It wasn’t enough, didn’t fill the invisible void, but it made her feel productive and useful. And though the people who loved her—Johnny, Tully, and Mom—repeatedly commented that she seemed to be looking for something more, she ignored them all. It was so much easier to focus on the present, on her daughter. There would be plenty of time later on to search for herself.

Now she stood at the living room window, dressed in her flannel pajamas, staring out at the still-dark backyard. Even in the shadows she could see toys strewn about the deck and yard. Barbies. Beanie Babies. A tricycle lying on its side. A pink plastic Corvette was washing back and forth on the incoming tide.

Shaking her head, she turned away from the view and went to the television, turning it on. As soon as Marah woke up, she was going to make her daughter march outside and pick up the toys. A temper tantrum was sure to follow.

The television came on with a thump. A BREAKING NEWS banner ran beneath Bernard Shaw’s grave face. Behind him, a montage of Princess Diana photographs reeled off, one after another. “For those of you just tuning in,” Bernard said, “the news from France is that Princess Diana is dead . . .”

Kate stared at the screen, not quite comprehending.

The princess. Their princess. Dead?

Beside her, the phone rang. Without looking away from the TV, she answered it. “Hello?”

“You’re watching the news?”

“It’s true?”

“I’m in London to cover it.”

“Oh, my God.” Kate stared at the images on the TV—young, shy Diana in her plaid skirt and bomber-type jacket, with her eyes downcast; pregnant Diana, looking hopeful and radiantly happy; elegant Diana, in a gorgeous off-the-shoulder gown, dancing with John Travolta at the White House; laughing Diana, on a ride at Disneyland with her boys; and finally, Diana alone, in a hospital far from home, holding a malnourished black baby.

In those few images were the whole of a woman’s life.

“It can be over so fast,” Kate said, more to herself than to Tully. She realized a moment too late that Tully had been talking and she’d interrupted her.

“She was just starting to come into her own, too.”

Maybe she’d waited too long to try. Kate knew about that, about how frightening it could be to watch your children grow up and your husband go off to work and to wonder what you’d do with the sliver of life that was yours.

Familiar photographs filled the screen: Diana, walking alone at some event, waving to the crowd, then the image changed to the front gates of one of the castles, where flowers were beginning to pile up in remembrance. Life could change so quickly. She’d forgotten that somehow.

“Kate? Are you okay?”