Firefly Lane (59 page)

Reaching into the bag at her side, she pulled out her journal and stared down at it, tracing the leather pattern on the cover. It was almost finished now. She'd written it all down, or as much as she could remember, and it had helped her as much as she'd hoped it would someday help her kids.

She opened to the page where she'd left off and began to write.

   
That's the funny thing about writing your life story. You start out trying to remember dates and times and names. You think it's about facts, your life; that what you'll look back on and remember are the successes and failures, the time line of your youth and middle age, but that isn't it at all
.

   
Love. Family. Laughter. That's what I remember when it's all said and done. For so much of my life I thought I didn't
do
enough or want enough. I guess I can be forgiven my stupidity. I was young. I want my children to know how proud I am of them, and how proud I am of me. We were everything we needed—you and Daddy and I. I had everything I ever wanted
.

   
Love
.

   
That's what we remember
.

She closed the journal. There was nothing more to say.

Tully came home from the grocery store feeling triumphant. She put the bags on the counter, emptied them one by one, then opened a can of beer and went outside.

"That grocery store is a jungle, Kate. I guess I went down the up lane, or in the out lane, I don't know. You'd have thought I was Public Enemy Number One. I never heard so much honking."

"We at-home moms don't have long to shop."

"I don't know how you did it all. I'm exhausted by ten o'clock every morning."

Kate laughed. "Sit."

"If I roll over and play dead do I get a biscuit?"

Kate handed her her journal. "You get this. First."

Tully drew in a sharp breath. For all of the summer, she'd seen Kate writing on these pages, at first quickly and easily, and gradually more slowly. In the last few weeks, everything had been slow going for her.

She sat down slowly—slumped, actually—unable to say anything past the lump in her throat. She knew it would make her cry, but it would make her soar, too. Reaching out, she held Kate's hand and then opened the journal to the first page.

A sentence jumped out at her.

The first time I saw Tully Hart, I thought: Wow! Look at those boobs
.

Tully laughed and kept reading. Page after page.

We're sneaking out?

Of course
.
Get your bike
. And:
I'll just shave your eyebrows to give them shape . . . oops . . . that's not good . . .

Your hair is coming out . . . maybe I should read the directions again . . .

Laughing, Tully turned to her. These words, these memories had, for a glorious moment, made everything normal. "How could you be friends with me?"

Kate smiled back. "How could I not?"

Tully felt like an imposter as she slipped into Kate and Johnny's bed. She knew it made sense, her being in this room, but on this night it felt more wrong than usual. Reading the journal had reminded Tully of everything she had with Kate; everything they were losing.

Finally, sometime after three, she fell into a fitful sleep. She dreamed of Firefly Lane, of two girls riding their bikes down Summer Hill at night. The wind smelled of freshly cut hay and the stars were bright.

Look, Katie, no hands
.

But Kate wasn't there. Her empty bike clattered down the road, the white plastic streamers fluttering from the ends of the molded plastic grips.

Tully sat up, breathing hard.

Shaking, she got out of bed and put her robe on. Out in the hallway she passed dozens of mementos, photos of this life they'd shared for decades, and two closed bedroom doors. Behind them, the kids were asleep, probably suffering through similar dreams.

Downstairs, she made a cup of tea and went to the deck, where the cool dark air allowed her to breathe again.

"Bad dreams?"

Johnny's voice startled her. He was in one of the Adirondack chairs, looking up at her. In his eyes she saw the same sadness that filled every pore of her skin and cell of her body.

"Hey," she said, sitting in the chair beside his.

A cool breeze came off the Sound, whistling eerily above the familiar whooshing of the waves.

"I don't know how to do this," he said quietly.

"That's the same thing Katie said to me," she said, and just like that, the realization of how similar they were made Tully ache all over again. "It's quite a love story you two have."

He turned to her, and in the pale moonlight she saw the tense line of his jaw, the tightening around his eyes. He was holding it all in, trying so hard to be strong for all of them.

"You don't have to do it with me, you know," she said quietly.

"Do what?"

"Be strong."

The words seemed to release something in him. Tears shone in his eyes; he crumpled forward, saying nothing; silently his shoulders shook.

She reached out and took his hand, held it tightly while he cried.

"For twenty years, every time I turn around, you two are together."

Tully and Johnny both turned.

Kate stood in the open doorway behind them, bundled up in a huge terrycloth robe. Bald and impossibly thin, she looked like a child playing dress-up in her mother's clothes. She'd said things like this to both of them before; they all knew it, but this time she was smiling. She looked somehow both sad and peaceful.

"Katie," Johnny said, his voice raw, his eyes shining. "Don't . . ."

"I love you both," she said, not moving toward them. "You'll comfort each other . . . take care of each other and the kids . . . after I'm gone—"

"Don't," Tully said, starting to cry.

Johnny was on his feet. He gently picked his wife up and kissed her for a long, long time.

"Take her up to your bed, Johnny," Tully said, trying to smile now. "I'll sleep in the guest room."

Johnny carried her upstairs with so much care she couldn't help thinking that she was sick. He put her on her side of the bed. "Turn on the fire."

"Are you cold?"

To the bone
. She nodded and tried gingerly to sit up as he crossed the room and flicked the switch for the gas fireplace. With a whoosh, blue and orange flames shot up from the fake log, tinting the dark room with a soft golden light.

When he came back and settled in beside her, she reached up slowly, traced the outline of his lips with the tip of her finger. "You first ravished me on the floor in front of a fire, remember?"

He smiled; like a blind woman, she felt his lips curve with the sensitive pad of her finger. "If I remember correctly, you were doing the ravishing."

"And what if I wanted to ravish you now?"

He looked so scared that she wanted to laugh, but it wasn't funny. "Can we?"

