it alone. "I guess I can go by myself. I was just worried—"

"You should go with a crew," Johnny said.

Tully looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"You know, film it. You're a big star with a poor-little-rich-girl story. I don't mean to sound insensitive, but your viewers would love to go on this journey with you. My boss would skip on tacks to air it."

Tully turned the unexpected idea around in her head. It was dangerous for her, certainly; she could be humiliated by her mother. Then again, she could be triumphant, too. A mother-daughter reunion would be TV gold. It surprised her, frankly, that she hadn't thought of it herself. An intimate portrait like this could make her Q rating—her recognition factor—skyrocket. Was it worth the risk?

What she needed was a producer who cared about her.

She looked at Johnny. "Come with me," she said, angling toward him. "Be my producer."

Kate sat up straighter. "What?"

"Please, Johnny," Tully pleaded. "I need you if this is going to happen. I wouldn't trust anyone else. It'll give you national exposure. I'll call your boss. Fred and I are friends from way back. And like you said, he'd kill for an exclusive on it."

Johnny looked at his wife. "Katie?"

Tully held her breath, waiting for her friend's answer.

"It's up to you, Johnny," Kate said at last, though she didn't look happy about it.

Johnny sat back. "I'll talk to Fred. Assuming he's on board, we'll get started tomorrow. I'll call Bob Davies to run the camera." He grinned. "It'll be nice to get out of the station for a few days, anyway."

Tully laughed. "That's great."

The screen door banged open; Marah rushed out into the yard. "Can I go with you, Daddy? There's no school tomorrow, and you said you wanted me to see you work sometime."

Tully took Marah's hand, pulled her goddaughter down into her lap. "That's a fantastic idea. That way you'll get to see what a great producer your dad is and your mom won't have to worry about you while she's volunteering at school."

Beside her, Kate groaned.

She turned to her best friend. "It's okay, isn't it, Katie? It's just a few days. And besides, it will show Marah how lucky she is to have you for a mom. I'll have her back in time for school on Monday. I promise."

Johnny stood up and flipped his cell phone open. Punching in numbers, he walked into the house. His voice started strong and trailed away as he went inside. "Fred? Johnny here. Sorry to bother you, but . . ."

"Kate?" Tully said, leaning close. "Tell me it's okay."

Her best friend's smile was slow in coming. "Sure, Tully. Take my whole family if you want."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

You always get hurt by her," Kate said, hours later, when the lights of Seattle, shimmering between the black Sound and the starless sky, had begun to darken.

Tully sighed, staring at the foamy rope of water breaking along the shore. It was barely visible. Finishing her third margarita, she put the empty glass on the grass beside her. "I know."

Tully fell silent. In truth, her head was spinning and she was beginning to worry about this idea of hers.

"Why Johnny?" Kate finally asked. She sounded hesitant, as if perhaps she hadn't meant to say it out loud.

"He'll protect me. If I say cut, he'll cut. If I say throw it in the trash, he will."

"I don't think so."

"He will. For me. And d'you know why?"

"Why?"

"You." She lurched awkwardly to her feet, unwilling to analyze this decision anymore.

Kate was beside her in an instant, steadying her.

"What would I do without you, Katie?" Tully said, leaning against her best friend.

"We'll never have to find out. Come on, now, I'll help you to your room. You need some sleep."

Kate maneuvered her into the house and down the hall to the guest bedroom.

There, Tully fell into bed, staring blearily up at her best friend. Now, with the room tumbling around her, she realized how stupid an idea this documentary was, how firmly she'd planted herself in harm's way. She could be hurt . . . again. If only she had Kate's life; then Tully wouldn't have to take this risk.

"You're so lucky," she murmured, starting to fall asleep. "Johnny . . ." She meant to continue and the kids love you, but the words got tangled up in her head and before she could finish she was crying, and then she was asleep.

The next morning she woke with a blinding headache. It took her longer than usual to do her hair and makeup—and Johnny yelling at her to hurry didn't help—but finally she was ready to go.

Johnny pulled Kate into a hug and kissed her. "It shouldn't take more than two days," he said in a voice so quiet Tully knew she wasn't supposed to be able to hear. "We'll be back before you can miss us."

"It'll feel like longer," Kate said. "I already miss you."

"Come on, Mommy," Marah said sharply. "We need to go. Right, Aunt Tully?"

"Give your mom a kiss goodbye," Johnny said.

Marah dutifully went to Kate and kissed her. Kate held her daughter until she started to squirm, then let her go.

Tully felt a clutch of jealousy at their intimacy; they were such a beautiful family.

Johnny led Marah out to the car and began loading their suitcases into the back.

Tully looked at Kate. "You'll be here, right? In case I need to call?"

"I'm always here, Tully. That's why they call it being an at-home mom."

"Very funny." Tully glanced down at her stuff. On top was a pile of notes she'd taken in the most recent phone conversation with her lawyer. It was a list of the last addresses they had for Cloud. "Okay, then. I'm out of here." She grabbed her bag and went out to the car.

When they reached the end of the driveway, she twisted around in her seat.

There was Kate, still standing at the front door, with two little boys hanging on to her, waving goodbye.

Their first stop, only two hours later, was at a mobile home park in Fall City. Cloud's last known address. But her mother had apparently moved out a week ago and no one yet had a forwarding address. The man they spoke to thought Cloud had moved to a campground in Issaquah.

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 524