SUMMER INTERNSHIP POSITIONS/DEPARTMENT 23 page

Best of all was: she owned it. Sure, she shared ownership with Syndiworld and the Ryans had a small piece, but she was the powerhouse. As anyone knew, half as successful as Oprah was damned successful.

Now she sat in her office, going over the notes for the taping that would start in—she looked up at the clock—twenty-five minutes.

This was one of her celebrity shows. A smiling, don't-we-just-love-each-other interview. To be honest, there was still enough of the journalist left in Tully to bristle at these segments, but the businesswoman overruled her. The public simply couldn't get close enough to their stars these days. Johnny put up with these segments in exchange for his change-the-world bits.

There was a knock on the door, then a respectful, "Ms. Hart?"

She spun around in her chair. "Yes?"

"Your goddaughter is here. For the take-your-daughter-to-work segment?"

"Great!" Tully shot to her feet. "Let her in."

The door opened farther, revealing Johnny, who stood there dressed in faded jeans and a navy blue cashmere sweater. "Hey," he said.

"Hey."

Beside him, Marah couldn't keep still, she was so excited. "Hi, Aunt Tully. Daddy said I could be with you all day."

Tully walked over to them. "I couldn't ask for a better daughter. You ready to see what it's like to make a show work?"

"I can hardly wait."

Tully turned to Johnny, realizing a second too late that she was too close. She could see a tiny place by his ear where he'd missed shaving.

"I'll be in my office if you need me. Don't buy her a car or a horse while she's here."

"How about something small?"

"Normally I'd say fine, but with you small could be a diamond."

"I was thinking of a Girlfriend Hour tote bag."

"Perfect."

Tully smiled up at him. "You're my producer. You have to say I'm perfect."

He stared down at her. "The whole world thinks you're perfect."

A lot of years were suddenly between them, conversations and moments and opportunities she'd walked away from. At least that was what she was thinking about; she no longer knew him well enough to read his expressions. Even though they worked together every day, they were always surrounded by people and focused on work. On the weekends, when she went to his house, he was Katie's husband, and Tully kept her distance.

He didn't move, didn't smile.

Tully smiled and backed away, hoping her smile looked real. "Come on, Marah, let's go play mother/daughter. I have Lindsay Lohan in the green room. You can ask her how she got started."

On a bright Wednesday in the first full week of September, Kate stood on the sidewalk outside of Ordway Elementary School. The parking lot, which only moments before had been clogged with buses pulling up to the curb and cars—mostly SUVs and minivans—inching through the carpool lane, was now empty and quiet. The bell had rung and fallen silent; the principal had gone back inside the squat, low-roofed brick building to start his day. Directly overhead, two flags flapped in the early autumn breeze.

"Are you still crying?" Tully tried to sound reassuring, but her voice was too honest for that. There was the merest hint of laughter behind the words.

"Bite me, and I mean that in the nicest possible way."

"Come on, I'm taking you home."

"But . . ." Kate glanced at the window at the far end of the school. "One of them might need me."

"They're going into kindergarten, not open-heart surgery, and you've got things to do."

Kate sighed, wiping her eyes. "I know it's stupid."

Tully squeezed her hand. "It's not stupid. I remember my first day of school. I was so jealous of the kids who had moms that cried."

"I really appreciate you being here for me today. I know how hard it is for you to leave the studio."

"My producer gave me the day off," she said with a smile. "I think he has the hots for my best friend."

Together, they walked down the tree-lined sidewalk to their parking spot. Kate climbed into the driver's seat of her new blue SUV and started up the engine.

Tully immediately leaned forward in her own seat and popped a CD into the stereo. Rick Springfield's voice blared through the speakers, singing "Jessie's Girl."

Kate laughed. By the time they'd driven out of the school lot, stopped at the coffee stand drive-through for their lattes, and arrived back home, she definitely felt better.

In her messy, toy-strewn living room, she collapsed into Johnny's favorite overstuffed chair and put her feet up on the ottoman. "What now, fearless leader? Are we going shopping?"

"In the ridiculous three hours we have, not likely. You should have put them in the all-day program."

Kate had heard it before. "I'm well aware of your opinion on that. I happen to like my kids around me."

"Actually, I have a better plan, anyway." Tully flopped down on the sofa. "We're going to talk about your writing."

Kate almost dropped her latte. "M-my writing?"

"You always said you were going to start writing again when the boys were in school."

"Give me some time, will you? They just started. Let's talk about the show instead. Johnny tells me that—"

"I can see through your feeble tactics. You think I'll forget everything else if you talk about me."

"It's usually true."

