Tully was awakened by the phone ringing. She came awake hard, looked around. It was 2:01 in the morning. She reached over and answered. "Hello?"

"She's unconscious. We found your name and number in her things."

"I'll be right there."

"My name is Lori Witherspoon. I'm a nurse at Harborview Hospital. We have your mother here. Dorothy Hart."

"Is this Tallulah Hart?"

"We're not sure. It looks like a drug overdose, but she was pretty badly beaten up, too. The police are waiting to question her."

"Did she ask for me?"

Tully got dressed in record time and was on the road by 2:20. She pulled into the parking lot at the hospital and went to the desk. "Hello. I'm here to see my mother, Cl -- uh, Dorothy Hart."

"Thanks." Tully went upstairs and was directed to her mother's room by a tiny woman in a pale orange nurse's uniform.

"What happened?"

Inside the shadowy room there were two beds. The one nearest the door was empty.

She rubbed her eyes. "Yes. Who is this?"

"Sixth floor, Ms. Hart. Go to the nurses' desk."

She shut the door behind her, surprised to find that she was frightened. For the whole of her life, she'd been wounded by her mother. She'd loved her as a child, inexplicably; hated her as a teenager; and ignored her as a woman. Cloud had broken her heart more times than she could count, and let her down on every possible occasion, and yet, even after all of that, Tully couldn't help feeling something for her.

She didn't look anything like herself; rather, she looked like a frail old woman who'd been beaten by more than someone's fists -- by life itself.

"Hey, Cloud," Tully said, surprised to find that her throat was tight. She gently stroked her mother's temple, the only place on her face that wasn't bloodied or bruised. As she felt the velvety soft skin, she realized that the last time she'd touched her mother had been in 1970, when they'd held hands on that crowded Seattle street.

Cloud was asleep. Bruises covered her face, blackened one eye; her lip was split open and seeped blood. Short gray hair, apparently cut with a dull knife, was matted to her head.

She wished she knew what to say to this woman, with whom she had a history but no present. So she just talked. She told her about the show and her life and how successful she'd become. When that started to sound hollow and desperate, she talked about Kate and their fight and how it had left her feeling so alone. As the words formed themselves and spilled out, Tully heard the truth in them. Losing the Ryans and Mularkeys had left her devastatingly alone. Cloud was all she had left. How pathetic was that?

"We're all alone in this world, haven't you figured that out by now?"

Tully hadn't noticed her mother wake up, and yet she was conscious now, and looking at Tully through tired eyes. "Hey," she said, smiling, wiping her eyes. "What happened to you?"

"I got beat up."

"I wasn't asking what put you in the hospital. I was asking what happened to you."

Cloud flinched and turned away. "Oh. That. I guess your precious grandmother never told you, huh?" She sighed. "It doesn't matter now."

Tully drew in a sharp breath. This was the most meaningful conversation they'd ever had; she felt poised on the edge of some essential discovery that had eluded her for all her years. "I think it does."

"I'll always keep coming back," Tully said, realizing just then that it was true. They might be damaged, she and her mother, but they were connected, too, in a strange and profound way. This dance of theirs, as painful as it had always been, wasn't quite over. "Someday you'll be ready for me."

"Forget about me."

"With both hands." She would have added, no matter what, but the promise reminded her of Kate and hurt too much to utter aloud.

"I was never your mother. We both know that."

"I don't know how to do that. After everything, you're still my mother."

"I could be what you need, but I can't. You need to let me go."

"Not until you tell me why." Her voice trembled on that question; of course it did. "Why didn't you ever love me?"

"What?"

"You break mine, too."

"How do you keep hold of a dream like that?"

Cloud turned back and stared at her, and for a moment, no longer than it took to blink, Tully saw sadness in her mother's eyes. "You break my heart," she said quietly.

Cloud smiled for a second. "I wish…"

"Honestly, I wish I could. But you're my mother."

"Go away, Tully." Cloud turned her face into the pillow.

Tully stood there a long time, her hands curled around the metal bed rails. She knew her mother was pretending sleep; she also knew when it became real. When intermittent snores filled the silence, she went to the small closet in the room, found a folded-up blanket, and grabbed it. That was when she noticed the small pile of clothes folded neatly in the corner on the closet's bottom self. Beside it was a brown paper grocery bag, rolled closed at the top.

Her mother sighed and closed her eyes. "Go away."

She covered her mother with the blanket, tucked it up beneath her chin, and returned to the closet.

She wasn't sure why she went through her mother's things, what she was looking for. At first, it was the stuff she'd expected: dirty, worn clothes, shoes with holes along the soles, a makeshift toiletry set in a plastic baggie, cigarettes and a lighter.

Then she saw it, coiled neatly at the bottom of the sack -- a frayed piece of string, knotted into a circle, with two pieces of dried macaroni and a single blue bead strung on it.

She sat down on the molded plastic chair by the bed. Now she had a genuine question for her mother, and she intended to get an answer.

The necklace Tully had made in her Bible study class and given to her mother on that day, so many years ago, when they'd left Gran's house in the VW bus. Her mother had kept it, all this time.

Tully didn't touch it. She was afraid somehow that she'd find it existed only in her mind. She turned to her mother, went to the bed. "You kept it," she said, feeling something brand-new open up inside her. A kind of hope -- not the spit-shined little-girl variety, but something tarnished and worn; more reflective of who they were and where they'd been. Still, it was there, under all the rust and discoloration: hope. "You know how to hold on to a dream, too, don't you, Cloud?"

Sometime around four o'clock, she slumped in her chair and fell asleep.

The trilling of her cell phone wakened her. She unfolded slowly, painfully, rubbing the crick in her neck. It took her a moment to realize where she was.

"Not this year."

"Bad night." She wished she'd touched the necklace now; already it was taking on the blurry edges of a dream. "What time is it?"

"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?"

"Shit."

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

She stood up. Her mother's bed was empty. She wrenched open the closet doors.

"Do you still take off part of November and all of December?"

"Six, your time. Are you sitting down?"

"You sound awful."

Harborview.

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

Empty. The bag was crumpled into a ball and left behind.

The hospital.

"Coincidentally, I am."

Her cell phone rang again. She glanced at the incoming number. "Hey, Edna," she said, sinking back into the chair.

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.

"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?"

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.

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.

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

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

"I have to tell them."

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.

"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."

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

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."

The living room was empty.

"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.

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

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

Click.

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

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

"Take that, Captain Hook," Lucas said.

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.

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

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."

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

"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.

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

No bad thoughts.

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

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 --

She swallowed hard. She could do this.

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

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

Three years from now they'd be almost unrecognizable.

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

All three of them looked at her.

"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.

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

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?"

"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."

Marah looked longingly up the stairs.

"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.

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

"Exactly."

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

Finally, Kate looked at Marah.

They jumped on the idea and all went outside.

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

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

"Yes."

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

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?"

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.

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."

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."

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

There was no answer.

Across the black and turbulent Sound, the phone rang.

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.

And rang.

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

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.

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

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 --"

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

"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."

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.

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."

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

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?"

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