From then on, the night took on the hazy, insubstantial edges of a dream. They stood at the end of the receiving line, kissing friends and relatives and collecting their well-wishes.

The world felt wide open. Anything was possible. Kate found that she couldn’t stop smiling or crying.

When the music started—Madonna’s “Crazy for You”—Johnny found her in the crowd and reached for her hand.

“Hey, Mrs. Ryan.”

Touch me once and you’ll know it’s true . . .

She moved into the circle of his arms, loving the feel of him against her.

All around them, people stepped back, making room for the newlyweds to dance. She could feel them watching, smiling, saying how romantic the song was and how beautiful the bride looked.

It was the Cinderella-at-the-ball moment that Kate had dreamed of all her life. “I love you,” she said.

“You’d better,” he whispered, kissing her gently.

When the song ended, the audience burst into applause. Champagne glasses were raised alongside bottles of beer and cocktail glasses; guests shouted, “To the Ryans!”

It wasn’t until the tail end of the most magical of nights that Kate’s smile first left her. She was at the bar, getting another glass of sparkling cider and talking to her Aunt Georgia, when it happened.

Later, over the years that followed, especially in troubled times, she’d wonder why she looked up at precisely that instant, or why, with all the people in the room, dancing and talking and laughing, she’d had to look up at just that moment to see Johnny, standing all by himself, sipping a beer.

And looking at Tully.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

“I don’t know who writes these directions, but I don’t think the ass-holes speak English.”

Kate smiled and stepped cautiously down the ladder. They were in the downstairs bedroom of the houseboat, readying the nursery. She could tell that Tully was about thirty seconds away from throwing the screwdriver at the freshly painted wall. “Let me look at the sheet.”

From her place in the middle of the floor, surrounded by piles of white sticks and boards and groupings of screws and washers, Tully held up the long, wrinkled piece of paper. “Be my guest.”

Kate studied the ridiculously complicated directions. “We start with that long flat piece. It dovetails into that piece, see? Then you screw that part on there . . .”

For the next two hours, they sat or stood, hunkered together and hunched over, putting together the most complicated crib of all time.

When it was done, and tucked in place against the sunshine-yellow wall with the Winnie-the-Pooh border, they stood back and admired it. “What would I do without you, Tully?”

Tully put an arm around her. “Thankfully you’ll never have to know. Come on, I’m making margaritas.”

“I can’t drink. You know that.”