“I’m here on assignment for KCPO news.” Tully tried to keep the pride out of her voice, knowing it was stupid to expect anything from her mother, but it was there anyway, in her eyes and her voice, the shadowy remnant of that pathetic little girl who’d filled twelve memory books so that someday her mother would know her and be proud. “It was my first on-air report. I told you I’d be on TV someday.”

Cloud’s body swayed ever so slightly, as if there were music in the air that only she could hear. “TV is the opiate of the masses.”

“Well, if there’s anyone who’d know about drugs, it’s you.”

“Speaking of that, I’m kinda short this month. You got any cash?”

Tully dug in her purse, found the fifty-dollar bill she kept in her wallet for emergencies, and handed it to her mother. “Don’t give it all to one dealer.”

Cloud took a clumsy step forward and palmed the money.

Tully wished she’d never come here. She knew what to expect from her mother: nothing. Why couldn’t she seem to remember that? “I’ll send money for your next rehab, Cloud. Every family has its traditions, right?” On that, she turned and walked back to the van.

Mutt was waiting for her. Dropping his cigarette, he ground it out with his heel and grinned at her. “Mommy proud of her college girl?”

“Are you kidding?” Tully said, grinning brightly and wiping her eyes. “She cried like a baby.”

When Tully and Mutt came back, the team clicked into high gear. The four of them crammed into the editing room and turned twenty-six minutes of tape into a sharp, impartial thirty-second story. Kate tried to keep her thoughts focused on the story, just the story, but lunch with Johnny had dulled her senses; or heightened them. She wasn’t entirely sure which. All she really knew was that whatever schoolgirl crush she’d had on him before he asked her out to lunch had deepened into something else.

When they finished working, Johnny picked up the phone and called the Tacoma station manager. He talked for a few moments, then hung up and looked at Tully. “They’ll air it tonight at ten unless something comes up.”

Tully jumped up and clapped her hands. “We did it!”

Kate couldn’t help feeling a stab of envy. Just once, she wanted Johnny to look at her the way he looked at Tully.

If only she were like her friend—confident and sexy and willing to make a grab at whatever—and whomever—she wanted. Then she might have a chance, but the thought of Johnny’s rejection, of a blank-eyed, Huh? kept her standing in the shadows.

Tully’s shadow, to be precise. As always, Kate was the backup singer who never stepped into the spotlight.

“Let’s go celebrate,” Tully said. “Dinner’s on me.”