SUMMER INTERNSHIP POSITIONS/DEPARTMENT 28 page

"So that my crew can enjoy the holidays with their families?" she said bitterly. "I do."

"I know you're usually busy with that friend of yours—"

"Not this year."

"Good. Then maybe you'd like to come to the Antarctic with me. I'm doing a documentary on global warming. I think it's an important story, Tully. Someone of your stature would get it watched."

The offer was a Godsend. A moment before she'd been wanting to get away from her own life. You couldn't get much farther than Antarctica. "How long will we be gone?"

"Six weeks; seven at the most. You could fly back and forth, but it's a hell of a trip."

"Sounds perfect. I need to get away. How soon can we leave?"

Naked, Kate stood in front of the mirror in her bathroom, studying her body. All her life she'd been engaged in a guerrilla-type war with her reflection. Her thighs had always been too fleshy, no matter how much weight she lost, and her tummy pooched out after three kids. She did sit-ups at the gym, but still her middle sagged. She'd stopped wearing sleeveless shirts about three years ago—arm jiggle. And her breasts . . . Since the boys' births, she'd started wearing heavier-molded, less sexy bras, that was for sure, and she tightened the straps to pull her boobs into place.

Now, though, when she looked at herself, she saw how little all of that mattered, what a waste of time it had been.

She stepped closer, practicing the words she'd chosen, rehearsing. If ever there was a moment in her life that required strength, this was it.

She reached for the pile of clothes on the counter and began dressing. She'd chosen a pretty pink cashmere V-neck sweater—a Christmas present from the kids last year—and a worn, soft-as-lambskin pair of Levi's. Then she brushed her hair, pulled it away from her face and made a ponytail. She even put on some makeup. It was important that she look healthy for what was to come. When there was nothing else she could do, she left the bathroom and went into her bedroom.

Johnny, who'd been seated on the end of the bed, stood quickly and turned to her. She could see how hard he was trying to be strong. Already his eyes were bright.

It should have made her cry, too, that shiny evidence of his love and fear, but somehow it made her stronger. "I have cancer," she said.

He already knew it, of course. The past few days, spent waiting for the test results, had been agonizing. Last night they'd finally gotten the doctor's call. They'd held hands while she gave them the information, assuring each other before she spoke that it would be fine. But it hadn't been fine; not even close to fine.

I'm sorry, Kate . . . stage four . . . inflammatory breast cancer . . . aggressive . . . already spread . . .

At first Kate had been furious—she'd always done everything right, looked for lumps, gotten her mammograms—and then the fear set in.

Johnny took it even harder than she did, and she saw quickly that she needed to be strong for him. Last night, they'd lain awake all night, holding each other, crying, praying, promising each other they'd get through it. Now, though, she wondered how they'd do it.

She went to him. He curled his arms around her and held her as tightly as he could, and still it wasn't close enough.

"I have to tell them."

"We have to." He stepped back slightly, loosened his hold just enough to look down at her. "Nothing will change. Remember that."

"Are you kidding? They're going to take away my breasts." Her voice caught on that; fear was a crack in the road that tripped her up. "Then they'll poison and burn me. And all that is supposed to be the good news."

He stared down at her, and the love in his eyes was the most beautiful, heart-wrenching thing she'd ever seen. "Between us, nothing will change. It doesn't matter how you look or feel or act. I'll love you forever, just like I do now."

The emotions she'd worked so hard to submerge floated up again, threatened to consume her. "Let's go," she said quietly. "While I've still got the nerve."

Hand in hand, they walked out of their bedroom and went downstairs, where the kids were supposed to be waiting for them.

The living room was empty.

Kate could hear the television in the family room. It blared out the bleep-thump of video games. She let go of her husband and went to the corner, by the hall. "Boys, come on out here."

"Aw, Mom," Lucas whined, "we're watching a movie."

She wanted to say, Keep on watching; forget it, so badly it actually hurt to say, "Come on, please. Now."

Behind her, she heard her husband go into the kitchen and pick up the phone.

"Downstairs, Marah. Right now. No, I don't care who you're talking to."

Click.

Kate heard him hang up. Instead of going to him, she went to the couch and sat down, perching stiffly on the cushion's edge. She wished suddenly that she'd put on a heavier sweater; she was freezing.

The boys rushed into the room together, fighting with plastic swords, laughing.

"Take that, Captain Hook," Lucas said.

"I'm Peter Pan," William complained, pretending to stab his brother. "En garde!"

At seven, they were just beginning to change. The little-boy freckles were fading; baby teeth were falling out. Every time she looked at them lately, some baby trait had been lost.

Three years from now they'd be almost unrecognizable.

The thought scared her so much that she clutched the sofa's arm and closed her eyes. What if she weren't here to see them grow up? What if—

No bad thoughts.

It had become her mantra in the past four days. Johnny came up beside her, sat down close, and took her hand in his.

"I can't believe you picked up the phone," Marah said, coming down the stairs. "That is so totally an invasion of my privacy. And it was Brian."