"Touché. So, what will you write about?"

Kate felt exposed suddenly. "It's an old dream, Tully."

"Well, you're getting old, so it's perfect."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a coldhearted bitch?"

"Only the men who date me. Come on, Katie. Talk to me. I see how tired you are all the time. I know you need something more in your life."

This was the last thing that Kate would have expected; that Tully, as on top of the world as she was, would notice her depression. At the realization, the fight went out of her. In truth, she was exhausted lately by the pretense, anyway. "It's more than just that. I feel . . . lost. What I have should be enough, but somehow it isn't. And Marah is wearing me down. Everything I do is wrong. I love her so much and she treats me like last year's shoes."

"It's the age."

"That excuse is wearing a little thin. Maybe I should let her take the modeling class she's so jazzed about. I just hate to think of her in a world like that."

"P.S.: We're talking about you, here," Tully said. "Look, Katie, I don't know what you're going through, but I know about wanting more. Sometimes you have to fight for the thing that will complete you."

"Says the woman who has to borrow my family when she needs one."

Tully smiled. "We're quite a pair, aren't we?"

For the first time in what felt like forever, Kate laughed. "We always have been. I'll tell you what: I'll think about writing if you think about falling in love."

Tully looked at her. "Maybe it would be easier to think about spending the day on the beach." She paused. "I haven't heard from Grant since I moved out here."

"I know," Kate said. "I'm sorry. But I don't think he was the one for you. If you two had been right for each other you'd have fallen in love."

"That's what people like you think," Tully said quietly, and then brightened. "Come on, let's make margaritas."

"Now you're talking. I'll get drunk on the first day of kindergarten, and in the morning, no less. Perfect."

The Ordway Halloween Carnival was only seven days away and Kate had foolishly volunteered to design and make the photograph staging area. Between shopping for supplies, painting the backdrops, and building the faux haunted house set, she was overwhelmed with work. Add to that driving responsibilities that came with getting Marah to her modeling class, and she was emotionally close to the edge most of the time.

But she was supposed to be writing her book. Johnny and Tully and Mom expected it of her. She expected it of herself. She'd been certain that once the boys started school she'd find the time.

Unfortunately, she'd forgotten the kindergarten timetable. Frankly, she'd barely dropped the boys off before it was time to pick them up, and Johnny, who'd always been so much help, now spent more waking hours at the studio than he did at home.

So Kate did what she'd always done: she kept moving, hoping no one would notice that she didn't smile as easily as she used to, or sleep as well.

This morning at six o'clock, she kissed Johnny awake, then went down the hall to waken Marah. From that moment on, she was caught in the whirlpool of other people's needs. She drove carpool and went shopping and met the decorating committee for an hour of hammer-and-nails-type work.

She got so caught up in the work she almost missed picking up the boys. Late, she ran for her SUV and sped across the island, pulling into the pickup lane as most of the cars were leaving. She honked at the boys and waved them over.

Her phone rang. "Hello?" she answered, reaching behind her to unlock the back door.

"Mom?" Marah said.

"What's wrong?"

Marah laughed, but it was definitely contrived. "Nothing. I don't want you to spaz out, but I'm scheduling a family meeting for seven o'clock tonight."

"A what?"

"A family meeting. Well, sort of. I don't want Lucas or William there."

"Let me get this straight: you want to have a meeting with your dad and me at seven."

"And Tully."

"What trouble are you in?"

"Way to believe the worst in me. I just want to talk."

A thirteen-year-old girl wanting to talk to her parents? Specifically, Marah wanting to talk to Kate? That was like a snowfall in July. "Okay," Kate said slowly. "You sure you're not in trouble?"

"I'm sure. See you. 'Bye."

Kate stared at the phone in her hand. "What's going on?" she wondered aloud, but before an answer floated to the surface, the car door behind her opened, the boys climbed into the backseat, and Kate was tossed onto the surf of her everyday life.

There was shopping to do, and cooking, and at three she was back in the carpool lane, picking up Marah.

"You sure you don't want to talk about something now?" she asked.

Marah sat slouched against the window in the passenger seat, with her long black hair covering most of her downcast face. As usual, she wore low-rise jeans, flip-flops (even though it was raining), a skimpy pink T-shirt, and a surly expression. The expression was the one accessory she never left home without.

"If I wanted to talk now I wouldn't have scheduled a meeting. Sheesh. Get a clue, Mom."

Kate knew she shouldn't let her daughter talk to her like that, and usually she didn't, but today she didn't feel like fighting, so she let it go.

At home, Kate went straight up to her bathroom, took two aspirin, and changed into her sweats. Ignoring her headache, she got the boys settled at the kitchen table with their sticker books and started dinner.