He took her in his arms. She knew they were both thinking that she'd lost so much weight there was almost nothing left of her.

Nothing left of her.

She closed her eyes and tightened her hold around his neck.

The bed seemed so big suddenly, like a sea of soft white cotton compared to the bed downstairs that had become hers.

Slowly, Kate took off her robe and peeled out of her nightgown, trying not to notice how white and sticklike her legs were. Even worse was the battlefield that had been her breasts. She looked ruined, like a little boy, only there were the scars.

Johnny stripped out of his clothes, kicked them aside, and climbed back into bed beside her, drawing the covers up to their hips.

Her heart was thumping hard as she looked at him.

"You're so beautiful," he said, and leaned forward to kiss her scars.

Relief and love cracked her open inside. She kissed him, her breath coming hard and ragged already. In their twenty years of marriage they'd made love thousands of times, and it was always great, but this was different; they had to be so gentle. She knew he was terrified of breaking her bones. She hardly remembered later how it had all happened, how she'd come to be on top of him; all she knew was that she needed every part of him, and everything that she was, that she'd ever been, was irrevocably tied up with this man. When he finally entered her, slow and easy, filling her, she came down to meet him, and in that glorious second, she was whole again. She bent down and kissed him, tasting his tears.

He cried out her name so loudly she silenced him with her palm; if she'd had any breath left she would have laughed at his outburst and whispered,
The kids!

But her own orgasm, seconds later, made her forget everything except the pleasure of this sensation.

Finally, smiling, feeling young again, she snuggled up against him. He put an arm around her and pulled her close. They lay there a long time, half sitting against the mound of pillows, watching the firelight, saying nothing.

Then, quietly, Kate said what had been on her mind for a long time. "I can't stand to think of you alone."

"I won't ever be alone. We've got three kids."

"You know what I mean. I'd understand if you and Tully—"

"Don't." He looked at her finally, and in the eyes she knew as well as her own she saw a pain so deep she wanted to weep.

"It was always you. Just you, Katie. Tully was a one-night stand, a long time ago. I didn't love her then and I never have. Not for a second. You're my heart and soul. My world. How can you not know that?"

She saw the truth in his face, heard it in the tremble in his voice, and she was ashamed of herself. She should have known this all along. "I do know that. I'm just so worried about you and the kids. I hate to think . . ."

This conversation was like swimming through acid; it burned through flesh and bone. "I know, baby," he said finally. "I know."

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The day of the summer play dawned crisp and clear. A beautiful Northwest autumn afternoon. Kate wanted to help Marah prepare for the big event, but she was too weak to do much. Smiling took effort. The pain behind her eyes was constant now, like the bleating beat of an alarm clock that couldn't be turned off.

And so Kate handed over her duties to Tully, who performed them like a champ.

Kate slept through most of it. By the time night had fallen, she was as rested as she could be and ready to face the challenge of what lay ahead.

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Tully asked at six forty-five.

"I'm ready. Maybe you should put some makeup on me so I don't scare little kids."

"I thought you'd never ask. And I brought you a wig to wear—if you want it."

"I'd love it. I would have thought of it myself if I had any brain cells left." She reached for her oxygen mask and took a few hits.

Tully left the room and returned with her makeup kit.

Kate angled her bed up and closed her eyes. "This feels like the old days."

Tully talked as she worked her magic, penciling on eyebrows, gluing on lashes. Kate let herself be carried away on the tide of her friend's voice. "I have a gift, you know. Do you have a razor?"

Kate meant to laugh. Maybe she even did.

"Okay," Tully finally said. "Time to try on the wig."

Kate blinked, realizing she'd fallen asleep, and grinned. "Sorry about that."

"Don't worry about me. I love it when people fall asleep while I'm talking."

Kate pulled the stocking cap off her head and the mittens off her hands. She was always freezing cold.

Tully put the wig on, positioned it, then helped Kate dress in a black wool dress with tights and boots. In the wheelchair, they wrapped her in blankets, then Tully wheeled her over to the mirror. "Well?"

She stared at her reflection—pale, thin face with eyes that looked huge beneath the drawn-on eyebrows, brightly blond shoulder-length hair, perfectly red lips. "Great," she said, hoping she sounded honest.

"Good," Tully said. "Let's round the troops up and go."

A half an hour later, they pulled up to the auditorium. They were so early that no other cars were yet in the parking lot.

Perfect.

Johnny put Kate in the wheelchair, covered her in blankets, and led the way to the front doors.

Inside, they took up most of the first row, saving places for the rest of the family; Kate's wheelchair was positioned on the end of the aisle.

"I'll be back in thirty minutes with your folks and the boys," Johnny said to Kate. "Do you need anything else?"

"No."

When he was gone, she and Tully sat in the shadows of the empty auditorium. Kate shivered and tightened the blankets around her. Her head was pounding and she felt sick to her stomach. "Talk to me, Tully. About anything."

Tully didn't miss a beat. She started talking about yesterday's rehearsal, then went on to her troubles with the carpool protocol.

Kate closed her eyes, and suddenly they were kids again, sitting by the Pilchuck River, wondering how their lives would unfold.

We'll be TV journalists. Someday I'll tell Mike Wallace that I couldn't have done it without you
.

Dreams. They'd had so many of them, and a surprising number had come true. The funny thing was that she hadn't valued them all highly enough when she'd had the chance.

Leaning back in her seat, she said quietly, "Do you still know the guy who runs the drama program at USC?"

"I do." Tully looked at her. "Why?"

Kate felt Tully's scrutiny on her profile. Without making eye contact, she straightened her wig. "Maybe you could call him. Marah would love to go there." With the words came the thought:
I won't be there for her
. For any of it. Marah would go off to college without her . . .

"I thought you didn't want her to be in the arts."