Kate counted silently to ten, calmed herself enough to breathe, and opened her eyes.

Her children were in front of her, standing there, looking either bored (the boys) or irritated (Marah).

She swallowed hard. She could do this.

"Are you gonna say something?" Marah demanded. "Because if you're just gonna stare at us, I'm going back upstairs."

Johnny started to come out of his seat. "Damn it, Marah."

Kate put a hand on his thigh to stop him. "Sit down, Marah," she said, surprised to hear how ordinary she sounded. "You, too, boys."

The boys plopped onto the carpet like marionettes whose strings had been cut, landing in side-by-side heaps.

"I'll stand," Marah said, flinging her hip out and crossing her arms. She gave Kate the old you're-not-the-boss-of-me glare, and Kate couldn't help feeling a pinch of nostalgia.

"You remember when I went into the city on Friday?" Kate began, feeling the acceleration of her heartbeat and the slight breathlessness that accompanied it. "Well, I had a doctor's appointment."

Lucas whispered something to William, who grinned and punched his brother.

Marah looked longingly up the stairs.

Kate squeezed her husband's hand. "Anyway, there's nothing for you to worry about, but I'm . . . sick."

All three of them looked at her.

"Don't worry. They're going to operate on me and then give me a bunch of medicine and I'll be fine. I might be tired for a few weeks, but that should be about it."

"You promise you'll be okay?" Lucas said, his gaze steady and earnest and only a little afraid.

Kate wanted to say, Certainly of course, but such a promise would be remembered.

William rolled his eyes and elbowed his brother. "She just said she'd be fine. Will we get out of school to go to the hospital?"

"Yes," Kate said, actually finding a smile.

Lucas rushed forward to hug her first. "I love you, Mommy," he whispered. She held on to him so long he had to wrench free. The same thing happened with William. Then, as one, they turned and went to the stairs.

"Aren't you going to finish your movie?" Kate asked.

"Naw," Lucas said. "We're going upstairs."

Kate glanced worriedly at her husband, who was already rising. "How about a game of basketball, boys?"

They jumped on the idea and all went outside.

Finally, Kate looked at Marah.

"It's cancer, isn't it?" her daughter asked after a long silence.

"Yes."

"Ms. Murphy had cancer last year and she's fine. And Aunt Georgia, too."

"Exactly."

Marah's mouth trembled. For all her height and pseudo-sophistication and makeup, she looked suddenly like a little girl again asking Kate to leave the night-light on. Wringing her hands together, she moved toward the sofa. "You'll be fine, right?"

Stage four. Already spread. Caught it late. She put a lid on those thoughts. They could do her no good. Now was a time for optimism.

"Right. The doctors say I'm young and healthy, so I should be fine."

Marah lay down on the couch, snuggled close, and put her head in Kate's lap. "I'll take care of you, Mommy."

Kate closed her eyes and stroked her daughter's hair. It seemed like only yesterday she'd been able to hold her in her arms and rock her to sleep, only yesterday that Marah had curled into her lap and cried for their lost goldfish.

Please God, she prayed, let me get old enough that someday we're friends . . .

She swallowed hard. "I know you will, honey."

The Firefly Lane girls . . .

In Kate's dream, it is 1974, and she is a teenager again, riding her bike at midnight with her best friend beside her in a darkness so complete it is like being invisible. She remembers the place in vivid detail: a meandering ribbon of asphalt bordered on either side by deep gullies of murky water and hillsides of shaggy grass. Before they met, that road seemed to go nowhere at all; it was just a country lane named after an insect no one had ever seen in this rugged blue and green corner of the world. Then they saw it through each other's eyes . . .

Let go, Katie. God hates a coward.

She woke with a start, feeling tears on her cheeks. She lay there in her bed, wide awake now, listening to a winter storm rage outside. In the last week she'd lost the ability to distance herself from her memories. Too often lately she returned to Firefly Lane in her dreams, and no wonder.

Best friends forever.

That was the promise they'd made all those years ago, and they'd believed it would last, believed that someday they'd be old women together, sitting in their rocking chairs on a creaking deck, talking about the times of their lives, and laughing.

Now she knew better, of course. For more than a year she'd been telling herself that it was okay, that she could go on without her best friend. Sometimes she even believed it.

Then she'd hear the music. Their music. Yesterday, while she'd been shopping, a bad Muzak version of "You've Got a Friend" had made her cry, right there next to the radishes.

She eased the covers back and got out of bed, careful not to waken the man sleeping beside her. For a moment she stood there, staring down at him in the shadowy darkness. Even in sleep, he wore a troubled expression.

She took the phone off its hook and left the bedroom, then walked down the quiet hallway to the deck. There, she stared out at the storm and gathered her courage. As she punched in the familiar numbers, she wondered what she would say after all these silent months, how she would start. I've had a bad week . . . my life is falling apart . . . or simply: I need you.