Before she knew it, it was six o'clock and Johnny opened the door. "Hey," he said, ushering Tully into the house. "Look who came home with me for the big meeting."

Kate looked up from the tacos she was making. "Hey, you two." She covered the saucepan and turned the stove's heat down to low, then went out to meet them. "You don't know what's going on, do you?"

"Me? I hardly know anything," Tully said.

After that, the evening seemed alternately to drag and to fly. Kate watched her daughter all through dinner, trying to glean a hint about what was to come, but by the end of the meal she was no closer to an answer than she'd been this afternoon.

"Okay," Marah finally said at almost exactly seven o'clock when the dishes were done and the boys were upstairs watching a movie. She stood by the fireplace, looking both nervous and young. "Aunt Tully thought I should be—"

"Tully knows what this is about?" Kate asked.

"Uh. No," Marah said quickly. "Just in general, she thinks I shouldn't throw stuff at you. I should be respectful and let you know how much something matters to me."

Kate glanced at Johnny, who rolled his eyes in response.

"So, here it is," Marah said, wringing her hands together. "There's a conference in New York in November that I just have to go to. It's where a bunch of agents and photographers come looking for models. Tully thinks Eileen Ford could definitely pick me. And my modeling class teacher invited me personally."

Kate sat there, too stunned to speak right away. New York. Tully thinks . . . Invited me personally. Which arrow should she pull out first?

"I assume this costs money," Johnny said.

"Oh. Right." Marah nodded. "Three thousand dollars, but it's a bargain at that price. Everyone who is anyone will be there."

"And the dates?"

"November fourteenth through the twenty-first."

"During school?" Kate said sharply.

"It's just a week—" Marah began, but Kate cut her off.

"Just a week? Are you kidding?"

Marah glanced nervously at Tully. "I can take my homework and do it at night and on the plane, but if I get discovered, I wouldn't need to finish high school anyway. I'd have tutors."

"How many of the kids in your modeling class were invited to attend?" Johnny asked, sounding calm and reasonable.

"Everyone," Marah answered.

"Everyone?" Kate got to her feet. "Everyone? That's not anything special, then, it's some racket to wring money out of us. You actually think—"

"Kate," Johnny said, giving her The Look.

She yanked hard on her temper, took a deep breath. "I didn't mean that, Marah. I just . . . you can't miss a week of school, and three thousand dollars is a lot of money."

"I'll pay it," Tully said.

Kate had never wanted to hit her best friend more. "She can't miss school."

"I could—"

Kate held up a hand for silence. "Don't say more," she said to Tully.

Marah burst into tears. "See?" she yelled at Tully. "She thinks I'm a baby and she won't let me do anything."

Johnny got to his feet. "Marah, come on, you're thirteen years old."

"Brooke Shields and Kate Moss were millionaires by fourteen because their mothers loved them, right, Tully?" She wiped her eyes and looked at Johnny. "Please, Daddy?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, honey."

Marah spun on her heel and ran upstairs; all the way up, until she slammed her bedroom door, they could hear her crying.

"I'll go talk to her," Johnny said, sighing as he headed for the stairs.

Kate turned to her best friend. "Are you insane?"

"It's a modeling school, not a crack house."

"Damn it, Tully, she doesn't need to be in that screwed-up world. I've told you that before. It's dangerous."

"I'll help her through it. I'll go with her."

Kate was so mad she could hardly breathe. Once again Tully had made Kate look bad in front of Marah, and frankly, she didn't need any help screwing up her relationship with her daughter. "You're not her mother. I am. You can whoop it up with her and have a blast and live like the world is your Never-Never Land. It's my job to keep her safe."

"Safe isn't everything," Tully said. "Sometimes you have to take a risk. Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

"Tully, you don't know what in the hell you're talking about. My thirteen-year-old daughter is not going to New York City on some scam of a modeling trip, and you are certainly not going to chaperone her. The subject is closed."

"Fine," Tully said. "I was just trying to help."

Kate heard the hurt in her friend's voice, but she was too tired, and this was too important, to let herself yield. "Fine. And next time my daughter comes to you with a plan that includes skipping a week of school or modeling in a faraway place, I would appreciate it if you'd let me discuss it with her."

"But you don't. You two just scream at each other. Even Johnny says—"

"You've talked to Johnny about this?"

"He's worried about you and Marah. He says it's like World War II around here some nights."

That was about the third sucker punch tonight, and it hurt so much she said, "You better leave, Tully. This is a family matter."

"But . . . I thought I was family."

