Later, when the story was done and she and Edna were back in their hotel in Mexico City sitting on the balcony outside Edna’s room, having straight shots of tequila, Tully said, “I can’t thank you enough, Edna.”

Edna took another straight shot and leaned back in her chair. The night was quiet. It was the first time they hadn’t heard gunfire in days.

“You did well, kid.”

Tully’s pride welled to almost painful proportions. “Thank you. I learned more from you in the past few weeks than I learned in four years of college.”

“So, maybe you want to go on my next assignment.”

“Anywhere, anytime.”

“I’m interviewing Nelson Mandela.”

“Count me in.”

Edna turned to her. The sticky-looking orange glow from the bare outdoor bulb highlighted her wrinkles, caused bags under her eyes. In this light she looked ten years older than usual, and tired; maybe a little drunk. “Have you got a boyfriend?”

“With my work schedule?” Tully laughed and poured herself another shot. “Hardly.”

“Yeah,” Edna said. “The story of my life.”

“Do you regret it?” Tully asked. If they hadn’t been drinking she never would have asked such a personal question, but tequila had blurred the lines between them for just this moment in time. Tully could pretend they were colleagues instead of icon/newbie. “Making this your life, I mean?”

“There’s a price, that’s for sure. For my generation, at least, you couldn’t do this job and be married. You could get married—I did; three times—but you couldn’t stay married. And forget about kids. When a story broke, I needed to be there, period. It could have been my kid’s wedding day and I’d have left. So I’ve lived by myself.” She looked at Tully. “And I’ve loved it. Every damn second. If I end up dying in a nursing home alone, who gives a shit? I was where I wanted to be every second of my life, and I did something that mattered.”

Tully felt as if she were being baptized into the religion she’d always believed in. “Amen to that.”

“So, what do you know about South Africa?”

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER
TWENTY

The first twelve months of motherhood was a riptide of cold dark water that all too often sucked Kate under.

It was embarrassing how ill-equipped she turned out to be for this blessed event that had been her secret girlhood dream. So embarrassing, in fact, that she told no one how overwhelmed she sometimes felt. When asked, she smiled brightly and said motherhood was the best thing that had ever happened to her. It was even true.

Yet sometimes it wasn’t.