Across the black and turbulent Sound, the phone rang.

And rang.

When the answering machine clicked on, she tried to marshal her need into something as small and ordinary as words. "Hey, Tul. It's me, Kate. I can't believe you haven't called to apologize to me—"

Thunder echoed across the sky; lightning flashed in staccato bursts. She heard a click. "Tully? Are you listening to this? Tully?"

There was no answer.

Kate sighed and went on. "I need you, Tully. Call me on my cell."

Suddenly the power went out, taking the phone connection with it. A busy signal bleated in her ear.

Kate tried not to take it as a sign. Instead, she went back inside and lit a candle in the living room. Then, on this day of her surgery, she did one special thing for each member of her family, a little reminder that she was here. For William she found the DVD of Monsters, Inc. that he'd misplaced. For Lucas she put together a sack full of his favorite snacks for the waiting room. She charged Marah's cell phone and put it by her bed, knowing how adrift her daughter would feel today if she couldn't call her friends. Finally, she found every set of keys in the house, tagged them, and set them on the counter for Johnny. He lost them almost daily.

When she couldn't think of anything else to do for her family, she went to the window and watched the storm die. Slowly, the dewy world lightened. Charcoal clouds turned to a gorgeous pearlized pink. Seattle looked shiny and new, huddled as it was beneath the rising sun.

A few hours later, her family began to gather around her. The whole time they were together, having breakfast and packing their things into the car, she found herself glancing at the phone, expecting it to ring.

Six weeks later, when they'd taken both her breasts and poured poison into her blood and irradiated her flesh until it looked raw and burned, she was still waiting for Tully to call.

On January second, Tully came home to a cold, empty apartment.

"Story of my life," she said bitterly, tipping the doorman, who carried her bulky designer suitcases into the bedroom.

When he left, she stood there, uncertain of what to do. It was nine o'clock on a Monday night, and most people were home with their families. Tomorrow, she'd go back to work and be able to lose herself in the daily routine of the empire she'd created. In no time at all she'd let go of the images that haunted her during the holidays, had even followed her to the ends of the earth last month. Literally. She'd spent Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's in the frozen south, huddled around their heat source, singing songs and drinking wine. To the naked eye, and the ever-present camera, it had looked like a good time.

But too often when she'd crawled into her down sleeping bag, wearing her hat and mittens, and tried to sleep, she heard the old songs banging around in her head, making her cry. More than once she'd wakened with ice on her cheeks.

She tossed her purse on the sofa and glanced at the clock, noticing that the red numbers were flashing 5:55. The power must have gone out while she was gone.

She poured herself a glass of wine, got out a piece of paper and a pen, then sat down at her desk. The numbers on the answering machine were flashing, too.

"Great." Now she'd have no idea who had tried to call her after the outage. She hit the replay button and began the slow, arduous task of going through her messages. Halfway through, she made a note to speak to her assistant about voice mail.

She was barely paying attention when Kate's voice roused her.

"Hey, Tul. It's me. Kate."

Tully sat up sharply and hit the rewind button.

"Hey, Tul. It's me. Kate. I can't believe you haven't called to apologize to me."

A loud Click. Then: "Tully? Are you listening to this? Tully?" and then another click followed by a loud busy signal. Kate had hung up.

That was all there was. It was over. There were no more messages on the machine.

Tully felt a disappointment so sharp it actually made her flinch. She played and replayed the message until all she could hear was the accusation in Kate's voice.

That wasn't the Kate she remembered, the girl who'd promised all those years ago to be friends forever. That girl would never have called to taunt Tully like this, to berate her and then hang up.

I can't believe you haven't called to apologize to me.

Tully stood up, trying to distance herself from this voice that had invaded her home, tricked her into hoping. She hit the erase all button and backed away.

"I can't believe you haven't called me," she said to her empty apartment, trying not to notice how thick her voice sounded.

She went to her purse and burrowed through the mess inside for her cell phone. Finding it, she scrolled through her huge contact list for a name she'd added only a few months ago, and hit send.

When Thomas answered, she tried to sound flirty and light, but it was hard to pretend; a weight seemed to be sitting on her chest, making it hard to breathe. "Hey, Tom I just got back from the icy beyond. What are you doing tonight? Nothing? That's great. How about getting together?"

It was pathetic how desperate she suddenly felt. But she couldn't be alone tonight, couldn't even sleep in her own apartment.

"I'll meet you at Kells. Say, nine-thirty?"

Before he even said, "It's a date," she was on her way.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

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.

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?

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."

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?"

"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.

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

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."

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."

"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.

"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."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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."

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

"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."

"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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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

Mrs. M. stood up slowly.

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.

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

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.

"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.

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."

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

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."

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?

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

"She called," Mrs. M. said.

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—"

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

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.

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 . . ."

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

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."

A look passed between Johnny and Mrs. M.

"What?" Tully said.

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

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."

"What are you saying?" Tully asked.

"She might not know who you are."

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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?

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 642