"Goodnight," Kate said quietly, then walked out of the room.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Tully should have gone straight home and tried to forget the whole thing, but by the time the ferry pulled back into downtown Seattle, she was a wreck. Instead of turning left on Alaskan Way, she turned right and hit the gas.

In record time she was in Snohomish, driving past the altered landmarks of her youth. The town was a tourist stop now, full of trendy cafés and upscale antique shops.

None of it mattered much to her; what changed, what stayed the same . . . she didn't care. Even under the best of circumstances, she was only barely connected to the yesterdays of her life, and tonight was far from the best of circumstances. Still, when she turned onto Firefly Lane, it was like rocketing into the past.

She turned onto the paved driveway and drove up to the small white farmhouse with the glossy black trim. Over the years Mrs. Mularkey had turned the ragged yard into an English-style garden full of flowers. In this late autumn, the whole garden seemed to glow golden. The yard and hanging baskets were a riot of red geraniums, visible in the orangey porch light.

Tully parked the car and went to the front door, ringing the bell.

Mr. M. answered, and for a second there, standing on the porch, looking up at him, Tully felt her whole life flash before her eyes. He looked older, of course, with a vanishing hairline and an expanding waistline, but dressed as he was in a white T-shirt and worn jeans, he looked so much like he used to that she felt young again, too. "Hey, Mr. M."

"You're here late. Everything okay?"

"I just needed to talk to Mrs. M. I won't stay long."

"You know you're welcome to stay as long as you want." He stepped back to let her in, then went to the base of the stairs and yelled up, "Margie, come on down. Trouble's here." He flashed Tully a smile that coaxed out one of her own.

In no time, Mrs. M. came down the stairs, zipping up the red velour robe she'd worn for as long as Tully had known her. No matter how many expensive robe-and-nightgown sets Tully sent Mrs. M. over the years, this old red one remained her favorite. "Tully," she said, pulling off her big beige-rimmed bifocals. "Is everything okay?"

There was no point in lying. "Not really."

Mrs. M. went straight to the wet bar in the living room—an addition in the late eighties—and poured two glasses of wine. Handing one to Tully, she led the way into the living room and sat down on the new leopard-print sofa. Behind their heads the wall was full of family photos now. Jesus and Elvis still held center stage, but around them were dozens of school photos of Marah and the twins; Johnny and Kate's wedding pictures; Sean's graduate school graduation photos; and a few here and there of Tully. "Okay, what's the problem?"

Tully sat down in the newest edition of Mr. Mularkey's favorite recliner. "Kate is mad at me."

"Why?"

"Marah called me last week and wanted to talk to me about a modeling thing in New York—"

"Oh, boy."

"I offered to help her talk to her folks about it, but the second Kate heard about it, she went wacko. She refused to even listen to Marah."

"Marah is thirteen years old."

"That's old enough to—"

"No," Mrs. M. said crisply, then she smiled gently. "I know you're just trying to help, Tully, but Kate's right to try to protect Marah."

"Marah hates her."

"That's how it seems with thirteen-year-old girls and their mothers. You don't know, maybe, because Cloud was so different, but girls and their mothers often go through a rough patch. You don't make it better by giving the kids everything they want."

"I'm not suggesting they should give her everything, but she has real talent. I think she could be a supermodel."

"And if she were, what would happen?"

"She'd be rich and famous. She could be a millionaire by seventeen."

Mrs. M. leaned forward. "You're mega-rich, right?"

"Right."

"Does that make you whole? Is success worth what Marah would give up for it—her childhood, her innocence, her family? I have watched some of those made-for-TV movies about young models. There's all kinds of drugs and sex and such around them."

"I'd watch out for her. What matters is that she has found something she loves. That should be nurtured, not ignored. And I'm afraid Marah and Kate won't find their way back. You should hear how Marah talks about her."

"You're worried about Marah," Mrs. M. said, eyeing Tully over the rim of her glass. "I think you're looking at the wrong player. Kate is the one who needs you now."

"Kate?"

"The problems with Marah are eating her up alive. Those two have to figure out how to talk to each other without screaming or crying." She looked at Tully. "And you need to be Katie's friend first."

"Are you saying it's my fault?"

"Of course not. I'm saying that Katie needs her best friend beside her. You two have always been each other's armor and sword. I know how much Marah idolizes you—and how much you like to be idolized." She smiled knowingly. "But you can't take sides in this unless it's Katie's."

"I just wanted to—"

"She's not your daughter."

And there it was. Tully hadn't realized until just now, this second, what had driven her to get so involved. She loved Marah, sure, but there was more to it than that, wasn't there? And Mrs. M. had seen it. Marah was the perfect child for Tully—gorgeous, ambitious, a little selfish. Best of all, she thought Tully was flawless. "So, what do I say to Marah?"

"That she has her whole life in front of her. If she's as good and talented as you believe, she'll make it when she's old enough to handle it."

Tully sat back in the recliner, sighing. "How long do you think Kate will stay mad at me?"

Mrs. M. laughed. "You two have more ups and downs than an Internet stock. Everything will be fine. Just quit trying to be Marah's best friend and be there for Katie."

Kate never tired of the view from her own back porch. Tonight, on this crisp late October evening, the sky above Seattle was an endless, star-filled black. In the glorious moonlight, every skyscraper looked sharp and distinct, so much so it was easy to imagine you could actually see the individual squares of glass and granite and steel.

Sounds were clearer here by the water as well. Maple leaves turned color and fell from the nearby trees, landing like quickened footsteps on the marshy ground; squirrels scurried from branch to branch, no doubt gathering their food for a cold they sensed was drawing near, and as always there was the tide, moving forward and back against the shore with a rhythm connected to the faraway moon. Here, on her back porch, only the seasons changed, and each gave the landscape an amazing new look.

Only a few feet behind her, through an antique wooden door, the changes came fast enough to leave you breathless. Her teenage daughter was sprouting like a tree, blooming every day into another variation of who she would someday become. Moods twisted her up and left her looking sometimes like a girl who'd just washed up onshore, unable to quite remember who she was and who she wanted to be.

Kate's baby boys were growing up, too. Kindergartners now, they were beginning to make their own friends and choose their own clothes and selectively answer her questions. In the blink of an eye, they, too, would be approaching adolescence, pinning magazine pictures to their bedroom walls and demanding privacy.

So fast . . .

She stood on the porch a few minutes longer, until the sky was charcoal-gray and the stars appeared above the distant city, then she went back inside, locking the door behind her.

The house was quiet, empty downstairs. As she made her way through the living room, she picked up several toy dinosaurs that lay scattered in front of the TV.

Upstairs, she turned the doorknob quietly, opening the door to the boys' room, expecting to see them sleeping. What she saw was a tent of sheets on William's bed, and the telltale light from a flashlight glowing through the red and blue Star Wars images.

"I know two little boys who are supposed to be asleep."

Giggles erupted from the makeshift tent.

Lucas was the first to emerge. With his spiky black hair and gap-toothed grin, he looked like Peter Pan being caught by Wendy. "Hi, Mommy."

"Lucas," William hissed from inside, "pretend you're sleeping."

Kate went to the bed and gently pulled the sheets back.

William stared up at her, flashlight in one hand, gray plastic T. rex in the other. "Oops," he said, then laughed.

Kate opened her arms. "Give Mommy a hug."

They launched themselves at her, enthusiastic as always. She held them tightly, smelling the sweet, familiar baby shampoo scent of their hair. "Do you guys need another bedtime story?"

"Read us about Max, Mommy," Lucas said.

Kate reached for the book and settled in her usual position—seated against the headboard, legs stretched out, with a boy tucked on either side of her. Then she opened Where the Wild Things Are and began to read. Max was halfway through his adventure when they fell asleep.

She tucked William in, kissed his cheek, and carried Lucas to his bed. "'Night, Mommy," he murmured as she put him down.

"'Night." She turned off the flashlight and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Across the hall, Marah's door was shut; a slice of light ran beneath it.

She paused, wanting to go in, but it would just start another fight. Nothing Kate said or did was right anymore, and in the weeks since the modeling fiasco, it had grown even more tense. Instead, she knocked on the door, said, "Lights out, Marah," and waited for her daughter to comply.

Then she walked down the hall and went into her own room.

Johnny was already in bed, reading. At her entrance, he glanced up. "You look exhausted."

"Marah," was all she said. All she had to say.

"I think it's more than that."

"What do you mean?"

Taking off his glasses, he set them on the nightstand and began gathering up the papers spread out around him. Without looking up, he said, "Tully tells me you're still mad at her."

Kate could tell by his voice and the studious way he avoided looking at her that he'd wanted to mention this for a while. Men, she thought. You had to be an anthropologist, studying clues to know what they were thinking. "She's the one who hasn't called."

"But you're the one who is mad."

Kate couldn't deny that. "Not crazy-mad or pissed off, just irritated. That crap she pulled with Marah's modeling . . . she could at least have admitted she was wrong."

"Tully, apologize?"

Kate couldn't help smiling. "I know. I know. But how come I always have to be the one to let things go? How come I always have to make the first call?"

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 540